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favoritebean_writesSavannah had a voice that was small. Sometimes, you had to lean in to listen to her. The notes that emanated from her being were pure and clear, and that kept the listener at attention. Yet, she was not a showy singer at all. Even when she over sang, she didn’t stick out in a group.
Directors liked to work her into their performing groups, because she was a good reader, and she helped other singers in given groups blend well. Need vocal jazz and want to sound like Manhattan Transfer? Put Savannah in, and you’d get your blend. Need an extra soprano for your opera chorus by next week? Ask Savannah, she could memorize music in three days. She did it with Carmen, and she didn’t speak a lick of French.
Ask her to sing a solo? Nah. Savannah was never assigned solos. She was always a mortar singer. Soloists are brick singers. Brick singers are loud, bombastic, and over the top in ways you need them to be. They sometimes sacrifice accuracy for flair, but Mortar singers are subtle, and keep everyone together. They can turn eleven voices to one singular sound, and it’s amazing. But subtlety and blend doesn’t pack the concert halls or the clubs. Yeah, she was disappointed in the lack of spotlight from time to time, but she did enjoy her job. Plus, you really needed Savannah if you want to keep your group together.
Oh, did I mention she played the piano too? What do you need? Classical, jazz, musical theater, folk, reggae, industrial? You could just stick her in the corner with a decent instrument, and she’ll pull through for you. She was a concert pianist in a past life, you know. She was always up for the job, and she loved a good challenge.
What else can I say about her? They thought she was deaf as a child. Can you believe that? She had little to say, so she didn’t bother talking. It was only after the doctors told teachers and her parents that she wasn’t deaf that she finally decided to say something.
“Oh, I knew she wasn’t deaf,” her mother would later say to reporters after a concert. “I mean, she could match any pitch her best friend screamed during temper tantrums. She thought it was a game back then!”
I’ll never forget the night I saw her perform Ginastera and Queen at the same concert. That was something. Ginastera, the Argentinian classical composer who loved minor seconds and cluster sounds, and could make the piano sing like a guitar. And the range of those early Queen songs were huge. I mean it takes about twenty people to fill the range that Freddie Mercury had in the 70s.
It’s really too bad they are all dead. I mean, how do I plan Savannah’s funeral? I think she would utterly do somersaults in her urn if I played live recordings from her performances over the years. Then again, maybe she would enjoy that. I mean, there’s a whole generation who never got to hear her Freddie. Or her Mozart, which was her specialty. Or her Ginastera for that matter.
You know what, I’ll put together some of her recordings, and play them after the eulogy. She may have been a mortar singer, and never a brick in that spotlight, but damn, she was good. You really should have heard her sing. Even on the day she died, she sat at her piano and was learning a synth pop piece. She played gently, then she sang in dulcet tones about never giving up. I pretended to be working at my computer on the other side, and I recorded her on my phone. I wish I had done that more often.
It really hurts losing your wife this way. A senseless accident with a goddamned drunk driver hit her going 65 miles per hour on the 110 freeway. She was on her way home from a gig, and well, it’s funny how I’m burying myself in her music just to keep it together. One love never wavered in Savannah- music. I wish she were still here, that small voice that kept everything together. Especially now that my life is falling apart without her.
Directors liked to work her into their performing groups, because she was a good reader, and she helped other singers in given groups blend well. Need vocal jazz and want to sound like Manhattan Transfer? Put Savannah in, and you’d get your blend. Need an extra soprano for your opera chorus by next week? Ask Savannah, she could memorize music in three days. She did it with Carmen, and she didn’t speak a lick of French.
Ask her to sing a solo? Nah. Savannah was never assigned solos. She was always a mortar singer. Soloists are brick singers. Brick singers are loud, bombastic, and over the top in ways you need them to be. They sometimes sacrifice accuracy for flair, but Mortar singers are subtle, and keep everyone together. They can turn eleven voices to one singular sound, and it’s amazing. But subtlety and blend doesn’t pack the concert halls or the clubs. Yeah, she was disappointed in the lack of spotlight from time to time, but she did enjoy her job. Plus, you really needed Savannah if you want to keep your group together.
Oh, did I mention she played the piano too? What do you need? Classical, jazz, musical theater, folk, reggae, industrial? You could just stick her in the corner with a decent instrument, and she’ll pull through for you. She was a concert pianist in a past life, you know. She was always up for the job, and she loved a good challenge.
What else can I say about her? They thought she was deaf as a child. Can you believe that? She had little to say, so she didn’t bother talking. It was only after the doctors told teachers and her parents that she wasn’t deaf that she finally decided to say something.
“Oh, I knew she wasn’t deaf,” her mother would later say to reporters after a concert. “I mean, she could match any pitch her best friend screamed during temper tantrums. She thought it was a game back then!”
I’ll never forget the night I saw her perform Ginastera and Queen at the same concert. That was something. Ginastera, the Argentinian classical composer who loved minor seconds and cluster sounds, and could make the piano sing like a guitar. And the range of those early Queen songs were huge. I mean it takes about twenty people to fill the range that Freddie Mercury had in the 70s.
It’s really too bad they are all dead. I mean, how do I plan Savannah’s funeral? I think she would utterly do somersaults in her urn if I played live recordings from her performances over the years. Then again, maybe she would enjoy that. I mean, there’s a whole generation who never got to hear her Freddie. Or her Mozart, which was her specialty. Or her Ginastera for that matter.
You know what, I’ll put together some of her recordings, and play them after the eulogy. She may have been a mortar singer, and never a brick in that spotlight, but damn, she was good. You really should have heard her sing. Even on the day she died, she sat at her piano and was learning a synth pop piece. She played gently, then she sang in dulcet tones about never giving up. I pretended to be working at my computer on the other side, and I recorded her on my phone. I wish I had done that more often.
It really hurts losing your wife this way. A senseless accident with a goddamned drunk driver hit her going 65 miles per hour on the 110 freeway. She was on her way home from a gig, and well, it’s funny how I’m burying myself in her music just to keep it together. One love never wavered in Savannah- music. I wish she were still here, that small voice that kept everything together. Especially now that my life is falling apart without her.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-01 09:35 pm (UTC)I wasn't expecting the fiction turn at the end-- this really seemed like someone you knew, and that means you made her incredibly real. :)