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R. Linda:
I had this dream that I was doing duets with Whitney Houston. We were on tour and we found ourselves in Los Angeles. She had on a sparkly dress that made her look like she was being squeezed out of a tube of toothpaste, me, for some reason, was wearing shredded at the knees jeans with work boots and a flannel shirt, very New Hampshire. Why I couldn't see me in a tuxedo, I have no clue, but anyway there we were, the lights dimmed to spotlights on us both, the crowd noisy. SHE was busy standing behind me where the band was, sipping something that looked suspiciously like vodka. I was at the front mic with the front row pawing at me boots, and the people in that immediate vicinity were telling me to "Get on with it, SING!"
I turned around and she had taken a gulp that was still in her mouth, one hand holding her mic, the other holding the glass with her forefinger stuck up at me as she nodded she was coming. But she didn't, she put the glass down and stared at the back of the wall behind the band. Meanwhile, the front rows were getting restless. I felt panic, so I started to croon, well you couldn't call it crooning exactly, more like moaning on me part, but hey it was sound wasn't it?
"Iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiii iiiiiiiii willlllll alwayzzzzzzzzz luvvvvvvvv Uuuuuuu ooooo ooooo . . . " Yes, I did, I was trying with no help from the songstress, and this for a split second quieted the crowd until they all started putting their fingers in their ears to blot me out. Others were giving me the thumbs down sign and booing. I thought I saw Randy Jackson just in front of me and hell yeah it was Randy Jackson booing me.
"Dawg, you're pitchy." He shouted up at me.
I gave a shrug and looked back to see where SHE was and she was still staring at the back wall. Nothing to do, but keep embarrassing meself, so I tried again and Randy was shaking his head and looking down like I was wasting me no talent time.
"Hey Dawg, try this, Iiiiiiii willlll alwayssssss loveeeee youuuuu oooooo . . . come on try it Dawg," he said trying to help me sorry self out.
I started again and someone shouted out they paid good money for the concert and if all I was going to do was sound like Jason Alexander on helium I should go out back and shoot meself and do the world a favour.
WELL! That put me into more of a slight determination to prove them wrong, but my next attempt was "Still pitchy Dawg," so I decided to stand there and talk to the audience until SHE could get her stuff together and slink over to centre stage in that sparkly dress to where she might actually sing in front of her or rather OUR audience.
"You know, it's been me experience that when a crowd gets together we all should have some fun. So have ya heard the one about the Irishman who leaves the pub?"
The crowd razzed me for that, with shouts of "Come on!" "Get real." "Yeah, that'll be the day."
"Hey it could happen . . . really," I said.
They weren't buying it and didn't want to hear me jokes. I glanced back at Whitney who was doing some strange shaking of her head, at first I thought it was at me attempt at humour but more like she was trying to clear her head. Oh what to do now, I couldn't be the only one standing there singing now could I? I didn't even know the blasted words. I sighed, there was nothing to be done but go back and join her. So I did, to the crowd yelling not very nice things at me retreating back. I picked up the bottled 'water' and poured meself a dram. I slugged it back and almost reeled over from the strength of it. I said to her in a hoarse whisper (as that was all I could manage after that slam) "What the hell is this?"
"Never mind. Let's go sing." And she lurched off leaving me choking and stumbling (more like crawling) behind her back to centre stage. She put her mic in front of her mouth and smiled at the faces anxiously looking up at her. She stood there slightly unsteady on her feet swaying like someone who had one too many.
"Where you from?" She asked someone in the front row. "You want an autograph?"
AUTOGRAPH? This is a concert not an autograph signing. I sighed and I caught Randy Jackson standing down there looking at me, his arms crossed over his chest, his look disapproving. "Come on Dawg, you know this ain't right," he said to me. Well, yeah I knew it wasn't right but she's the one that's supposed to be out front.
Suddenly, with no warning, she lifted her arms like she was exasperated and wonder of wonders, breaks out in song! Scared me she did. I thought she was going to slap me, but no, no she was croaking out the SIGNATURE song and I be playing catch up with me vocals but she was so froggy sounding, I found I be deepening me voice to go as low as she was, and then she springs a high note (sort of) and I have to rearrange me vocals again, and I find as she goes up and down the vocal scales in a very sketchy manner, I be physically reaching me notes on tippy-toes, then squatting to me knees for the low notes like some kind of human accordion. Did I look stupid, yeah I looked stupid and worse, she was hitting all sour notes and me too!
Randy Jackson was shaking his head vigorously at me and looking at the floor in disgust. Oh this was bad, I knew it was.
"Come on Dawg you can out sing her, you can do this!" Randy encouraged me.
OK, I said to meself, if Randy Jackson thinks I can out sing her then I will out sing her. So as she stumbles around on stage alternately talking and singing, AND signing autographs, I take up the refrain and like the Taiwanese fat boy who sang HER signature song better than she was, I belted it out. She looked over at me with a glassy eyed look like she was seeing me for the first time. I kept on going and I could hear Randy below me, "That's it Dawg, now you've got it, now you're the Sully I first knew."
I was about to reach me zenith THE high note, and who's standing next to a smiling and proud Randy Jackson, but none other than Adam Lambert, guy-liner and all.
"Yes! You go Sully," he raised a bedazzled fistful of ringed fingers from a leather and studded arm at me. "Make it count Sully, make it count! Give the crowd some drama and mean it," he shouted over the cheering crowd.
And like HER I got just before that big note and stopped for effect then just like Whitney, but not so drawn out, I raised me mic-less arm and brought it down with a flourish and belted out, "AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIII WILLLLLLLL ALWAYSSSSSSS LOVEEEEEE YOUUUUUU OOOOO OOOOO . . . " and the crowd went wild as Randy held his fist up over his head shouting, "Now that's what I'm talking about!" in honour of yours truly's non-pitchy performance and Adam was jumping up and down and hugging people around him and suddenly I felt me throat close up as Whitney wrapped her mic cord around me neck and started cutting off me air supply and worse, me best singing voice ever!
Then I woke up. SIGH.
Gabe
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I had this dream that I was doing duets with Whitney Houston. We were on tour and we found ourselves in Los Angeles. She had on a sparkly dress that made her look like she was being squeezed out of a tube of toothpaste, me, for some reason, was wearing shredded at the knees jeans with work boots and a flannel shirt, very New Hampshire. Why I couldn't see me in a tuxedo, I have no clue, but anyway there we were, the lights dimmed to spotlights on us both, the crowd noisy. SHE was busy standing behind me where the band was, sipping something that looked suspiciously like vodka. I was at the front mic with the front row pawing at me boots, and the people in that immediate vicinity were telling me to "Get on with it, SING!"
I turned around and she had taken a gulp that was still in her mouth, one hand holding her mic, the other holding the glass with her forefinger stuck up at me as she nodded she was coming. But she didn't, she put the glass down and stared at the back of the wall behind the band. Meanwhile, the front rows were getting restless. I felt panic, so I started to croon, well you couldn't call it crooning exactly, more like moaning on me part, but hey it was sound wasn't it?
"Iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiii iiiiiiiii willlllll alwayzzzzzzzzz luvvvvvvvv Uuuuuuu ooooo ooooo . . . " Yes, I did, I was trying with no help from the songstress, and this for a split second quieted the crowd until they all started putting their fingers in their ears to blot me out. Others were giving me the thumbs down sign and booing. I thought I saw Randy Jackson just in front of me and hell yeah it was Randy Jackson booing me.
"Dawg, you're pitchy." He shouted up at me.
I gave a shrug and looked back to see where SHE was and she was still staring at the back wall. Nothing to do, but keep embarrassing meself, so I tried again and Randy was shaking his head and looking down like I was wasting me no talent time.
"Hey Dawg, try this, Iiiiiiii willlll alwayssssss loveeeee youuuuu oooooo . . . come on try it Dawg," he said trying to help me sorry self out.
I started again and someone shouted out they paid good money for the concert and if all I was going to do was sound like Jason Alexander on helium I should go out back and shoot meself and do the world a favour.
WELL! That put me into more of a slight determination to prove them wrong, but my next attempt was "Still pitchy Dawg," so I decided to stand there and talk to the audience until SHE could get her stuff together and slink over to centre stage in that sparkly dress to where she might actually sing in front of her or rather OUR audience.
"You know, it's been me experience that when a crowd gets together we all should have some fun. So have ya heard the one about the Irishman who leaves the pub?"
The crowd razzed me for that, with shouts of "Come on!" "Get real." "Yeah, that'll be the day."
"Hey it could happen . . . really," I said.
They weren't buying it and didn't want to hear me jokes. I glanced back at Whitney who was doing some strange shaking of her head, at first I thought it was at me attempt at humour but more like she was trying to clear her head. Oh what to do now, I couldn't be the only one standing there singing now could I? I didn't even know the blasted words. I sighed, there was nothing to be done but go back and join her. So I did, to the crowd yelling not very nice things at me retreating back. I picked up the bottled 'water' and poured meself a dram. I slugged it back and almost reeled over from the strength of it. I said to her in a hoarse whisper (as that was all I could manage after that slam) "What the hell is this?"
"Never mind. Let's go sing." And she lurched off leaving me choking and stumbling (more like crawling) behind her back to centre stage. She put her mic in front of her mouth and smiled at the faces anxiously looking up at her. She stood there slightly unsteady on her feet swaying like someone who had one too many.
"Where you from?" She asked someone in the front row. "You want an autograph?"
AUTOGRAPH? This is a concert not an autograph signing. I sighed and I caught Randy Jackson standing down there looking at me, his arms crossed over his chest, his look disapproving. "Come on Dawg, you know this ain't right," he said to me. Well, yeah I knew it wasn't right but she's the one that's supposed to be out front.
Suddenly, with no warning, she lifted her arms like she was exasperated and wonder of wonders, breaks out in song! Scared me she did. I thought she was going to slap me, but no, no she was croaking out the SIGNATURE song and I be playing catch up with me vocals but she was so froggy sounding, I found I be deepening me voice to go as low as she was, and then she springs a high note (sort of) and I have to rearrange me vocals again, and I find as she goes up and down the vocal scales in a very sketchy manner, I be physically reaching me notes on tippy-toes, then squatting to me knees for the low notes like some kind of human accordion. Did I look stupid, yeah I looked stupid and worse, she was hitting all sour notes and me too!
Randy Jackson was shaking his head vigorously at me and looking at the floor in disgust. Oh this was bad, I knew it was.
"Come on Dawg you can out sing her, you can do this!" Randy encouraged me.
OK, I said to meself, if Randy Jackson thinks I can out sing her then I will out sing her. So as she stumbles around on stage alternately talking and singing, AND signing autographs, I take up the refrain and like the Taiwanese fat boy who sang HER signature song better than she was, I belted it out. She looked over at me with a glassy eyed look like she was seeing me for the first time. I kept on going and I could hear Randy below me, "That's it Dawg, now you've got it, now you're the Sully I first knew."
I was about to reach me zenith THE high note, and who's standing next to a smiling and proud Randy Jackson, but none other than Adam Lambert, guy-liner and all.
"Yes! You go Sully," he raised a bedazzled fistful of ringed fingers from a leather and studded arm at me. "Make it count Sully, make it count! Give the crowd some drama and mean it," he shouted over the cheering crowd.
And like HER I got just before that big note and stopped for effect then just like Whitney, but not so drawn out, I raised me mic-less arm and brought it down with a flourish and belted out, "AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIII WILLLLLLLL ALWAYSSSSSSS LOVEEEEEE YOUUUUUU OOOOO OOOOO . . . " and the crowd went wild as Randy held his fist up over his head shouting, "Now that's what I'm talking about!" in honour of yours truly's non-pitchy performance and Adam was jumping up and down and hugging people around him and suddenly I felt me throat close up as Whitney wrapped her mic cord around me neck and started cutting off me air supply and worse, me best singing voice ever!
Then I woke up. SIGH.
Gabe
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
