Under The Influence
I posted this pic on FB last week. The caption was: My 2 favorite things Vodka and Vocals. It elicited a bunch of “Woohoos” and also “be careful about singing when you’re buzzed”….
So I thought I’d take a deeper dive here.
For those of you who are sober … RESPECT. This blog may not be for you. Then again, it may still be a fun read.
A few years ago when I was singing really hard/every day — in the process of making an album … I had a vocal hemorrhage. Prolly cuz I never really learned to sing correctly. I’m aware it’s not too late. But it kinda IS. Or … maybe I just don’t care about being a star or getting a record deal or singing my ass off enough to do the work and put in the time in order to ... “sing correctly.” But that was a decision. If I wanted to take myself more seriously, it would be different story. Put a pin in that.
I smoked a lot of weed in my 20s. When I was a waitress I took a few hits in the morning before slinging lunch at the Grand Hyatt and then another hit on my break before cocktail hour. I was a totally functional multi-tasking goddess. I could take an order, put a dupe at the bar, deliver plates up the arm and cash someone out all at the same time. But I was 23. That ain’t happening anymore. Now all I want when I’m high is a salted dark-chocolate bar or a long hot long shower or a nap or … I want to write a song.
And when do I notice my mind is definitely more open. I take chances. Un-chart territory. Sometimes I write something eff-ing amazing. I wake up the next day and I can’t believe myself. BUT there are those mornings I listen back and am mortified. What was I thinking last night? That’s the chance I take. But here’s the thing. I’m ok with that. I have to be willing to accept that some days I’m going to wake up and be really embarrassed.
There’s that.
Then there’s the vodka. I’m under no illusions. Booze will not give me better pitch. And it will not fix my pocket. It won’t make me more creative.
In the pic I posted I was punching a line. A few words. At home. I have been to sessions where a new co-writer walks in intoxicated or high beyond and I’m like … really? Not cool. I would never!
Thing is I have this maddening tea kettle whistling in my ear. It hasn’t gone away. And it may NEVER go away. That’s the reality. I’m meditating like I have for years but I’m doing it more. I’m doing yoga. Keeping super busy so I don’t think too much about it. I AM still hopeful that it’ll subside but I’m slowly making peace with the idea that it won’t. Until further notice. Acceptance. I’m not in pain. I don’t have cancer. So …
In order to not focus not on it I wake up and write down my schedule for the day because if I don’t I’ll fixate on the hiss. Then I follow that schedule to a T: when am I going to the market. When I’m returning that phone call. When I’ll work on lyrics. Go to the gym. Every hour accounted for. Extreme time management if you will. Ironically I’ve been more productive than I’ve been in years! It’s something I may continue doing regardless of whether this ring stays around or not. I realize how much of a procrastinator I’ve been. Tasks and promises slip thru the cracks.
And then at 5PM it’s Gummie time. Or Martini time. A reward for getting through another day of this insanity in my head.
With this new development I’ve been re-assessing. I want to put less pressure on myself. I’m more interested in resting on my laurels. I’ve never been ‘that singer.’ I’ll never be that singer no matter how hard I train. I don’t have the equipment. The lungs. There’s acceptance there too.
I know a lot of you will say “I love your voice, Shelly. Of course you can sing!” Thank you. I love my voice too — when I’m singing MY songs my way. But I’m not gonna cut the bring-down-the-house number for the musicalS I’m working on (now there’s 2!) I won’t sell it. I’m more than happy to hire someone to hit the notes. But if it’s 5pm and I’m punching a line on a demo? Pour me a drink. 😳
As for writing songs under the influence, it changes your judgement. It just does. That said, I’m all for it as long as you're not too invested. As long as you're willing to wake up the morning-after and forgive yourself for the sin of thinking you were a genius the night before when in fact you were a fool. For believing that the turd you wrote was gold. But the thing is … sometimes it is … Gold.
That’s my story.
What’s yours?
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