The Social Awkwardness of Singing in Public

Or, Lord of the Sings:

A Guest Post by lizzie mcmizzie

Let’s get one thing out of the way right now: i am not Becca. Therefore, i do not play trombone, am not studying music, or am in any way socially awkward. In fact, i am what you might call a completely well-adjusted, totally normal, and otherwise assimilated-to-the-mainstream human being.

Only kidding. Socially awkward people can only be friends with other socially awkward people. And if you’re a category-three socially awkward creature (like Becca and i are) then you should, according to this Times article, keep a blog to publicly channel your frustrations with social mores for the entire world to see. They seem to think that such a public display of awkwardness will help us deal with it better. Or maybe they just got tired of watching The Bachelor and needed fresh meat for entertainment.

By now, you are probably wondering what in Richard-Strauss-Hisself’s-NAME is going on. If i am not Becca, why am i here? Why aren’t there any music jokes yet? WHO IS THIS HIJACKING FIEND WRITING WITH LOWERCASE I’S? 

This is not going well.

Okay. Let me explain: i am not Becca (WE KNOW THIS ALREADY!) but Becca, most unfortunately for her, has had to be my friend for the past thirteen years – dealing with more socially awkward haircuts and outfits than any best-friend-for-life-and-whatever should have to deal with in a millennia. Seriously. This one time, i lost an opera glove, so i only wore the one i could find in a Michael-Jackson-esque fashion statement. And Becca didn’t leave me stranded alone in the Middle School cafeteria because, contrary to her socially awkward online persona, Becca happens to be the best kind of person in the world. She’s the friend who sticks by you when you’ve outdone yourself in the Academy Awards of Horrendous Clothing and Personal Statement Choices.

Because Becca is so nice (or is just too socially awkward to tell me otherwise, which is actually very possible) she has agreed to this ridiculous idea i proposed to her: a blog swap. She’s over on my high-fallutin’ hippie travel blog RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND talking about how trombonists are oppressed (or something) and has, most likely to her chagrin, left you folk in my hands.

Her mistake.

Because i may not be a trombonist, but i am so most definitely socially awkward.

And more than that, i am a socially awkward once-singer.

Ohhh, yeah, ya’ll don’t even know what just hit you. That’s right – i can throw down music terms like legato and arpeggio too. And, unlike socially awkward trombone players (which is a redundancy, but still. Keeping up appearances) i paid attention in class when we learned such terms. That’s because i sing, and therefore think i am the MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ANY MUSICAL COMPOSITION EVER MADE.

This is true. Ask Andrew Llyod Webber. Or Claude Michel-Schöenberg. Singers are very, very important.

I’m just kidding, of course singers are not the most important of anything ever written. They just think they are. (Especially first sopranos – but never mind that; let’s get back to the title of the post). In fact, many singers think themselves to be so important that they need to let the whole world know how capital-G Great they are. For example, a typical conversation with a first soprano singer of average singing ego might go a little bit like this:

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: Hi there! My name is –

Singer of Average Singing Ego: I’m sorry, I only have time for the names of Directors or Agents or American Idol Judges. Do you fall into one of those categories?

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: (slightly bewildered) Oh! I’m sorry, I don’t, but why do you only have time for such pretentious-sounding folk?

Singer of Average Singing Ego: Wellllll, because I AM A SINGER.

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: Really?! That’s so incredibly cool! Are you like Adele? Can you sing for me?

Singer of Average Singing Ego: DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. WHY WOULD I WASTE MY PRECIOUS BREATH ON YOU, A MEAGER HUMAN BEING OF MINIMAL SIGNIFIGANCE BEYONE PURCHASING MY SELF-MADE DEBUT RECORD OF CELTIC-INFUSED-QUASI-OPERATICE-COVERS?

Totally Normal Non-Singer Person: (looking around desperately for a way out of the conversation) Oh, right, brilliant. Good for you. Look, I’ve got to go –

Singer of Average Singing Ego: Ta-ta darling! Lovely meeting you! (blows kisses before taking an enormous sip of a chai-spice-infused-lemon tea-like concoction)

See what i mean? Singers of average Singer-Egos are forces to reckon with. I urge wide berth to all you trombonists, most especially.

To give them their due credit, though, i must confess: they do get one thing right in the (albeit often one-sided) conversations they conduct. Singers, as a general rule, usually prefer not to sing spontaneously, a capella, and while waiting in line at a coffee shop. And yet, whenever one declares oneself to be a singer (even sans-American-Idol-t-shirt) an inevitable conversation from non-musicians is certain to ensue:

Normal Person: Blah blah blah – Oh I love this song!

Closeted Singer: Yeah me too! I sang this for a voice recital once.

Normal Person: Wait, really?! You’re a singer? That’s awesome! Do you sound like Adele? 

Closeted Singer: Um, well, no. Not exactly.

Normal Person: Awww, why not?

Closeted Singer: Well, Adele is a second alto and she’s got that great belt-y quality to her voice, but I’m –

Normal Person: She wears a belt in her voice?

Closeted Singer: Uh… no. I mean she’s really powerful, but I’m –

Normal Person: Like how she is standing up for herself against her ex-boyfriend?

Closeted Singer: …sort of …

Normal Person: Wait, wait wait, since you’re a sing just like Adele -

Closeted Singer: I’m actually not!

Normal Person:  - whatever. You sing. Will you sing something for me? Please?

Closeted Singer: Um…

Normal Person: PLEASE OH MY GAWD I WILL DIE IF YOU DO NOT SING FOR ME RIGHT NOW.

Closeted Singer: I’m really not comfortable breaking out into a mezzo-soprano Italian Aria right now.

Normal Person: WHAT? WHAT THE HECK IS A MATZAH BALL AREA?

Closeted Singer: …Never mind.

See what i mean? You give ‘em an inch, and they run halfway to Britain clamoring for Simon Cowell.

Simply by saying that you like to sing, have once sung a piece, or even that in high school you were the ultimate soloist in your Highly Advanced Chamber Elite Fancy Pants Ensemble is not – necessarily – an invitation for someone to solicit your vocal talents. Breaking out into a Bizet aria in the middle of class is hardly conducive to making friends (pro-tip for the socially awkward!), but can only heighten the anxiety and awkwardness of the situation. You aren’t warmed up, you aren’t giving your starting note, you don’t have accompaniment, and most of all you haven’t had your chai-spice-infused-lemon tea-like concoction to lubricate the vocal chords.

Major. Problem.

Should someone decide, though, to brave the imposing challenges before and bust out their best rendition of “Unchained Melody,” they probably fall into one of the two following categories: (a) they are very, very good – and know this to be so, thus they are seeking your unwavering devotion and praise; or (b) very, very bad – and do not know this to be so, and yet they still are seeking your unwavering devotion and praise.

Either one of these situations is awkward. Presented before the audience, in either case, is the inevitability that always ensues after a brazen soul has graced you with their singing presence. No matter their ability level, you feel compelled to applaud their singing talents and encourage them to continue to pursue their dreams as the future Our Lady of Jennifer Hudson in America. The conversation when the aforementioned singer is in high need of a Cowell-ous (get it?! Callous?!) reprimand can make an already awkward conversation one of excruciating agony. It might go like this:

Normal Person: Wow…. That was, well…that was really interesting… [Holy Mother of Gandalf, my dead dog could rise up from the grave and do better with ghostly flatulents than that piece of poo!]

Falsely-Beauteous Singer: I knowwww, right?! Like, I can’t believe I didn’t get the lead in the school musical. [I’m just so great. Like, so so so great.]

Normal Person: Yeah, whew. What the director must have been thinking! [I might have to gauge out my eardrums so they stop reverberating with the Yodels from Mordor.]

Falsely-Beauteous Singer: Want me to sing something else for you?! [PLEASE! I’M SUCH A GOOF GALINDA FROM WICKED IF YOU JUST GIMME A CHANCE!]

Normal Person: Um, well, maybe we could go for another cup of coffee? Or get the bill? [CHECK PLEASE.]

Falsely-Beauteous Singer: PERFECT! Here it goes: POPULAR! I’M GONNA BE POP-UUUUUU-LEEERRRR

See what i mean? Utter. Disaster.

Because, ultimately, here’s the deal with musicians: a mere glimpse into musical abilities does not necessarily do justice to the full breadth of one’s talent. Yes, even the Wicked fangirl might actually be Glee material someday. One doesn’t simply ask an architect to walk into Mordor sketch up a building randomly (unless you’re Leonardo DiCaprio and in need of a member for the Dream Team) or a pharmacist to write up a prescription without more knowledge and planning. Singing – and playing the trombone – are hard-earned skills that cannot be trivialized by a spontaneous performance.

So, should you wish to hear that person sing, or give yourself an excuse to escape the crippling conversation with that left-handed trombonist, ask when their next performance might be. Support the arts, and purchase tickets to see artists when they are in their prime. You might learn yourself up real good in attending a ballet or symphony performance and, best of all, you don’t even have to talk to the musicians!

Okay, folks, that’s all the once-singer and rogue opera-glove-wearing hippie-dippie has for you today. No worries, you’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming with your favorite trombonist next time! (But, if you really miss her, she’s got a pretty hilarious post about being a left-handed trombonist over on my blog should you like a look! There is also a chance for you to enter a giveaway of awesome postcards and other prizes). Hopefully this rant hasn’t dissuaded you from coming back for more clever cartoons by Becca in the future.

So, Becca? Thanks for still talking to me when i refused to speak anything but “French” when we were six years old. You are, of course, always welcome to join my women’s thespian society.

-the socially awkward sidekick, lizzie mcmizzie