Perfectly Pitchless
I have music in my soul but not in my voice or body. If I could sing or dance, I would never write. Singing and dancing are fun, while writing is hard. Singing and dancing can be done with energy and enthusiasm. Writing requires quiet concentration. After my morning coffee, I cannot sit still. I turn on the radio. Music puts my soul on a melodic course when otherwise it might be screeching. I dance around my office.
Dancers don’t have offices. They have mirrored studios. Dancers begin at age three with pre-ballet or contemporary dance classes. Starting a dancing career at my age could be difficult. Over my life, I have fallen off the roof of the garage, been in a few fender-benders, and severely sprained my ankle playing tennis. My bruised and battered bones tell me when a storm is approaching. While I think I could do the Hokey Pokey or the Bunny Hop, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t dance Swan Lake or do onstage moves like Beyonce or Taylor Swift.
That leaves singing, which is also done to music–at least by most people. Kathy, my earliest childhood friend, discovered she had perfect pitch at age five. Her older sister Pattie sang in a locally famous quartet, The Four Flats. In a neighborhood filled with music, I started violin lessons on my grandfather’s polished violin. My teacher, Mr. Englehart, praised my instrument. According to him, most children brought “cigar boxes with strings” to their violin lessons. Despite my superb instrument, I played so badly that Mr. Englehart feared I suffered from hearing loss. He ordered the school district’s speech pathologist to test my hearing. I heard every beep, but still couldn’t play the violin on tune.
Needless to say, I couldn’t sing on key, either. I was born perfectly pitchless. Then I ruined what voice I had while cheerleading. My speaking voice is still fairly pleasant, but my singing voice is mulish and balky. It doesn’t obey commands and goes in any direction it pleases. It takes several tries to hit the note of the moment. By then, the moment has passed. My rendition of “Happy Birthday” has ruined countless birthday parties.
Given all of the above, it seems foolish to aspire to a singing career. Foggy singers and raspy singers have found great success in the music industry. But bad singers?
Jazz genius, Louis Armstrong, put aside his trumpet on occasion and sang such classics as A Kiss to Build a Dream On and A Foggy Day (in London Town). His voice, to be kind, must be described as “guttural.” People loved his singing because of the sheer force of his personality. Also, he sang on tune.
Rocker Rod Stewart, one of the best-selling artists of all time, is still touring. His voice is not getting any less gritty. After his fabulous early successes, he decided to record music from the Great American Songbook. Even though he sings in a softly husky voice, his take on this classic music is so good no one cares. As a general rule, though, I recommend rockers, rappers, and rhythm and blues singers record ballads in their prime years. There’s plenty of time for croaking later in life.
Now there’s a cure for the bad singer. Computer programs called “pitch correctors” can put a wandering voice back on pitch. Many singers and rock groups rely on the saving grace of the pitch corrector. Even the GarageBand app has pitch correction available. Apparently, one need only enter the correct key, say, the key of D Major, and the computer program puts what’s off key, on key. Even live performers can filter their singing through the pitch-correcting computer.
Technology can’t make bad singers glorious singers, but it can make bad singers okay singers. Never again need I fear karaoke bars or hootenannies. Bad singers such as I can record a CD, run it through the pitch corrector, and then carry a boombox with me at all times. When the occasion calls for it, I can play my pitch-perfect version of Happy Birthday, the Star-Spangled Banner, or Me and Bobby McGee. While it wouldn’t exactly be a career, it might satisfy my musical soul so that I could sit still and write.