{"id":255,"date":"2014-09-07T22:22:12","date_gmt":"2014-09-07T22:22:12","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/?p=255"},"modified":"2023-05-24T17:57:24","modified_gmt":"2023-05-24T17:57:24","slug":"a-mans-life-in-concert","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/2014\/09\/07\/a-mans-life-in-concert\/","title":{"rendered":"In Concert"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

by Tom Noyes<\/strong><\/p>\n

I suspect one of the reasons I became a fiction writer was because I couldn’t sing.\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Of course, it\u2019s not only singing. There are\u00a0many things I can\u2019t do.<\/p>\n

Even though over the course of my life I\u2019ve enjoyed participating in many different sports, the phenomenon of the fundamentally sound golf swing mystifies and eludes me. My sense of direction is awful to the point of being absurd. Armed with a hammer, saw, wrench, or screwdriver, I\u2019m a danger to myself and others. As for drawing and painting, I\u2019ve demonstrated no significant improvement since elementary school.<\/p>\n

My inability to sing, though, is different. I don\u2019t care about becoming a scratch golfer or navigating the world without GPS. I have no aspirations involving do-it-yourself home repair, no interest in investing in a palette and easel. I always have and still do wish I could sing, though.<\/p>\n

Even if only a little.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a profound disappointment to me that I can\u2019t. Sometimes I\u2019ll listen to, say, Van Morrison or Johnny Cash or Ryan Adams or Bruce Springsteen or Gordon Lightfoot or even Ronnie James Dio, and in addition to the admiration and catharsis, there will be something else I feel, something selfish I\u2019d locate somewhere between wistfulness and envy. It\u2019s not that I want to be these men. This isn\u2019t about hero worship or fandom. I\u2019m a 44-year-old man. If I were given the opportunity, though, my inability to sing is one of the first things I would change about myself. Even before wishing myself taller or thinner. Even before\u2014I hate to admit this\u2014wishing myself braver or wiser.<\/p>\n

From what I\u2019ve heard from other nonsingers, the way in which I came to realize my inability is not unique. It would seem that junior high music class is often the setting for this revelation.<\/p>\n

In the middle of my seventh-grade year, my classmates and I were preparing for our winter concert. This wasn\u2019t an extracurricular activity, but part of our regular music class. Mandatory participation. While some of my classmates grumbled, I was completely invested in the production. I enjoyed music class in much the same way I enjoyed gym class and soccer practice. My senses were engaged, my body awake. I welcomed any kind of break from the sleepy dullness that haunted me most of the school day.<\/p>\n

After our final rehearsal, the music teacher, Mrs. Graff, a quirky but kind woman who was closing in fast on retirement, asked my friend Scott and me to stay after class. When the room cleared, she turned to Scott and gently but straightforwardly told him he needed to sing more quietly. \u201cThink of it like this,\u201d she said, and smiled as she raised a cupped hand over her head. \u201cRight now you\u2019re singing up here with the other voices. Sometimes even above them.\u201d She dropped her hand to waist level. \u201cI\u2019d like you to be down here. Underneath the other voices. Quietly supporting them. Could you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt sympathy for both of them. I knew Scott was embarrassed, and I knew Mrs. Graff didn\u2019t want him to be, but I understood she was telling him something he needed to hear. It was for his own good. He was a cool guy and our class\u2019s undisputed arm-wrestling champion, but he was an awful singer. I knew this to be true because we stood next to each other in rehearsals. He\u2019d been honking mangled holiday songs in my ear since before Thanksgiving. The only way I\u2019d been able to combat his voice was to turn up my own volume. So I understood Mrs. Graff was doing what was necessary to save the poor kid from himself. What I didn\u2019t understand was why I was standing there.<\/p>\n

\u201cAs for you, Tom, I\u2019d like you to take on a special role for the program,\u201d Mrs. Graff said. She always wore two pairs of glasses on chains around her neck, and she\u2019d often switch back and forth between them. At the moment, she wasn\u2019t wearing either.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure,\u201d I said, glancing at Scott. I imagined this would be hard for him to hear. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like you to be the concert narrator. Before each song, you\u2019ll announce the title and composer to the audience. Maybe say a few things about the song\u2019s origins and history. I\u2019ll type up something, maybe even have a joke or two for you. Let\u2019s see what I can come up with.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d I said. \u201cSounds good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo we\u2019ll tape off a seat for you in the first row. Your microphone will be set up front and center, and between songs you\u2019ll pop up and do your thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI won\u2019t be singing with everybody?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be the narrator if Tom doesn\u2019t want to do it, Mrs. Graff,\u201d Scott said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Mrs. Graff said, \u201cwhen I got this narrator idea, I was thinking specifically of Tom.\u201d She sat down on her piano bench and started to gather her sheet music. \u201cYou onboard, Tom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cPerfect,\u201d she said. \u201cThanks, boys.\u201d<\/p>\n

Once we were in the hallway, Scott stopped me with a punch in the arm. \u201cLucky,\u201d he said. When I slugged him back as hard as I could, he chuckled. \u201cThat all you got?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

Later that week on the drive home after the concert, my mom and dad\u2014neither of whom could carry a tune\u2014told me my narration had made the whole show. The information I\u2019d conveyed provided interesting context, they said, and they told me they were proud of me for my clear enunciation, for how sharp and grown-up I looked in my new sport coat.<\/p>\n

I suspect one of the reasons I became a fiction writer was because I couldn\u2019t sing. The novelist Joseph Conrad talks about how the only way the fiction writer can connect with the reader\u2019s heart is via the body, via the senses. If the writer wants to reach the reader\u2019s \u201csecret spring of responsive emotions,\u201d Conrad writes, the writer \u201cmust strenuously aspire to the plasticity of sculpture, to the colour of painting, and to the magic suggestiveness of music\u2014which is the art of arts.\u201d<\/p>\n

So what I do is at least akin to what a singer does, I think. We are both out to win the ears of our respective audiences. But still. While I know firsthand and profess faith in the power of fiction to move people and offer modes of experience and discovery not otherwise available, I also know, deep down, that there\u2019s something supremely visceral and immediate and resonant about a song well sung that can\u2019t be beat.<\/p>\n

When I saw my wife for the first time she was onstage, a lead singer for a band called The Uninvited. There\u2019s some disagreement between us about what was included on the set list that night, but we both definitely remember a cover of The Pretenders\u2019 \u201cMiddle of the Road.\u201d I recall being surprised by her Chrissie Hynde\u2013 like rich, low voice, and, as is often the case when I hear live music, wishing the guitars and drums would take it down a notch so I could better hear the vocals. I wasn\u2019t thinking of her as a potential girlfriend, let alone a life partner. If I recall correctly, I was dating someone, and, besides, I\u2019d been told that The Uninvited\u2019s sultry singer was romantically linked to the band\u2019s impressively mulleted lead guitarist.<\/p>\n

But when we got together a year or so later, her singing, specifically my memory of her strong, smooth voice that night I\u2019d seen her in concert, was right up there with the things that initially excited and impressed me about her. Of course, if she hadn\u2019t been a singer, I\u2019d like to think that it\u2019s just as likely we would\u2019ve ended up together, but who knows? At any rate, the idea of being with someone who could do so well and seemingly so effortlessly something I always wished I could do was satisfying. I still couldn\u2019t sing, but being with and growing to love someone who could was, in a sense, the next best thing.<\/p>\n

Twenty-five years later, my wife and I have two kids, a teenaged girl and a three-year-old boy. The girl inherited her mother\u2019s singing gene. She\u2019s been in school and church choirs since she was little, and she\u2019s regularly given solos. Her current choir director is impressed by the range and versatility of her voice\u2014she\u2019s just as comfortable as a soprano as she is an alto\u2014and recently she\u2019s performed with the local opera company.<\/p>\n

On top of all this, she\u2019s starting to take the guitar seriously and writing her own songs. It\u2019s exciting, and I\u2019m proud of her. The other night she was upstairs in her bedroom wailing out Amy Winehouse\u2019s song \u201cRehab.\u201d\u00a0I turned down the TV to listen. I thought my heart was going to explode.<\/p>\n

As for my son, the jury\u2019s still out. He\u2019s lagging a bit in terms of speech acquisition, but everyone tells us not\u00a0to worry. Of course, I hope that once he\u2019s mastered\u00a0talking, it will turn out that he can sing like his sister and mother. If he can\u2019t, though, I\u2019ll be ready to commiserate, and, when the time is right, teach him what\u00a0I know about how to get by.<\/p>\n

\"noyes<\/a>Tom Noyes\u2019 third fiction collection,\u00a0<\/em>Come by Here:\u00a0A Novella and Stories,\u00a0won the 2014 Autumn House\u00a0Prize in Fiction, and his stories have appeared in many\u00a0literary journals. He teaches creative writing at Penn\u00a0State Erie, The Behrend College, where he also serves
\nas contributing editor for the literary journal\u00a0<\/em>Lake Effect.\u00a0Noyes visited the Wabash campus in Spring 2014 for\u00a0a reading and to work with students in the Creative\u00a0Writing Track.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n


\n<\/em><\/h4>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by Tom Noyes I suspect one of the reasons I became a fiction writer was because I couldn’t sing.\u00a0 Of course, it\u2019s not only singing. There are\u00a0many things I can\u2019t do. Even […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":16,"featured_media":289,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-255","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-a-mans-life"],"w_featured_image_url":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/15\/2014\/09\/glee-clublores.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/16"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=255"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4774,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255\/revisions\/4774"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/289"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=255"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=255"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=255"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}