As a writer, I find it very satisfying when a lyric suddenly ties together more neatly than you expected it to. But for the listener, hearing a good lyric is not generally as exciting as hearing a great beat or a great riff or a great melody or even a distinctive singing voice for the first time.
I loved being a soprano. It was one of my very favorite things in life, and thus far, and losing that voice was a profound emotional moment for me in my life. I never became that interested in my adult male singing voice.
My singing voice had rescued me from the scene I was in at school - I was an unpopular, bookish kid who had an indeterminate ethnic background. I became fascinated with women sopranos because they had a future that I didn't as a singer.
I tried to connect my singing voice to my guitar an' my guitar to my singing voice. Like the two was talking to one another.
My singing voice has sort of an Ethel Merman-type quality: just, like, loud and strong and full.
My mother had a gorgeous singing voice, and she'd play these amazing vinyls. My favorite was 'But Not for Me,' on the 1954 album 'Chet Baker Sings.'
My singing voice isn't like my speaking voice.
I was the singing voice of a cartoon character. I did dog food commercials. I did a lot of commercials, actually, and helped pay my rent and my classes. Then I'd get one good line or two good scenes. I was building my career and building my own experience and learning technically what it was like to be on a set and all of those things.
I was like Gene Kelly, it was called singing in the rain. No seriously, I wasn't really born with a singing voice, but my friends Joe and John taught me how to sing.
I play the mandolin, which people don't often expect great things from. But it has it's charms, and it's my voice. I feel like I had as little choice in the matter as I do my speaking and singing voice.
