No, I Don't Want To Wing It Anymore

Hi there,

When a punter comes up to say nice things about the band at the end of a set they often ask how long you've been playing together. I used to wear my response like a badge of honour: 'Oh we just met tonight at soundcheck'. 

I spent years making most of my living from freelancing - and that often meant stepping in for other singers at the last minute. No rehearsal, no meeting before the actual gig. Luckily there was a lot of the same repertoire going around and I would pride myself on looking like I belonged with each band, listening out for the changes in arrangement that each band inevitably makes as I busted a disco move to cover up any hesitation.'Winging it' definitely gives you great skills and they have come in handy. But I think I became a bit addicted to the adrenalin of performing on the edge, flying by the seat of my black leatherette pants (freelancer uniform in those days). And I just may have enjoyed a rescuer mentality - my eleventh hour jamming was getting the band out of their jam and they were usually very grateful. 

Every few years I seem to move into a different phase of work and I rarely 'wing it' nowadays. But recently I got a call, a blast from my 'fill-in' past and I wanted to get a fix again. Only I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as I used to. In fact there were times I felt downright uncomfortable. The thrill had gone and I was left hoping that no one I knew walked in and saw me because I simply wasn't at my best. So there it is, I've decided the sensation of a job well done turns me on most of all.

See you next time,
Amanda
www.amandaeaston.com

What a Singer can Learn from a Stripper

Hi there,

Many moons ago, a few friends and I decided it would be a fabulous idea to check out the seedy delights of Kings Cross in Sydney. Our road trip through sleazy showrooms and seamy strip joints brought us to an esteemed establishment where we were ushered to seats with another dozen or so punters. Soon after, a young woman ambled on stage in a tiny white bikini. She alternated smirking at the audience and looking for obvious guidance to a gentleman standing at the back of the room. She reminded me of a kid in their first kindy concert, but with fewer clothes. It was vaguely, darkly, humorous at first, watching a stripper in training. It became more interesting if you watched the trainer at the back of the room - the pupil on stage was trying to mimic the teacher's clunky gyrations and gestures, awkwardly pulling her bikini bits to the side to flash this and that and then looking out at us like a deer stuck in headlights.

Let's forget for a minute that we were not experiencing a slice of the often sad and unsavoury underbelly of our city and judge this strictly as a performance. Earlier that evening I had seen unmistakably more seasoned strip artistes flaunting their talents. The surrounds were equally salubrious but I didn't get the same depressing, distressing feeling I did at this last show. Those other women had looked as though they enjoyed their work and took pride in it, no matter how that kind of work may be judged by others. As a result, the audience got caught up in the moment and responded with enthusiasm. The white bikini girl was so uncomfortable and frightened, it was painful to watch for everyone.

Now I'm trying to equate anything I do with a strip show, but I have certainly performed at gigs where I have been less than prepared, proud or comfortable. But I've realised that no matter how much I wish the stage would open up and swallow me on occasions, it's my duty to look like I belong there, look like I'm enjoying it and do the best job I'm capable of. A performer that has committed to their art and is comfortable in their own skin, feels authentic to an audience and they react accordingly.

So there, I learnt all about commitment from a stripper!

Cheers,
Amanda
www.amandaeaston.com

Just learn to sing man!

Hi there,

I think I have the best job in the world but the problem with doing something that looks like so much fun (it is) is that people think it's only fun and that it's easy (it really isn't). 'The Voice' judges on TV gabber on a lot about the importance of singers 'telling a story' and 'making a connection'. As important as that stuff is, they don't seem to talk much about technique and the practical side of learning to actually sing properly. I have heard gigging singers say, 'I've never had a singing lesson' - well don't boast about it! Lack of training, at the minimum, usually means a voice that will blow out after only two gigs in a row...let alone lack of breath control and weak projection. 

If you had a natural flair for a volley and a mean backhand and were aiming for the professional circuit, wouldn't you get a tennis coach pronto? There probably exists the rare warbler whose voice is so good that training can't improve it - but I'm yet to hear them. Now you may tell me about a guy called Bob Dylan - never had a singing lesson. I would say, as a singer, Bob makes a mighty fine storyteller. And you may tell a story better than Hans Christian Anderson, but that does not a singer make! 

I can't help but get personally offended when people get up on the professional stage without a lesson behind them (I am a Cancerian so I do take most things personally!) You think so little of this pursuit that you're not willing to put everything into it? It's an art, sure, but it's also a craft - please respect it and get thyself to a singing teacher!
See you next time!