L. Cohen tells the story of being driven to his first big gig – may have been Newport – by his lawyer (he had a lawyer already?) and fretting aloud that it soon would be revealed that he couldn’t sing.
‘None of you guys can sing’, the lawyer said. ‘If I want singing I go to the opera.’
Minus the lawyer part, and the Newport part, I’ve been there.
But the thing is, I’m surrounded by a band who insists – within reason – that indeed I can sing. Not operatically, but – depending on the part, the key – passably.
This came to a head a couple of weeks ago, at our first rehearsals in Wales for the upcoming Caldera tour.
At some point Gregory says, ‘Let’s try you on vocals.’ I balked. To encourage me, Lisa says, ‘You sound like Willie Nelson. Some.’ Now these two can flat out sing. This is how you find out if you can: proximity to the real thing. Microphones are ruthless revelator spirits. Aside from the obvious visuals, they don’t let you pretend. They say, ‘Well friend, this is what you sound like. And it ain’t Willie Nelson.’ (Not that there’s anything wrong …)
After a neurodegeneration diagnosis, performance anxiety is chump change, frankly speaking. Fuggit, I said to my timidity. I just gave it a go. I think I may have added something in the order of the third part to a couple of things. To be honest, it was a thrill. Not the Willie Nelson part. The part where real singers give you a nod, mid-verse. Just a nod. And then they keep singing.
It was like joining a motorcycle gang. Or a crew of vikings.
I haven’t got a ‘thanks anyway’ slip yet, so I think I’m in.
Even with that blip in mind, I have to tell you that the rehearsals were just magic. We’d never heard these songs up on their feet, everybody in. They were born almost whole. They were sure of their footing. They were nosing the perimeter for a crowd to give themselves to.
Life is alive when you get to move all your stuff into somewhere you genuinely long after, and your longing deepens. That’s what my Grief and Mystery companions have given me, again: a place to love being alive in. Out loud. And that’s how we’ll be bringing this clutch of love songs and elegies and odes to you: out loud.
Stephen Jenkinson
Founder of Orphan Wisdom
