In response to the Daily Post prompt, Ballerina Fireman Astronaut Movie Star, this is my story of being a frustrated singer. I always had desires of being a singer/songwriter. From the very first time I heard the voice of Buddy Holly singing ‘Raining In My Heart’ when I must have been about 3 or 4 years old, I thought that’s it, that’s what I want to be.
I listened intently to all the pop songs as I grew up, being fortunate to live through The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and all that great music that came out of the 60s. As a 10 year old, hearing ‘Paperback Writer’ for the very first time and thinking the words were ‘Chase The Black Rider’, I would sing along in my bedroom as did most of the world at that time. I wanted a guitar and I wanted to sing and be as good as Lennon and McCartney.
It wasn’t until I had reached my teens that I got my first guitar, a little Spanish plywood affair that was really unplayable past the third fret! You had to have the power of Hercules to hold the strings down. Never the less, my enthusiasm got me through and it wasn’t long before I was playing songs like ‘Norwegian Wood’ and ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’. Then the most abhorrent thing that could possibly happen to me, happened. My voice broke!
For some reason, my post puberty voice wasn’t sounding anything like the voice I wanted. To me it sounded as musical as a house brick, flat, dull, out of key and nothing that said, ‘Hey, this boy can sing!’ It was such a disappointment that I wasn’t sounding like Paul McCartney or John Lennon, and writing songs that you haven’t got a voice to showcase them with, well, such a disappointment. I continued to play the guitar and still do so, after nearly 50 years. But without that voice, it’s like being a boxer with one arm tied behind his back. That was it then, looks like I’ll have to be like everyone else and get myself a job in the local brick factory!