Since you asked… when I put a post on Facebook, I simultaneously crave the likes and feel deeply ashamed for craving them. I’m sorely disappointed when they don’t get any attention. And when I comment on someone’s post I’m bummed when they don’t “like” or respond (which is really awkward to write in a comment…)
I’m loving the videos you’ve been posting lately, I sometimes listen to them play on a loop for 20 or more minutes at a time. And then I wonder what that does to your metrics? Do you see a little spike or do I only count as one view? As I listen, I think that for at least a few minutes on that day you were feeling well enough to make music, and I feel happy for that.
You recorded this 11 months ago, but I didn't know you then and I didn't know about Substack. So, this is just a random essay about me and music. When I was five, I was determined that I was going to be a singer, a professional singer! At age six, my mother said, "You have to take piano lessons first." I kept singing, but I also took piano lessons. I took them for years. I never got out of the John Thompson 3rd grade music book. I didn't want to play the piano, I just wanted to sing. The music teacher and my mother kept telling me to wait, to improve on the piano, then sing. But I sang at home, I sang along with the record player, I sang in the church choir and I loved it. I didn't love the piano.
In Jr. High, I sang in the choruses.
In High School, I tried out for the chorus and was rejected. Iwas dropped from the special girls chorus at church. In college, as a Nursing student, I spent all of my free time with music students. They were great pals, but they never asked me to sing. The coffee house group appreciated what a great audience I was, but I didn't sing.
Once, a young man ( I was young then, too) entered my apartment building as I was waiting in the tiny foyer for a ride and as he passed he said hi. I responded hi and he stopped, turned to me and said, " What's wrong with your voice?" I just looked at him like he was from the moon.
Much later, when my older son was four years old, he turned to me in church and whispered, " Mommy, please don't sing any more."
Until then, I was forty-three at the time, no one ever told me that what I hear in my head is not the sound that comes out of my mouth. Somewhere, there is a complete disconnect between my brain and my vocal chords.
I learned from that and from a kind young folk singer, that musicians require an attentive audience and that I was really great at that.
Now that I know what part of the music world that I am great at, I am content. That brought me peace and joy.
Of course, at home, alone, I sing great duets with Andrea Bocelli, Jim Croce, and Woody Guthrie. No accolades, no positive feedback, just personal joy.
PS I still sing my personal repertoire of songs very quietly into the ear of babies. They don't seem to mind a bit.
You speak the truth. Yet you carry on as best you can because your music thumbs its nose at being told NO. We chronic-ers can take just so much before we push back and say, “no, you are not taking this away from me.” My illness keeps making my world smaller but no one is going to stop me from sitting at my desk and making art. It just takes longer. And that’s fine.
Hello!!!Your searching is familiar to me. Maybe a bit to all. The world is such a big place for our little selves. Each time I listen to you it pleases me that you are still you, the person who took a chance on me in our lovely choir. I have joined the choir where I live now and enjoy the spirit of the other members. You would like them even though we are full of white hair. Hope your week brings you joy!!!
I have to say, I ain’t got no craving for the digital likes. Think it’s best not to pick it up now. But I get it.
This time of year, it’s the open window I crave. Birdsong, an occasional bull frog sound open space and hold me.
Since you asked… when I put a post on Facebook, I simultaneously crave the likes and feel deeply ashamed for craving them. I’m sorely disappointed when they don’t get any attention. And when I comment on someone’s post I’m bummed when they don’t “like” or respond (which is really awkward to write in a comment…)
I’m loving the videos you’ve been posting lately, I sometimes listen to them play on a loop for 20 or more minutes at a time. And then I wonder what that does to your metrics? Do you see a little spike or do I only count as one view? As I listen, I think that for at least a few minutes on that day you were feeling well enough to make music, and I feel happy for that.
Have you in my ear walking in Newark, OH. 🌹
Love you, Hal! And yes, I feel the same as you!
First! ❤️
You recorded this 11 months ago, but I didn't know you then and I didn't know about Substack. So, this is just a random essay about me and music. When I was five, I was determined that I was going to be a singer, a professional singer! At age six, my mother said, "You have to take piano lessons first." I kept singing, but I also took piano lessons. I took them for years. I never got out of the John Thompson 3rd grade music book. I didn't want to play the piano, I just wanted to sing. The music teacher and my mother kept telling me to wait, to improve on the piano, then sing. But I sang at home, I sang along with the record player, I sang in the church choir and I loved it. I didn't love the piano.
In Jr. High, I sang in the choruses.
In High School, I tried out for the chorus and was rejected. Iwas dropped from the special girls chorus at church. In college, as a Nursing student, I spent all of my free time with music students. They were great pals, but they never asked me to sing. The coffee house group appreciated what a great audience I was, but I didn't sing.
Once, a young man ( I was young then, too) entered my apartment building as I was waiting in the tiny foyer for a ride and as he passed he said hi. I responded hi and he stopped, turned to me and said, " What's wrong with your voice?" I just looked at him like he was from the moon.
Much later, when my older son was four years old, he turned to me in church and whispered, " Mommy, please don't sing any more."
Until then, I was forty-three at the time, no one ever told me that what I hear in my head is not the sound that comes out of my mouth. Somewhere, there is a complete disconnect between my brain and my vocal chords.
I learned from that and from a kind young folk singer, that musicians require an attentive audience and that I was really great at that.
Now that I know what part of the music world that I am great at, I am content. That brought me peace and joy.
Of course, at home, alone, I sing great duets with Andrea Bocelli, Jim Croce, and Woody Guthrie. No accolades, no positive feedback, just personal joy.
PS I still sing my personal repertoire of songs very quietly into the ear of babies. They don't seem to mind a bit.
I don't make music or crave validation but I sure enjoy your creativity!
You speak the truth. Yet you carry on as best you can because your music thumbs its nose at being told NO. We chronic-ers can take just so much before we push back and say, “no, you are not taking this away from me.” My illness keeps making my world smaller but no one is going to stop me from sitting at my desk and making art. It just takes longer. And that’s fine.
I really need to hear this. It is very relatable. Thank you for saying the thing so many of us feel in our own way, but are too scared to voice.
Well I’m gonna say it anyway! I enjoyed the melody, and the vulnerability.
I also am with you with enjoying the validation, but I’m trying to be more intentional about it.
My coach celebrates everything, so I’m trying to too. Celebrating and really appreciating each like, new subscriber, and comment!
I also try to unshame these desires. Witness them instead.
We’re human, and you seem to have found one of the roots to this longing: the connection.
I’ve been finding connection online for decades when it sometimes didn’t feels safest to do in my life.
Gave me a lot to think about. Thanks, Hal.
How can i get a khaen for a reasonable price and good quality ?❤
Hello!!!Your searching is familiar to me. Maybe a bit to all. The world is such a big place for our little selves. Each time I listen to you it pleases me that you are still you, the person who took a chance on me in our lovely choir. I have joined the choir where I live now and enjoy the spirit of the other members. You would like them even though we are full of white hair. Hope your week brings you joy!!!
Thank you for coming in to our home this Sunday morning in Boise, Idaho, and filling it with lovely melodies and your wonderful, warm voice.