I went to a fun audition today. It was fun because I got to dress like myself (like myself at a music festival, in fact) and wail on some Janis. Like, no restrictions. No 'too much facial tension' 'too many unspecific hand movements' 'what was your action on that last phrase?' No no, musical theatre people, that's not how it goes on the world of blues and psychedelia. Noone gave a shit if Janis Joplin looked down when she sang, or took a catch breath, or rasped or fried at the end of notes. It was very liberating for me. I love singing musical theatre material but there is a lot that is suited well to an American style, nasally-placed, pingy sound that I and most of my fellow foreigners just don't possess naturally though it can be imitated. So, no perfect poppy Broadway show-child belt but goshdarnit I have a hefty set of lungs. Must be all that time I've spent singing against a stack of amps supporting 7 or 8 bands members.
Also when I think about it I knew all the words to Hoochie Coochie Man around the same time as I first knew the words to Spice Girls songs. When I was 8. So there's an inevitability (is that a word) about this? Fun to think.
I am out of reading material and I dislike it. I finally ploughed through Dracula and it's long-winded but very interesting introduction. Freudian messages, everywhere.
And I have a Virginia Woolf in my bag that I pick up, read a few pages, get distracted and cannot pick up where I left off so I have to surrender for the time being and I have the distinct feeling that every time that happens, the book is laughing at me. I will conquer it in time.
Raspberry sorbet, outxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx