THE DOG'S BOLLOCKS
Do you ever think about a memory from your past and actually cringe? I mean physically shrink inside yourself from embarrassment, and yet, thankfully with time you’ve been able to laugh about it…sort of. You are wondering what I’m talking about aren’t you? Okay, fine, I’ll tell you (one of) mine, if you tell me yours (email is sufficient).
I was scheduled to sing with my father at a wedding in London. Back then I was performing with him quite a lot; we had a duet we’d sing together and it was one of those songs that was always a crowd pleaser. It was sentimental, melodically beautiful, and people are always keen to watch a dad and daughter sing to one another. Either that or break into a fight on stage, these days I'm sure that would sell a lot of tickets.
So on this night, we were due to sing for this couple’s first dance. The venue was a ritzy hotel on Park Lane and the crowd apparently was the cream of the crop – let’s just say there were a lot of people in that room who spoke like they had marbles in their mouths, including Prince Charles. Yes, that Prince Charles. Don’t get me wrong, this is not usual fare for me, in fact, the only royalty I come into contact with is The King of course (that is my 9 month old son for those of you just joining us) and Queen Krazy Two Teeth – as I call her - who hangs out in front of our local McDonalds selling The Big Issue (a magazine where the proceeds go to the homeless). The last time I passed her, she was selling the ‘royal’ issue in honor of the wedding, and claimed that Prince William was a homosexual. Apparently it was her big exclusive that she was sharing with London.
Sorry, I digress, back to my humiliation. To make matters even more nerve wracking that evening (of course I was determined not to let this show), I had just started dating this guy, and I had invited him to come and watch me sing. I figured it’d be a great way to show off and make sure he new I was the dog’s bollocks – as they say over here. Little did I know.
So, the time came for me to make my entrance and join my father onstage. The bride and groom had taken the center of the floor and the music was seconds from starting. For those of you not up on these things, sometimes performers use backing tracks that accompany the band – no, my father does NOT lip sync, calm down; in this case, my father did not bring his full band, so the track had certain instrumentation on it, backup vocals from the mighty Barry Gibb, and served as a melodic guide for the song that the band would accompany.
Needless to say, after hearing the first few notes of the track a hundred times, I knew this song like the back of my hand. As the song began, and I took my first steps on stage in a hideously long and cumbersome dress, I immediately had that feeling. You know, that feeling of absolute dread when you realize that everything that is about to happen is going to truly suck and there is not much you can do about it. In short, it quickly dawned on me that the backing track was in the wrong key – more importantly, NOT my key. With every step I took towards my father, I sunk further into a state of panic, as I realized that in a second I had a choice, start the song an octave lower and sound like Barry White, or an octave higher and sound like a dying cat. I chose door number two for some reason, pasted a smile on my face and proceeded to warble the first few words in a high-pitched whisper.
The look on my dad’s face was pretty darn priceless. He knew full well what was going on, and his expression was a mixture of ‘you can do this,’ and ‘OH, please pull this off cause the couple really wants to remember their first dance in a fond light and my name is on the line here!’ So for the rest of the verse I became one of those ‘talk singers,’ you know the ones that don’t really sing, they just talk in a sing song manner hoping it passes for singing. By the time the chorus came, my utter mortification had carried out a mutiny on my vocal chords, and all my singing experience up to that point went right out the window. Thank god my dad sings like a champ and covered me up for the rest of the song; I have to say I’ve never been so thankful to be overshadowed in my life.
Needless to say when I got off stage I was looking for the newly hired sound tech (who was responsible for playing the wrong track) eager to give him a piece of my mind. A BIG piece. Of course, fully enraged in a large poufy skirt is not a good mix, and to put a cherry on top of my nightmare sundae, I made a graceful exit off stage by tripping and almost falling face first into a pile of cables. My boyfriend - who I almost forgot about - was standing in the wings with a slightly fearful look on his face, whilst of course was doing his best to look impressed by my singing prowess.
I spent the rest of the night swearing like a sailor and claiming to my boyfriend that really, I could sing, I swear (I can. Really. :-) . My dad of course said that next time I should’ve just stopped the song and told the sound guy to restart it with a wink and a smile. Yeah, sure, that would’ve gone over real well. Maybe the pro could pull a move like that, but not the rookie. The rookie chokes and has a good story to tell her kids one day.
No wonder my invite to sing at the royal wedding got lost in the mail. I should've known.