it's all talk
11.17.2003
When Jay said we were going to practice "in the hall," I thought he meant the hallway outside of our rehearsal room. But he meant Crowell Concert Hall - so much for being nervous.
"Good morning," I speak out to 500 empty seats. My voice chimes off of the back wall and returns to me. Jay comes from stage left, music stand in hand for my lead sheets. "This is not a crutch, remember that," he says as he gestures to the stand. "Now, introduce each tune, sing through it once to get a feel, then a second time through, scat a chorus, and bring it out." Jay heads up the stairs of the auditorium to the furthest row, and takes a seat in the middle, right in front of the hall's sound board.
I start to sing. "Open your eyes!" he calls down to me. I can't believe he can see me that well from all the way up at the top.
My impromptu concert - Lullaby of Birdland, Almost Like Being in Love, Ain't Misbehavin, You'd be so Nice to Come Home to - lasted about a half hour start to finish, going over tunes under Jay's direction, I standing in the middle of the vast hardwood stage belting a capella to my single fan. In the past, even when the mics, fellow musicians, and sheet music all disappears, I've always still had my piano. Now I'm not allowed to touch it.
Recently, accordign to Jay, any comping I play is "too busy," and so I am forced to play skeleton chords, on downbeats only, while I sing. This exercise is more than frustrating, but it helps. But, I'm still hearing what I want to play, anyway, and that certainly isn't cheating. I really can't help it.
So when I'm up on stage by myself, acting a little nervous and fidgety, not knowing what to do with my hands, not knowing where to direct my eyes, I hear the band playing behind me anyway. I hear the horn parts that I would arrange on the breaks and the dynamic shifts the band would take at the bridge. The changes aren't being played aloud, but I can scat over them anyway.
As we walk back to our rehearsal room, I tell Jay with a laugh that "I could get a hang of this."
He replies, simply, "Good."
The look he gives me is more along the lines of "You'd better, Miss."
¶ 12:00
"Good morning," I speak out to 500 empty seats. My voice chimes off of the back wall and returns to me. Jay comes from stage left, music stand in hand for my lead sheets. "This is not a crutch, remember that," he says as he gestures to the stand. "Now, introduce each tune, sing through it once to get a feel, then a second time through, scat a chorus, and bring it out." Jay heads up the stairs of the auditorium to the furthest row, and takes a seat in the middle, right in front of the hall's sound board.
I start to sing. "Open your eyes!" he calls down to me. I can't believe he can see me that well from all the way up at the top.
My impromptu concert - Lullaby of Birdland, Almost Like Being in Love, Ain't Misbehavin, You'd be so Nice to Come Home to - lasted about a half hour start to finish, going over tunes under Jay's direction, I standing in the middle of the vast hardwood stage belting a capella to my single fan. In the past, even when the mics, fellow musicians, and sheet music all disappears, I've always still had my piano. Now I'm not allowed to touch it.
Recently, accordign to Jay, any comping I play is "too busy," and so I am forced to play skeleton chords, on downbeats only, while I sing. This exercise is more than frustrating, but it helps. But, I'm still hearing what I want to play, anyway, and that certainly isn't cheating. I really can't help it.
So when I'm up on stage by myself, acting a little nervous and fidgety, not knowing what to do with my hands, not knowing where to direct my eyes, I hear the band playing behind me anyway. I hear the horn parts that I would arrange on the breaks and the dynamic shifts the band would take at the bridge. The changes aren't being played aloud, but I can scat over them anyway.
As we walk back to our rehearsal room, I tell Jay with a laugh that "I could get a hang of this."
He replies, simply, "Good."
The look he gives me is more along the lines of "You'd better, Miss."
¶ 12:00
