Th' Soulfinger Diaries: The Thing That Came Out Of My Throat Last Night
There's no describing it. I've done a lot of hard gigs in my day but I've never gone 7 straight gigs with four hours of sleep between them. Three hours of singing, four hours of sleeping. Night after night after night. And I've blown my voice a few times and I always try not to because it's really, really bad for you. My mantra has always been eight hours of sleep and as much water as I can drink and when I don't get that it's always disaster.
But I didn't have the sleep luxury this week. And I didn't have the luxury of losing my voice in the middle of a 7-night run. No sirree. And somehow I didn't. Actually, I did sort of lose my voice but another one arrived to take over in the middle of the show last night. I didn't recognize it at all. It wasn't like anything I've ever heard. To compare it to Percy Sledge or Joe Cocker or Rod Stewart or any of them doesn't do it justice. I had to dig really deep for it, and when it came it felt really good because it didn't hurt and it didn't feel damaging. It felt like my New Voice. It felt like Otis had finally reached down from heaven and given me my Hardship Merit Badge and this was what it was.
It was the sound of every slap of every windshield wiper on every god damn stretch of highway I've driven at 4 AM in Texas or Maine or Georgia or Arizona. It was the sound of every bloodless bitch who's wound up with that look in her fucking eye and rapped that fucking nail through my hand. It was the sound of every Farenheit-stinking music exec who's told me that Right Said Fred is the real deal and I'm not and have a nice night in th' front seat of your '86 Dodge cargo van tonight. Oh, with that stinking carburetor, man. And tomorrow you've got to play that god damn Mint in Hollywood and that carburetor smell'll hang on you like a bad memory of guns and human folly. Folly.
People noticed it too. Ace even looked over at me a little astonished. The people listened. And it was great because I realized I'd never lose my voice again. I'd just have to reach into that little pocket in my head and pull her out and that would be that. I'll just pull her out and she'll be dirty and tortured but always confident and always right on th' note. A big, rumbling, gritty, stinking tone that doesn't sound like anyone who ever worked a straight stand.
I'm going to call it the Robert Lightfoot voice.
But I didn't have the sleep luxury this week. And I didn't have the luxury of losing my voice in the middle of a 7-night run. No sirree. And somehow I didn't. Actually, I did sort of lose my voice but another one arrived to take over in the middle of the show last night. I didn't recognize it at all. It wasn't like anything I've ever heard. To compare it to Percy Sledge or Joe Cocker or Rod Stewart or any of them doesn't do it justice. I had to dig really deep for it, and when it came it felt really good because it didn't hurt and it didn't feel damaging. It felt like my New Voice. It felt like Otis had finally reached down from heaven and given me my Hardship Merit Badge and this was what it was.
It was the sound of every slap of every windshield wiper on every god damn stretch of highway I've driven at 4 AM in Texas or Maine or Georgia or Arizona. It was the sound of every bloodless bitch who's wound up with that look in her fucking eye and rapped that fucking nail through my hand. It was the sound of every Farenheit-stinking music exec who's told me that Right Said Fred is the real deal and I'm not and have a nice night in th' front seat of your '86 Dodge cargo van tonight. Oh, with that stinking carburetor, man. And tomorrow you've got to play that god damn Mint in Hollywood and that carburetor smell'll hang on you like a bad memory of guns and human folly. Folly.
People noticed it too. Ace even looked over at me a little astonished. The people listened. And it was great because I realized I'd never lose my voice again. I'd just have to reach into that little pocket in my head and pull her out and that would be that. I'll just pull her out and she'll be dirty and tortured but always confident and always right on th' note. A big, rumbling, gritty, stinking tone that doesn't sound like anyone who ever worked a straight stand.
I'm going to call it the Robert Lightfoot voice.
posted by Bobby Lightfoot at 15:14
4 Comments:
I sooooo want to see you guys. Next time I'm seeing family in Connect-TI-cut, man. Our paths must cross.
Can you pull out the new voice and give us a verse of "Hot Legs"?
On second thought....
I think I have an explanation for your new voice.
You see, Bobby, as a boy grows up, his body goes through certain changes. Puberty is the time in your life when your body changes from that of a child to that of an adult. These changes are caused by chemicals in the body called hormones. Because there are so many changes that happen during puberty, you may feel like your body is out of control. In time, your hormones will balance out and your body will catch up.
Not only does your body change, but your emotions change too. How you think and feel about yourself, your family and friends, and your whole world, may seem different. As you go through puberty, you will begin to make important decisions for yourself, take on more responsibilities, and become more independent.
If you are already going through some of these changes, you may be asking yourself, "Am I normal?" or "Do other people my age feel the way I do?" Don't worry. Lots of changes happen during puberty and, although it can be a confusing time of life, it can be exciting. You can end up hung like John Holmes, for example. Wouldn't that be fun? And you may be able to sing like a combination of Barry White and Lou Rawls. Girls will find this talent to be very exciting, too, and you may start getting some mileage out of those sex organs of which you have recently become all too aware.
If you have more questions, excellent advice can be had from your Boy Scout leader, or your parish priest.
Good luck with the new voice!
-I think you're on to something, man. The way I'm thinking about th' world is definitely changing.
-John Holmes hung himself?
-I'm definitely gettin' plenty of mileage out of my new sex organs. But they're lonely, lonely miles.
That was fuckin' funny, BTW. Your response, that is.
Simon- I think th' Robert voice is a *lover*, not a fighter.
kevin- will keep you posted on dates but the odds are good you'll see one of those *other* shows...
sounsurfr-
Whos that knocking on my door
Its gotta be a quarter to four
Is it you again coming round for more
Well you can love me tonight if you want
But in the morning make sure youre gone
Im talkin to you
Hot legs, wearing me out
Hot legs, you can scream and shout
Hot legs, are you still in school
I love you honey
Gotta most persuasive tongue
You promise all kinds of fun
But what you dont understand
Im a working man
Gonna need a shot of vitamin e
By the time youre finished with me
Im talking to you
Hot legs, youre an alley cat
Hot legs, you scratch my back
Hot legs, bring your mother too
I love you honey
Imagine how my daddy felt
In your jet black suspender belt
Seventeen years old
Hes touching sixty four
You got legs right up to your neck
Youre making me a physical wreck
Im talking to you
Hot legs, in your satin shoes
Hot legs, are you still in school
Hot legs, youre making me a fool
I love you honey
Hot legs, making your mark
Hot legs, keep my pencil sharp
Hot legs, keep your hands to yourself
I love you honey
Hot legs, youre wearing me out
Hot legs, you can scream and shout
Hot legs, youre still in school
I love you honey
Thank you and good night Pittsburgh!!!!
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