Selling Out …

So I first started singing in public around my 29th birthday at a local jazz jam night and it had taken 28 years and 9 months to pluck up the courage to go for it.  Don’t get me wrong here: we aren’t talking Ronnie Scott’s – and we are certainly not talking attendance of 200 people.  Just a local jazz jam, at a clapped out old sports hall, with probably 15 attendees in total.  I remember that night and the weight it held in my mind. It was as though 29 years of dreaming, aspiring and hoping had culminated in this event: finally, I was living my dream. 

That night opened a door or two for me: but above all else, it was a great learning experience for me. For it taught me (and rather sadly) that the fear of failure had essentially stopped me from putting myself out there … from trying.  The safety of living in the fantasy was so deliciously comfortable and warm that I created many elaborate excuses to not pursue my dream.  And there I was, 29 years old … quivering like a wreck in a small village sports hall, nervously taking the mic for the very first time – having bypassed so many opportunities, and in some (very limited) circles was now considered ”too old” to pursue my dream as a singer.

That night was now nearly 3 years ago and I’ve come a long way since then – perhaps not on paper, but certainly emotionally.  My battle to overcome my fearful ways is an ongoing one and so powerful that for a very long time, I developed a sore throat whenever I sang two minutes of a song.  This lead me to various vocal tutors, and I even considered an ENT specialist – but ultimately it was a clever physiological response that I created through fear and to keep me in my warm, woolly haven of safety, of dreaming.  The possibility of greatness was far more alluring than the reality of trying. 

On paper, I’ve managed to sing at several jazz jams; learned the art of notating charts to my preferred key (and in a way so as not to p*** off elitist jazz musicians); sung at the Jamey Absersold School of Music, sung with various big bands, sung in pubs/restaurants and started accompanying myself on piano.  It’s not bad for a full-time accountant and part-time Acupuncture student.  But I’m still a pretty frustrated singer and haven’t quite got to where I want to be.  Perhaps the reason behind that, is that I’m not really quite sure where I want to go and in what direction. 

So, in a very weak moment a few months ago, I applied for the non-televised equivalent of “X-Factor”.  I sold out. Yessir. After years of berrating the X-Factor for its formulaic, money-spinning, “instant-coffee” notion of talent, I found myself merrily signing on the dotted line.  Why?  Yes why indeed.   My voice is by no means the Amy-Winehouseesque flavour of the month … in fact, my voice is well pretty vintage really and my musical tastes are pretty varied.  I’m certainly too old and a weighty UK size 10 for the girl band option (thankfully) and well … I’m different.  I’m certainly no mass-market product.

And last night’s X-Factor episode really draws home this point: these TV talent contests simply do not nurture talent.  Look at poor Leon Jackson, 2007’s X-Factor winner.  He won the show with his performances of Michael Buble’s re-inventions of the swing era.  Sadly, he’s not allowed to record these songs, because they don’t appeal to the masses (and the royalties of these well known songs would probably be too much of a profit dent in Simon Cowell’s pocket). 

One year on and his very first TV performance in months was in front of what will be essentially be this year’s winner – his biggest rival for the Xmas number one.   He gave a very stilted and uncomfortable performance: he was visibly crippled with nerves.  Why?  Onsite blogs seem to revel in their “I always thought he was crap anyway” comments: but in reality, its because he has not developed his artistry organically.  He’s been plucked out of his home town in his teens, and pummeled to overnight nationwide stardom and a number one Xmas single.  There is nowhere for Leon to go but down.  Who is going to care about this poor lad, a few years down the line when his CD is in the bargain basement at HMV?  Where’s Michelle McManus now? 

I digress. When I arrived for my audition, there were so many hopefuls, dolled up wandering around the hotel reception.  Some nervous young teenagers clinging hopefully to their parents.  For every Leon Jackson, there are thousands upon thousands of other hopefuls, whose musical dreams hinge upon these narrowly defined talent shows.  I ended up singing in front of three judges – just a couple of lines of “God Bless the Child”.  At the end of my offering, one of the judges told me to really “dirty the song up”.  Nice.  Particularly as its a song which is considered both “sacred and profane” (see Will Friedwald’s book:  Jazz Singing: America’s Great Voices from Bessie Smith to Bebop and Beyond)  lamenting the fact that religious belief seems to have no effect on people’s behaviour, and that you’re goddamn lucky if you’ve got your own money.  It was a rather inspired song choice in retrospect – perhaps I should have amended the lyrics: “God Bless the auditionee who’s got his own self-esteem”.  And I guess that’s why I’m giving it a shot.  I’m 31 now – and I’ve had enough life experience and musical experiences, to know deep down that win, loose or draw – this talent competition won’t make any difference to my musical aspirations or to me as a person.  Sure I might get a bit of a knock, but I’m strong enough in myself to take it.

So to cut a long story short: I got through.  Yay  me.  I get to sing in the regional finals – of which there are about 20 odd competitions and I think 1 person from each gets to sing in the finals.  The voting procedure is pretty suspect, not least from the fact that Jane MacDonald from the Cruise; Cheryl Baker; and a few other non-entities are doing the judging – but also from the fact that I have to sell tickets and that the audience also gets to vote.  I’ve emailed the organisers for more specifics, but well from the woolly answers I received – your guess is as good as mine, although I’m sure the sound “ch-ching” was the primary motivation.

I still don’t know if I’ll actually go for it in the regional finals … a stand against these formulaic TV talent shows, or another clever psychological avoidance tactic?  Hmmm, your guess is as good as mine … watch this space :-)