We finally rehearsed last night! We managed to get through four songs and then my voice started to sound like a bugle full of wall paper paste and we had to stop. I think that I need my tubes clearing out and a bit of vocal exercise. Monica, charming girl that she is, said “You sing worse then I play the bass.” What a sweetie.
We still know what we are doing though; it is just a case of getting the muscle and sinew to twitch at the preferred moments. I don’t know if all singers suffer from it but my throat seems to gunk up pretty quickly if I’m not singing regularly. I seem to recall that milk makes you gooey. I suppose I shall have to forgo my cups of tea and start consuming black coffee again. Ah, the delicious shakes and wobbly eyes of extreme caffeine saturation.
Planned set list for the 1st of December runs thusly:
1. Cloud
2. What kind of rock
3. Hotel whose name I forget
4. Night
5. Lay it down
6. Jaw
7. Any/All/Some
8. All my life I give you nothing you want more
9. Car Crash
That way you can count them off on your fingers and know when the one you hate is coming up and go and kick a puppy or slap a monk or something.
I was contacted by my old friend Olson via Myspace the other day. I have not heard from him in years and years so it was very nice to get a message from him. I was in my very first band with him, many many moons ago, when heap plenty sunrises had yet to startle tardy grave robber. He was the fellow who would play golf with a run up. We would escape from school and play pool all day long and of an evening would drive around the countryside and eat kebabs in the Roman amphitheatre. We even had a car crash together. Happy days.
Maybe he will come and read the blog. Maybe he will leave a message. Maybe he will tell you all just how cool I really am. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t tell you all how cool I really am now I come to think of it…..
6 comments:
Maybe during the times your voice takes on the old bugle/wallpaper paste quality, you could go out as a Bob Dylan tribute act. That would be fun apart from having to sing his bloody songs.
Yeah, that would be a heap of fun wouldn't it. A great big bag of broken glass fun.
It maybe a symptom of the killer weed, of course? Gunking isn't a problem that all singers get, and although milk will cause problems you would probably have to drink several gallons of tea to coat your throat sufficiently to temoprarily fuck your voice up.
The other problem with black coffee is that, unlike tea, it makes your breath all stinky and women run away from you rather than wanting to put your bits inside them and go jiggle-jiggle.
I stopped drinking black coffee and started drinking tea for that exact reason. Now the wife just runs away from me because I look like the elephant man's uglier brother. Ho hum.
Yackars! You am the ugly.
Just had a rehearsal and got to song number 5 before Monica told me to stop, which is progress. I asked "was I out of tune?"
Her reply: "Not out of tune, more tune-less."
Sweet.
I like Monica.
She funny.
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