Hi! Do you remember blogs? Well, this used to be one. Now it just serves as an archive for my multiple Twitter accounts.
Regular readers of my blog, of my blog’s comments, and of some other (French) may have understood that I spent the night… no, I cannot write that. It’s not that I’m ashamed, not at all (well, there wouldn’t be any reason to be, but I’m just not), not that I can’t confess it, but just that… I can’t believe it myself. And yet. I accepted gVgVssE’s invitation in my comments (an invitation I had thoroughly requested, I must say) and spent four hours in a karaoke bar. And I sang. I know, I know, anyone who knows me can’t believe that. But it’s not the biggest part of it.
First a duet (Sweet Dreams, and thanks to Manu for accepting to help me lose my virginity), then a solo (Véronique Sanson’s Rien que de l’eau). Yes, me, myself, alone at the mike, on stage (well, it’s a small pub, but it’s still a stage). And yet there’s even more incredible.
I sang, and…
And I just didn’t panic. I wasn’t under stress before I sang the first time—well, I knew we would sing together, and we could blame each other for the missed notes, it was quite a limited risk (and, besides, I know I’m good enough at Annie Lennox songs). But there was no stress either before I sang for the second time. Alone, on stage, in front of strangers, with lights in my face and a video feedback, singing a song I hadn’t heard in months and I didn’t really remember that well. And still, almost no stress. Let’s say, a little stress, but no fright, no panic at all. Me. The garoo. The one who couldn’t audibly address a saleswoman, say, ten years ago (and I’m being nice with myself here). The one who had never, ever, sung in front of someone five years ago. On stage, and no stress.
I don’t know about you, but I just can’t get over that. (Well, I do know about you, you’re getting over it very well thank you, but it’s my blog here, so what counts is my experience, right?) And it’s actually not the best part yet. The best part is that I hadn’t listened to Rien que de l’eau for something like years, I had no idea how high it went, I screwed up big time, and still I didn’t run away. First stanza two keys lower than the instrumental (which was light on instruments, actually I think I could have went on this way and not shock the audience), a moment of panic, but I managed to deal with it and tell myself that, since I was there, the only option I had was to go on. (Okay, this sounds lame, like I’m telling you how I overcame being the only survivor of a Boeing crash, and all I did was sing a damn song. But, hey, it’s a blog, so let’s be dramatic for a while.) And, so, the rest of the song on the right key (uh, at least I think so, though I couldn’t exactly swear it), but inevitably sprinkled with squeaks because I wasn’t prepared for going so high. And despite all this, I didn’t run away. I don’t know what my face looked like on the moment, but I know I helf up and managed not only to survive, but also to catch up and sing correctly in the end, which may well be the biggest achievement of all. (Well, I’m talking from my own judgment here, because according to gVgVssE it was fine from beginning to end, and there weren’t that many missed notes, so I’m inclined to reconsider his supposed melomania.) In short, I’m amazed. Let me write this in bold type: I’m amazed. Let me insist: I’M AMAZED AT MYSELF.
Oh, right, I forgot a detail: it did help that I started with a rhum-coke (and heavy on the rhum it was—or was it on the ice?). I’ll have to update my various profiles to admit to being a social drinker. I don’t plan on becoming an alcoholic at all—it’ll be at worst one rhum-coke per night at a karaoke bar or at a club, so it should be fine. But one rhum-coke isn’t supposed to be enough to lift all your inhibitions at once and, if I had been drunk, it would have been quite noticeable in my singing. And even though most other singers were just as alcoholized as I was, some of them did go through heaby stress. So it wasn’t the alcohol singing in front of thousands of peop… uh, in front of thirty people. It was me. It was the garoo (yeah, I decided to talk about myself by saying
the garoo, because it sounds cute—don’t worry, it probably won’t last long), who has unsuspected resources.
And it’s about time those resources get used.
P.S. I finally turn on the radio (I wrote this post in complete silence, so I could focus on auditive memories), and it’s playing Here Comes The Rain Again. Must be a sign.
P.S. Since I have to come back to my usual low self-esteem (it’s more and more evident that this feeling is much more present when I’m in my room, in front of my computer, so maybe I should consider taking the appropriate actions someday), I must say I feel a little (just a little?) lame for writing this ecstatic post just about having sung two songs in a karaoke bar. All I can do now is try and reassure myself with the thought that I know many people who wouldn’t have done it. Yeah. It does work.
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