When I was a little kid, my favorite, favorite thing to do was to close my door, pick up my microphone (actually the lever on my miniblinds) and wail away in front of my imaginary bedroom audience. This started with Disney songs on tape, but I quickly graduated to Michael Jackson (Bad) and Madonna (Who's That Girl). At some single-digit age, I discovered Casey Casem's Weekly Top 40 on the radio and I would tape it and play it back during the week, learning the songs by heart.
This bedroom-turned-performance venue continued into my teens. Favorite artists would emerge, and I would learn every note on their CDs, scrutinising my own performance over and over again: Bonnie Raitt, Sarah McLachlan, Jann Arden, Fiona Apple, Linda Ronstadt with the Nelson Riddle orchestra. These CDs developed scratches and smudges as I played them on endless repeat. I heard my dad play some Ella Fitzgerald and I quickly devoured Ella Sings the Cole Porter Songbook. I stole his The Very Best of Etta James, and to this day, I have not returned it. At night I would turn out the lights, and sing to the mountain I could see from my bedroom window.
You'd think that moving out of the relative safety of your childhood bedroom, you might also leave this musical comfort zone behind. Oh no. As a student at Pearson College, when things became too stressful, or engaging with my fellow students became too exhausting, I would close the door to my room which I shared with three other girls, throw a CD on, and sing away, not caring whether the other 40 students in my house could hear me. I would still buy the CDs of female artists whose vocals I particularly admired, and listen to them ad nauseum, trying to emulate each trill, each top note.
Now, as a fully fledged, no-excuses adult, I find that I come home to my own apartment, rush to my bedroom, close the door, and sing into my computer. Glad to see I've developed after all these years...but some habits die hard.
You can listen to some of my bedroom cabaret at www.myspace.com/daniellelemon.
This bedroom-turned-performance venue continued into my teens. Favorite artists would emerge, and I would learn every note on their CDs, scrutinising my own performance over and over again: Bonnie Raitt, Sarah McLachlan, Jann Arden, Fiona Apple, Linda Ronstadt with the Nelson Riddle orchestra. These CDs developed scratches and smudges as I played them on endless repeat. I heard my dad play some Ella Fitzgerald and I quickly devoured Ella Sings the Cole Porter Songbook. I stole his The Very Best of Etta James, and to this day, I have not returned it. At night I would turn out the lights, and sing to the mountain I could see from my bedroom window.
You'd think that moving out of the relative safety of your childhood bedroom, you might also leave this musical comfort zone behind. Oh no. As a student at Pearson College, when things became too stressful, or engaging with my fellow students became too exhausting, I would close the door to my room which I shared with three other girls, throw a CD on, and sing away, not caring whether the other 40 students in my house could hear me. I would still buy the CDs of female artists whose vocals I particularly admired, and listen to them ad nauseum, trying to emulate each trill, each top note.
Now, as a fully fledged, no-excuses adult, I find that I come home to my own apartment, rush to my bedroom, close the door, and sing into my computer. Glad to see I've developed after all these years...but some habits die hard.
You can listen to some of my bedroom cabaret at www.myspace.com/daniellelemon.