“I’m singing at Minard tonight”

“Woh” is often the spoken or unspoken response.  “You are?”

The person is suitably impressed, with an image like this in their mind:

The Minard concert hall in Gent

Their praise dampens some when I admit that I’m actually singing in the café attached to the concert hall.  Still a lovely space … but much smaller.

I love the oval bar in the centre of the room, and the chandelier.  I love walking up onstage and letting the sounds come.

Last night I sang “The Snows of New York”, with lines such as …

You have always been such a good friend to me
Through the thunder and the rain
And when you’re feeling lost in the snows of New York
Lift your heart and think of me

When I think of Minard yesterday, I’m proud of two things:

1.  There’s a chorus, and I told the audience that I’d teach them the words.  Voilà:

Lah, lah, lah, lah, lah, lah …

People laughed.

2.  My two biggest challenges in singing are remembering the first line and remembering the first note.  The second provided me with a moment of revelation last night.

If my first note is too high, I won’t be able to hit later notes that are a lot higher.  Too low, and the really deep notes later will be beyond me.

So … the revelation:

I sang the first two notes and something in my unconscious brain said No!  No analysis, just an urge to stop.  In my mind, I went up a whole tone and let the first line spill out …

I can see you now by the light of the dawn

And all was well

I sang well, and that was nice.  The applause was warm.  But the thrill was somehow feeling the “too low” and then rising, unaccompanied by my conscious mind.

Such a mystery, this life