Sunday, June 14, 2009

There's a song that's inside of my soul

(Pre-Script: This post harmonizes and accessorises well with the song, "Only Hope, #49 on the playlist, so go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading...or the entire post just won't "look" right...or "sound" go ahead, I'll wait...OH, and when 49 is over, click on song #51, it's perfect for practicing your shower/car/interpretive dance/etc. Trust me.) (...still waiting...)**

As a Professional Sociologist*, I would describe Santa Cruz, California style as Surfer/Hippy/Rasta/Hemp-is-natural-so-are-dread-locks-so-am-I meets designer jeans and flip flops. The more tattoos the merrier. I delight in watching a culture's cultural dress and accessories. It's about as fun as when you are singing in the car and you go over a bumpy spot and the vibrations of the car cause your voice to have a vibrato to it that other people's voices have naturally, or because they have trained their voices through years of vocal practice and singing lessons. Don't you just love that? I love that. Especially when you are alone in the car, with no pitch perfect musician friends or offspring in the car who roll their eyes and tell you that you do not sound good, in a variety of words, and groaning too deep for words.
I am a recovered childhood solo and duet singer, forced to sing on stage by my parents and choir directors when I was too young to speak up for myself, say no, or no thank you, or please oh please do not make me do this, or tell them I didn't mind doing the group numbers but the individual numbers were killing my sense of self worth. So I sang the dang blasted solos. I think a lot of kids sing the dang blasted solos and their parents tell them how great they are, because they are soooo cute, and little kids don't have to sound good, anyway, they get by on the fact that they are cute little kids, there is no skill involved there, unless they can stop their own personal time clocks, then it would be a skill. The problem is when the compliments get into a kids head in such a way that he or she believes that these compliments apply to his or her adult voice, as well, when in fact, it may not. It probably does not. Usually it does not. You can never go by the sound you hear with your own ears, that is not at all accurate. No sir. To your own ears, you sound just like the guy on the radio, especially the louder you get. You forget that the rest of the world does not live inside your ears.
Here's the thing: I do not mind bad singing in and of itself. I think that bad singing makes for the best kind of karaoke. I just mind bad singing by people who think they are singing well. I know a person who loudly sings through his or her nose, and thinks it's a good sounding singing voice. I know, because I have heard him or her brag about his or her great singing voice. Well, guess what, he or she sings through his or her nose. Enough said. And if you are the paranoid type, no I am not talking about you, or you, or that person you think I am talking about. I am talking about someone else entirely whom you could never even fathom in your wildest dreams, so just forget about it already, Oh, forget I even said that, gosh.

And stop taking yourself so seriously, sometimes.

To make up for that last paragraph, I will now confess embarrassing truths about myself: I make up stupid interpretive dance moves to go with the songs I am badly singing loudly in the car as I drive to Santa Cruz...and guess what, judging by the blank stares of the other drivers stuck at the red lights next to me, my inner Professional Sociologist* observes that even in an "anything goes" kind of culture, there is still an expected form of "norm." There is still a vibe, and when you don't jive to the vibe, it is apparent that apparently, you've been singing in the shower to the beat of your own drum. Sing it out, baby, sing it loud and proud. Snap your fingers, even, I do that too, just...don't kid yourself, okay hot stuff? You are only as good as you are.



*I'm not really a Sociologist, I just play one whenever I'm ...anywhere that I am.
**This picture was taken in Santa Cruz. If you can identify the exact location, you will win a special prize.***
***(Special Prize subject to change based on the author's whim at the time of the decision making.)


vic-a-la said...

parking lot at moran lake/a.k.a. 26th ave beach?!
do i win a prize?

Michelle said...

Thanks for playing along, Vic, but no.

Kevin said...

Especially when you are alone in the car, with no pitch perfect musician friends or offspring in the car who roll their eyes and tell you that you do not sound good, in a variety of words, and groaning too deep for words.


Hypothetically, right?

Michelle said...

Kevin, yes, and literally, too.

vic-a-la said...

drat. how bout nisene?

Michelle said...

Vic, wrong again.

Derek said...

Harvey West Park on the path between the train and the old cemetary? I wasn't there with you, but am I right?

What's nisene? Some locals only hot spot?

Michelle said...

Derek, sadly, even you are wrong. You are close, though. And yes, Vic, please tell us about this marvelous mysterious nisene place. Sounds like a medication to me.