Tonight in the café of Minard, I’ll sing Forty-Five Years, an exquisite love story.  May I be with the audience throughout, with my brain off on a coffee break.  May I see the people sitting in front of me, and reach out with my soul to touch them with lyrics such as these:

Now the summer city lights
Will soften the night
Till you’d think that the air is clear
And I’m sitting with friends
Where forty-five cents
Will buy another glass of beer

He’s got something to say
But I’m so far away
That I don’t know who I’m talking to
‘Cause you just walked in the door
And Honey, all I see is you

My memory has had moments of suspicion lately, such as forgetting to look in drawers for my clothes before leaving an Airbnb.

Pair that with my commitment to memorize songs … so that my eyes meet those of the audience.  No gazing down at my phone.

Two things are difficult for me in Forty-Five Years:

1.  Remembering the first line.  Without that I’ll just be standing there smiling.

Where the earth shows its bones of wind-broken stone

Woh.  “Wind-broken”.  It doesn’t come naturally.  I’ve practiced a lot.  And still the first line rarely flows.  But I will be on that stage tonight, remembering instantly … or not.

2.  Figuring out the pitch of the first note.  Forty-Five Years comes really close to touching the lowest note I can sing, and the highest.  Most songs don’t ask that much of me.

Right now, I don’t want to rely on external aids, such as an app that would give me the starting note.  No words to the audience in the realm of “I’m trying to get this right.”  Just get up there, tell a little story about the song, and …

Sing!

What a fine challenge.  Hit the first note, so I can reach the upcoming really low note, and the high ones later. 

***

This I know …

Tonight the singing will go well

Or not so well

And I will smile thereafter