poet, fool or bum?
no, I'm just me.
Well I was still too chesty to do the open mic thing yesterday. Coughing is very boring when you have to do it for a week. The thought has been mooted though that I should take advantage of such a weak chest and start singing low. Alas, it doesn't seem to work this way for me - the onset of phlegm tends to reduce my tender vocal chords to some high-pitched wheezing that puts my range somewhere between Keith Chegwin and Alan Ball.
That's the footballer, not the six feet under man.
On a good note I've been allocated a security pass at work. This means I can now access a whole new underworld of passages and corridors situated suitably enough underneath the building. But other than that, I'm not sure what the benefits are. It is a nice feeling to wave an Oyster-style card at security posts and for the door to open. The card required a photograph, which considering my enfeebled state this week, went better than expected. Though I do look awfully yellow. But no matter, I can change it in seven years...
I have always wanted to do a version of I'm Gonna Be Strong by Gene Pitney. It's such a wonderful melodrama of a song climaxing with our Gene's voice rising what seems like (and might well be) two octaves with the strength of several oxen. That he's supposed to be breaking down and crying is somewhat undermined by the sheer strength and power of that voice. You can't imagine anything getting in the way of it.
The scenario of the song is that he can sense his partner drifting away from him, falling out of love. He's going to bow out gracefully, not cause a scene and when he meets her in the street he'll say don't you worry I'm doin' fine. You'll never know darling after I kiss you goodbye, how I'll breakdown and cry...(except that he's belting it out at the top of his voice, of course).
And it's on the final 'cry' that his voice just rises out of the strings and soars like a heartbroken angel. Sublime.
Phlegm permitting I'll be at Soul Mole tonight. I'll be the one looking a bit wheezy.
Well I was still too chesty to do the open mic thing yesterday. Coughing is very boring when you have to do it for a week. The thought has been mooted though that I should take advantage of such a weak chest and start singing low. Alas, it doesn't seem to work this way for me - the onset of phlegm tends to reduce my tender vocal chords to some high-pitched wheezing that puts my range somewhere between Keith Chegwin and Alan Ball.
That's the footballer, not the six feet under man.
On a good note I've been allocated a security pass at work. This means I can now access a whole new underworld of passages and corridors situated suitably enough underneath the building. But other than that, I'm not sure what the benefits are. It is a nice feeling to wave an Oyster-style card at security posts and for the door to open. The card required a photograph, which considering my enfeebled state this week, went better than expected. Though I do look awfully yellow. But no matter, I can change it in seven years...
I have always wanted to do a version of I'm Gonna Be Strong by Gene Pitney. It's such a wonderful melodrama of a song climaxing with our Gene's voice rising what seems like (and might well be) two octaves with the strength of several oxen. That he's supposed to be breaking down and crying is somewhat undermined by the sheer strength and power of that voice. You can't imagine anything getting in the way of it.
The scenario of the song is that he can sense his partner drifting away from him, falling out of love. He's going to bow out gracefully, not cause a scene and when he meets her in the street he'll say don't you worry I'm doin' fine. You'll never know darling after I kiss you goodbye, how I'll breakdown and cry...(except that he's belting it out at the top of his voice, of course).
And it's on the final 'cry' that his voice just rises out of the strings and soars like a heartbroken angel. Sublime.
Phlegm permitting I'll be at Soul Mole tonight. I'll be the one looking a bit wheezy.