I should have gotten into Ska. At least it sounds good with my accent.
Once during the credits of a film I can't recall I heard a jazz number about Christopher Columbus, and since I had big dreams about being a dingy, back bar lounge singer. I still use my "I've been up since 4 am smoking Newports and brooding" voice with my shampoo bottle in the shower. I guess it's a good thing I live alone.
In 5th grade I tried to fit in by tuning my stereo to a local station that played 90's alt rock. For one whole afternoon I committed to memory bad songs that no longer recall. I guess I thought knowing the words to "Breakfast At Tiffany's" would key me in to whatever it is that makes people cool. It's cliche, but fuck it - it happened.
On a field trip to Fort Something-or-other while everyone was singing along I sat in the back listening to a Bobby McFerrin record that has a tune which Robin Williams lends some skatter-brained humor on my early 90's style walkman that was WAY cutting edge at the time. The coolest boy in class leaned over the seat and asked me what I was listening to. I told him and he told me I was "stupid." He actually used the word stupid, which was pretty much the worst when you were 10. This was when I stopped using the radio feature on my stereo's, got really into making tapes, and generally stopped making friends because "no one else got it."
On Tuesday's my mom worked late so my father and I would go to the bank, have dinner, and go PAROOOOOSE at the record store. [I know it's not actually "parooooose" but we had our own way of saying it and spelling it this way is the only proper way.] These nights were where I aquired my first Beatles Anthology, the Ass Ponys tape with "Earth to Grandma" on it, and a Jill Sobule record chock-full of tunes about medicated depression that I barely understood. Actually, my parents thought putting on these records and having me sing along for their friends was great entertainment. Everyone has an awkward period, but mine was dinner theatre.
Early on in high school I told myself I wanted to sing in a rock and roll band, but not "chick rock." I wanted to be like Liz Phair because she sang songs like "Fuck and Run" which were so masculine, but so completely female at the same time. She wasn't whining, but she could still wear a dress and the men in our audience have probably entertained thoughts of her running around stage in those little skirts with suspenders [a style I totally copped the summer before freshman year]. While I knew I didn't have the look of someone who's posters you hang on your wall, I knew I could be angsty without being annoying, and "one-of-the-guys" without being one of those girls who is humored by being "one-of-the-guys."
But the thing is, even though I've written a whole harem of songs that would benefit from an electric guitar and a sampler, no one will hear them because when it comes down to it - I still get up in the morning and sing garbled Etta James into my Suave.
In 5th grade I tried to fit in by tuning my stereo to a local station that played 90's alt rock. For one whole afternoon I committed to memory bad songs that no longer recall. I guess I thought knowing the words to "Breakfast At Tiffany's" would key me in to whatever it is that makes people cool. It's cliche, but fuck it - it happened.
On a field trip to Fort Something-or-other while everyone was singing along I sat in the back listening to a Bobby McFerrin record that has a tune which Robin Williams lends some skatter-brained humor on my early 90's style walkman that was WAY cutting edge at the time. The coolest boy in class leaned over the seat and asked me what I was listening to. I told him and he told me I was "stupid." He actually used the word stupid, which was pretty much the worst when you were 10. This was when I stopped using the radio feature on my stereo's, got really into making tapes, and generally stopped making friends because "no one else got it."
On Tuesday's my mom worked late so my father and I would go to the bank, have dinner, and go PAROOOOOSE at the record store. [I know it's not actually "parooooose" but we had our own way of saying it and spelling it this way is the only proper way.] These nights were where I aquired my first Beatles Anthology, the Ass Ponys tape with "Earth to Grandma" on it, and a Jill Sobule record chock-full of tunes about medicated depression that I barely understood. Actually, my parents thought putting on these records and having me sing along for their friends was great entertainment. Everyone has an awkward period, but mine was dinner theatre.
Early on in high school I told myself I wanted to sing in a rock and roll band, but not "chick rock." I wanted to be like Liz Phair because she sang songs like "Fuck and Run" which were so masculine, but so completely female at the same time. She wasn't whining, but she could still wear a dress and the men in our audience have probably entertained thoughts of her running around stage in those little skirts with suspenders [a style I totally copped the summer before freshman year]. While I knew I didn't have the look of someone who's posters you hang on your wall, I knew I could be angsty without being annoying, and "one-of-the-guys" without being one of those girls who is humored by being "one-of-the-guys."
But the thing is, even though I've written a whole harem of songs that would benefit from an electric guitar and a sampler, no one will hear them because when it comes down to it - I still get up in the morning and sing garbled Etta James into my Suave.