I'm so tired - last night's dress rehearsal wasn't over until ten, and my feet hurt and I was hungry, and though I went right to sleep, I woke up in the middle of the night to worry myself silly about my vocal mistakes and all the instructions flooded me with doubt. Should I just lip sinc and thereby save the chorus? This morning reason has returned, and I am just going about my tasks and whatever will be will be. My mother was extremely fond of Doris Day, and the song she sang in The Man Who Knew Too Much, Hitchcock's remake of his own earlier film (Que sera, sera). My mom looked a bit like Doris Day, with the same figure and smile, and she brainwashed me into humming "Once I Had a Secret Love" throughout childhood. I still, I must admit, love the movie the song is in - Calamity Jane. My Mom was persuasive.
Now, both Mom and Dad were severely tone deaf. Flanked by them in church, my brother and I would get the giggles, and I'm pretty certain nearby pews were equally amused. The upside of such torture is I can sing on tune next to almost anyone's vocal catastrophe without losing pitch. The bad part is I still feel like the giggles are about to erupt, and I have to make my body rigid to avoid humiliation. Last night my tenor buddy, a guy about my younger son's age, was off key during a song I know he has mastered - and I kept wanting to shout-sing over his too low third line. I mentally was lifting him up by the shoulders like a male ballet dancer lifting his partner - but it didn't work. Drowning him out was not an option. We've been warned about that. So, distracted and thinking waaay too much, I went down with the ship - better we were both off together, I felt, kind of like the Titanic. Nearer My God to Thee would have been a better tune at that point.
With a bit of luck, we'll be fine Sunday at the actual concert. And if we mess up, so what? Except, except: no giggling. My stellar career will be over if I think of my parents. Don't think, don't think, don't think.
No comments:
Post a Comment