When I was a kid, whenever my grandparent’s would come for a visit, I would hide. I would hide for a very good reason. Whenever dear old grandma and grandpa would visit, my mom would make me sing for them. She would always make me sing that song, “Rose Garden." It’s not that I objected to this song, I actually love it still. It’s just that my mom would make me feel like a freak. Parading me in front of visitors and making me sing for them. I had a hard time even then trying to understand the fascination for the human singing voice. My grandfather, an otherwise cancer-filled monster would turn into a melting pile of gushing goo, while my grandma would set up so proudly, throwing her back up like a prancing p-hen, struttin’, the moment I would open my voice to sing for them.
It was the strangest thing. I still ponder the power of this magical thing called the human singing voice. Its illusive and intangible qualities seem to cut through the grimiest, the saddest of situations, rendering everything beautiful, if not momentarily. When I first heard Antony Hegarty’s voice I was utterly repulsed. It was too queer. Almost sickly? Something dying. So I ignored it and relegated it…elsewhere. That was Antony’s first cd, the one with him painted all white with a little tutu or whatever the fuck that is he’s wearing, with the painted bright red nipples. The image, suffice to say, did not help the situation. But then, somehow, somewhere, I began listening again. Somehow it began to assert itself on and in me.
Suddenly I could not stop listening. And I had to stop myself. I was sickening myself! And then something truly miraculous happened. Antony and The Johnsons released their second full-length cd called, “I am a bird now.” This cd, in short, changed my life. I realized that it was not Antony nor any of The Johnsons who slugged me mercilessly in the gut each and every time I would play the damn thing. It was me! The slow and extremely powerful descent of this illusive power of the human singing voice…spoke to me…spoke directly to me.
Here was this…stately sized, wig-wearing, De Muelemester-clad faggot cooing like a dove, some queer thing locked in his throat…dying? Ready to spring forward and pounce? Well…pounce it did. And it continues to do so. Antony is now an international star, soon to perform with the London Symphony Orchestra in London. He’s performed and recorded with Bjork and is currently making his third full-length cd. It’s strange having had all these years a gift that some say came from God, not really knowing exactly what the hell it was. I think I was too busy showing off, being showed off, or just being stupid. How could I not know? How could I not at least begin to understand?
I do now.
emile
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