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open mike report
South Bay Folks Open Mike, 2002-01-02, I mean 2003
I started this phase of my musical career on the mandolin, but lately I've been focusing on the guitar, and I've realized my mandolin is starting to feel neglected. So tonight I took it out for a night on the town.
My first song was "Tomorrow Morning", by The Blue Nile. I haven't played this in public for a long time. It's a little high for me, and its semi-retirement began around the time I realized I sound like I have a cold when I sing it, but also because the lyrics at the end don't mean anything to me. I don't know how to sing them with conviction, but I felt uncomfortable just leaving them out. But the other night I found a live recording, and Paul Buchanan didn't sing those words either, so I felt liberated.
"Tomorrow Morning" used to be the happiest song I knew how to play, although its first line is "This may not last until tomorrow", and, as allmusic.com points out, even the Blue Nile's cheeriest songs are shadowed by "the underlying fear that it will all go bust." Then again, allmusic believes that the bassist for Scottish synth-pop trio The Blue Nile is Robert "Kool" Bell, of And The Gang fame.
Next up was "Out of the Woods", by Irish singer-songwriter Sinead Lohan. It's a beautiful song, which I first learned from a Nickel Creek arrangement in three-part harmony. I sang it solo once, and then convinced Kristina to sing lead so I could sing harmony, which meant switching to a different key and a different instrument (mandola). Tonight was, I think, the second time I've sung it solo. I think I'm going to turn this song back into one of mine.
I completed my tour of the British Isles with the Beatles' "Dear Prudence", which is only the third time I've performed a song that a lot of people know. (The other two were an a cappella version of the Everly Brothers' "When Will I Be Loved" and Duke Ellington's "Don't Get Around Much Anymore" on piano.) This was an experiment for me in several ways: I was singing out louder than usual, which meant I was standing farther from the mike, and, oh, by the way, I was standing, it was a well-known song, and, you know, it's so happy! I thought it went well. A few people commented that it was out of character--the loudness, I mean--but in a good way.
Part of the reason I sing quietly is, well, I sing a lot of songs that should be quiet. It's a mood I'm drawn to. But also, I'm just easily frightened by loud noises. I have trouble vacuuming because when I turn on the vacuum cleaner, even though you'd think I'd be expecting it, I jump. So, likewise, if I get up on stage and I open my mouth and something comes out of a speaker behind me that's bigger than God, I hush way up.
So I'm making an effort to overcome this.
About the song: I recently started a web page about music I like. I've made an effort, in compiling the list so far, to think about which artists I can identify as influences in my own writing and performing. There's a lot of music that I love but which doesn't seem to have much to do with what I do. (I've already identified one error in this process--Deb Talan has had more effect on me than I thought.)
After I put the page together, I realized I'd left out the Beatles. I suspect I've been singing Beatles songs since the cradle. There are little Beatles quotes and references in half of my "original" lyrics. They run through the spine of my music. And yet--calling them an "influence" seems, not inaccurate, but vacuous, tautological. I realized tonight that it's because, from where I sit, they seem to run through the spine of everything. The fact that I'm a part of that everything felt too obvious to say out loud.
Anyway, I was inspired to go ahead and learn "Dear Prudence" by the gorgeous instrumental treatment on jazz pianist Brad Mehldau's Largo. They run through everything.
Best thing of the night: Someone named Bethany, who sang three originals with passion and skill. Special Jury Prize: A guy named Jim, who played songs by Low, Ween, and Radiohead. These are unusual choices for the Espresso Garden crowd, but he played them well.
I started this phase of my musical career on the mandolin, but lately I've been focusing on the guitar, and I've realized my mandolin is starting to feel neglected. So tonight I took it out for a night on the town.
My first song was "Tomorrow Morning", by The Blue Nile. I haven't played this in public for a long time. It's a little high for me, and its semi-retirement began around the time I realized I sound like I have a cold when I sing it, but also because the lyrics at the end don't mean anything to me. I don't know how to sing them with conviction, but I felt uncomfortable just leaving them out. But the other night I found a live recording, and Paul Buchanan didn't sing those words either, so I felt liberated.
"Tomorrow Morning" used to be the happiest song I knew how to play, although its first line is "This may not last until tomorrow", and, as allmusic.com points out, even the Blue Nile's cheeriest songs are shadowed by "the underlying fear that it will all go bust." Then again, allmusic believes that the bassist for Scottish synth-pop trio The Blue Nile is Robert "Kool" Bell, of And The Gang fame.
Next up was "Out of the Woods", by Irish singer-songwriter Sinead Lohan. It's a beautiful song, which I first learned from a Nickel Creek arrangement in three-part harmony. I sang it solo once, and then convinced Kristina to sing lead so I could sing harmony, which meant switching to a different key and a different instrument (mandola). Tonight was, I think, the second time I've sung it solo. I think I'm going to turn this song back into one of mine.
I completed my tour of the British Isles with the Beatles' "Dear Prudence", which is only the third time I've performed a song that a lot of people know. (The other two were an a cappella version of the Everly Brothers' "When Will I Be Loved" and Duke Ellington's "Don't Get Around Much Anymore" on piano.) This was an experiment for me in several ways: I was singing out louder than usual, which meant I was standing farther from the mike, and, oh, by the way, I was standing, it was a well-known song, and, you know, it's so happy! I thought it went well. A few people commented that it was out of character--the loudness, I mean--but in a good way.
Part of the reason I sing quietly is, well, I sing a lot of songs that should be quiet. It's a mood I'm drawn to. But also, I'm just easily frightened by loud noises. I have trouble vacuuming because when I turn on the vacuum cleaner, even though you'd think I'd be expecting it, I jump. So, likewise, if I get up on stage and I open my mouth and something comes out of a speaker behind me that's bigger than God, I hush way up.
So I'm making an effort to overcome this.
About the song: I recently started a web page about music I like. I've made an effort, in compiling the list so far, to think about which artists I can identify as influences in my own writing and performing. There's a lot of music that I love but which doesn't seem to have much to do with what I do. (I've already identified one error in this process--Deb Talan has had more effect on me than I thought.)
After I put the page together, I realized I'd left out the Beatles. I suspect I've been singing Beatles songs since the cradle. There are little Beatles quotes and references in half of my "original" lyrics. They run through the spine of my music. And yet--calling them an "influence" seems, not inaccurate, but vacuous, tautological. I realized tonight that it's because, from where I sit, they seem to run through the spine of everything. The fact that I'm a part of that everything felt too obvious to say out loud.
Anyway, I was inspired to go ahead and learn "Dear Prudence" by the gorgeous instrumental treatment on jazz pianist Brad Mehldau's Largo. They run through everything.
Best thing of the night: Someone named Bethany, who sang three originals with passion and skill. Special Jury Prize: A guy named Jim, who played songs by Low, Ween, and Radiohead. These are unusual choices for the Espresso Garden crowd, but he played them well.