I got busted singing in the elevator again. I turn on the radio in the car and sing along to the songs, then I get into the parking garage or the elevator and just keep singing. The acoustics are great. But, and its a pretty big but, I keep forgetting that I’m not alone.
So there I am singing my heart out, at the top of my lungs, and a door opens and suddenly I’m not alone. Usually I pretend that nothing’s wrong. Like the elevator door is so thick there’s no way they could have heard my performance. Usually my neighbors have the good grace to pretend the same thing. But sometimes (like today) our little let’s-play-pretend social contract breaks down. They smirk, or compliment, or nod, then I blush and wonder when I’m going to figure out how to control my spontaneous singing. (I very rarely sing unconsciously at work anymore, and it’s been ages since I sang in my sleep, but full control may never happen. I mean I sound even better in the elevator than I do in the shower.)
I like how singing makes me feel. I don’t think when I sing, I just sing. Singing can take me from a bad mood to a good one without any effort. I’ve recently discovered that I can get nearly the same experience when I’m writing songs. I put pen to paper on a song and I can guarantee a good ten minutes of time when I nothing else gets into my head. No worries, no work projects to finish, just writing. I often get that feeling with other types of writing too, but with song writing I get the added bonus of something new to sing…in the elevator…unconsciously. This could turn into a vicious cycle.
Writing Exercise:
Almost every song tells a story. I love listening to a good love song to hear the story the songwriter put together for me. But sometimes I hear a song and think “what the hell? That is totally not romantic.” Then I want to have a debate with the author. Other people have had this same desire and I know it because I’ve heard the song It’s My Party (and I’ll cry if I want to) by Lesley Gore, and the reply song Judy’s Turn to Cry. Ok, in that case they were both written by the same person, but the concept is good, to hear the story of a song and build on it or reply to it. Choose your favourite love song, and think about the story behind the song, then write the reply. You could use your own tune for the song, or set it to the original tune of the love song. Happy Writing.
Need help? I’ve always thought Cecelia by Simon and Garfunkel, and Take A Letter Maria, by R.B. Greaves, were begging for replies.
Sharing: (I wrote a reply to the song Save the Last Dance for Me, by The Drifters, or Michael Buble (but he makes me want to debate less).)
Lifted brow, eyes that wink, make my knees sink, take me for a whirl.
I don’t care, if they stare, just take me there, girls gotta be a girl.
One more song, to carry me along, let my sails unfurl,
Cause baby I’m that kind of girl.
We drank wine, the white sparkeling kind, while we had our fun.
Wine and song, carried me along neath the setting sun.
I catch your eye, you seem to sigh, but baby I’m not done.
Baby, the game of love don’t stop till someone’s one.
You say that you love me so,with your voice and in your touch
You say you’ll never let me go,
But that is just too much.
(rise note) Are you mad? Are you sad? Don’t know what I see.
Seems this time, the night’s lost its shine for you and me.
But baby no matter where I go or what you see,
Here’s hoping, you saved that last dance for me.
I’ve crossed the floor and gone back for more, at time or two.
Watch me swing and sway, I like to play till the night is through.
But when I’m done I’m done, my heart is won, you know I’ll be true,
And darlin’ I’ll save my last dance for you.
If my card looks full, lock load and pull, I’m in your sights.
For the last dance all I want is you to hold me tight.
This is who I am, what is your plan, don’t know what I see.
Here’s hoping you saved the last dance for me.
Cause baby, I’ve kept my last dance free.
I’m savin’ my last dance for you.
The last dance on my card, and in my heart is for you and me,
Baby that last dance is always free.
