In my mind I am a great singer, although obviously OOAA. Others’ wrongness notwithstanding, I took the car out for the first time in weeks and found myself enjoying a tremendous sing-a-long to random Spotify tracks as I cruised the North Circular in my Nissan *wherever that river goes, that’s where I want to be* Qashqai. And I have to say it felt very good indeed. Liberating.
Now, the songs I sang – and I mean really sang – lent themselves not only to my unappreciated voice but also the instruments I had to hand: the steering wheel for beating out those drum fills or providing a keyboard to delicately finger my way through tinkly interludes, while all guitar breaks were sung with appropriate emoting sounds to recreate the wrenching of the artiste’s soul out from the fretboard. But what became clear is that some songs just demand (at gun point) they are sung the whole way through – no quick visit just to join a cheeky chorus – including as much instrumentation as possible around the lyrics, and requiring full vocal immersion technique. If you’re not drawing unwanted attention at the traffic lights, you’re not doing it right.