January 22: ...and All That Jazz

I recently went to a dueling piano bar to celebrate a friend’s birthday. I had to leave just as the music started (Cinderella, stroke of midnight, er, 8, and all that). I caught the opening number, which was Great Balls of Fire, served up with the precise level of bawdiness required at a piano bar. Perfect!

The performers requested audience choice for their second number. A young little kitten called out, “Wrecking Ball,” which other than video imagery that is forever burned into my brain is a great song. But when I think of pianos and singing, I’m more apt to envision Billy Joel or old school jazz. The audience was generally a decade or two younger than me. I exited stage left.

I have always had immense respect for stage performers on any scale. I went to Cornell on a vocal scholarship, but was certainly not a tremendous performer. I applied on a fluke and trembled like a leaf on the stage of King Chapel. I was stunned and honored they chose me. When I am old and gray, I’ll be proud that I dared to walk onto that stage. It was a big deal for 17 year-old me. It would be a big deal if I did it today.

My assigned vocal professor at Cornell was not impressed with me. She made it blatantly clear she could not believe they had wasted scholarship money on me. To her defense, my freshman year was entirely more about the social lessons of college rather than the academic pursuits. 7:30 a.m. came incredibly early for lessons after a night on the town. (OK - yes, I was at the bar.). She had a beautiful operatic voice and I was church and choir experienced from a small town. I had never had a formal vocal lesson. I sang because I loved to sing. I had an immense propensity to want to please and some good basic vocal chords. Rather than work with me, she shamed me.

She really didn’t deserve much esteem or a second thought. But she was the first person to “judge” my voice, which I had always thought of as a strength. She found me lacking. Her voice became the one in my head whenever I sang. I heard all my flaws and lost the sheer joy of the song. I have several amazing examples of teachers who touched my life. This is the only negative one I’ll ever mention, and it’s not with blame for her. She had an opinion and she shared it. She did not see it as her job to teach me so much as be burdened by me. It does speak to the power of influence, teachers. Be kind. Always. Not everyone will be your star, but many want to shine.

I lost my confidence to sing in front of others. I became a shower singer. The loudest in a chorus but not prone to want anything to do with a solo. Not a marquis singer. Not a risk taker.

Here’s the thing: Gosh I’ve always secretly wanted to be on a stage. Not just any stage. I wanted to wear a gorgeous dress cut down to there and some devil-may-care red lipstick. I wanted a big glossy piano that I could slink across, and a trumpet player I could harmlessly flirt with onstage. A few dance steps here and there. I wanted to sing jazz. I wanted to purr into an old school microphone. I wanted to be soul sisters with Billie, Sarah, Etta, Rosemary and Ella.

I have so, so many jazz favorites I’d love to share with you. You'll likely hear my would-be soul sisters in the coming weeks. Tonight, I wanted to share this little ditty. It’s fresh and feisty, the way I like my jazz. And it’s commonly heard in my shower. You should hear the acoustics in there!

Dave's True Story - Can't Get You Out of My System