|
SINGING PRAISES In high school, I belonged to an a capella singing group as part of our year level’s music program. I was the only boy in a group that consisted purely of girls, so by default I was given the part of singing the deep, male voice – the baritone. So while the girls were having fun harmonising and layering song lyrics and words, I was stuck with repeatedly crooning unintelligible phrases such as “dum de dum,” “dub dub doo” and “ba ba ba boom”. I felt embarrassed each time for having to intone something that sounded so stupid and ludicrous. But sing them I did – because I actually enjoyed it.
Choosing a compulsory extra-curricular activity as part of the school’s curriculum proved tricky for a burgeoning homosexual like me. My options seemed limited. Sport was out of the question, since when it came to surviving on the playing field I lacked the necessary athletic ability and the discipline to mask my effeminate tendencies. Home economics was something I was genuinely interested in, but Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay were yet to make cooking an acceptable male hobby. So, with a dubious background in singing earned through countless hours spent on karaoke machines, I chose music performance. It seemed like a ‘safe’ option to be able to express myself creatively without raising any eyebrows.
For the end-of-year performance, the group settled on singing Boyz II Men's 1990s hit, ‘End of the Road’. It was an easy decision considering how popular the song was at the time, but also quite a dicey choice for the same reason. If we didn’t hit the performance just right, we’d be laughed at and more than likely ostracised.
Several months of hour-long rehearsals and the moment finally arrived. Up on stage, in front of the whole student faculty, we lined up. I’m pretty sure that it was all very obvious to everyone how nervous we all were. Sixteen year olds, front and centre for all to see, about to do something most of our peers would have thought completely daggy and lame. I was particularly anxious, seeing that I had no other line for the entire song except for my constant “shoo dup, shoo dups”. Still, the time had come to suck it up and perform.
Aside from a couple of initial stuff-ups, mainly due to nervous tension, we did pretty well. We were in tune almost the whole time and even my own deep dub-dub-dubbing voice worked out nicely. The crowd’s applause and wolf-whistles said it all.
After the show, friends came over to congratulate the group. They mentioned how nice we all sounded. Even those who hadn’t shown any interest before showered praise on our performance. One boy in particular, a boofhead footy jock, made it a point to express his approval.
“You guys were good,” he said, turning to me. “I especially liked how you did that thing with your voice. It reminded me of that singer. The black gay one. You know, Marvin something...”
“Gaye. You mean, Marvin Gaye?," I corrected.
“Yeah. That guy,” he replied. “But I don’t care that he’s a poof. I mean, he still sounds good. You know, just like you.”
Oh, boy. If he only knew.
 |
Opinion 
Subscribe to this comment's feed