Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Today I am grateful for singers. Real singers. . .who use their voices as instruments, maintaining control and staying on pitch. Give me a singer, male or female, who tells the story of the song with emotion and honesty and they have me.
I know I’m old. How many paragraphs have I prefaced with that statement? Well I am. And I know that every generation thinks that their music is the best, although I don’t know how true that can be because I like the big band era the best and it was way before my time.
What is missing, for me, in most of the music I have been hearing performed on various shows like, “Dancing with the Stars” and “American Idol”, is a melody. Everyone is making it their own. Or they are screaming. . .even if they don’t start out that way, at some point they scrunch their eyes, tighten their jock-straps and hit notes that used to only be heard by packs of wild dogs, aka swaybots in the audience. And I bet they bite, too. They can have their music because I hate it. The singing seems so one dimensional to me. Scream. . .or scream louder and higher.
We were at a Nana Mouskouri concert in Milwaukee, Wisconsin before we were married. She is from Greece and not known by too many people in the USA, but she was fantastic. When the concert was over, everyone leapt to their feet until she did an encore number. She stepped away from the mic and waited for the crowd to settle. While everyone was holding their breath, she sang, acapella (no piano or orchestra), in perfect pitch and very, very softly. . .and you could hear her in every inch of the 5,000 seat theater and I know, because we were in the nosebleed section. She increased her volume appropriately, hitting ever note dead-on, in perfect control and ended very softly. Fantastic.
I’ll take singers any day. Real, honest to God singers who can emote without screaming and don’t need a microphone and ear-piece to guide them. You know who they are! You must be old, too. . .or at least discerning.