(Title is a nonsequitur; I just liked it)
Gigs last weekend in Madison, Iowa City, and River Falls (Wisconsin).
(all these live pix, from River Falls, ganked from listener J_____)
Allergies struck the night of the Madison gig, but I dosed up with some Dayquil (my usual cure). I ended up blowing my voice out. The next day I sounded like Brenda Vaccaro. It was not so much the gig, as all the talking afterwards; believe it or not, an hour or so talking with audience people takes a heavier toll than full-blown singing.
So I was freaked out the next day, even more so by the unexpected possibility that we were going to fly to Los Angeles on Monday to do a TV show (they ended up booking a different artist, which is a bummer, but probably lucky for me and my scratchy throat). I abstained (mostly) from talking all day, and did a shitload of goofy warmup excercises.
Iowa City was so great. The Scrig and I were supermeshed and tight. With the exercises (and a little more Dayquil, oh the magic of pseudoephedrine) I had gotten my voice to a place where the Brenda-Vaccaro-ness was actually kind of pleasing; whiskey notes.
There’s a high note on “Madeline,” and one on “Bells,” that are my bete noires on a bad-throat night. But perhaps the audience is reminded of Biz Markie and find the weird notes to be fun.
After the Iowa City gig, I hid in the wood-paneled dressing room; fans kept knocking on the door, pestering Chuck to coax me out to sign stuff. Still thinking I had to preserve my voice for the L.A. TV thing, I stayed sequestered. I felt bad about hiding from the audience. I kind of felt like Prince.
River Falls: a full-on rock star experience. An amphitheatre, and sexy drunk girls jumping onstage to dance. Bliss.