PUNK ROCK | SINGERS
When Life Hands You a Rock Band
You may need to learn how to dance
I never expected to find myself in a rock band. I had always wanted to be an actor. Growing up in a New Jersey neighborhood just a bus ride away from Manhattan, I loved singing but thought of myself more of a folk-rock person.
So how did I become a punk-rock singer? I was living in a neighborhood called Park Slope in Brooklyn NY, having lucked into a sublet at the very same house where a certain director was growing up while his family were on an extended vacation. (One or two of his movies were even filmed in the area, but I’ll let you guess who he is.)
I had been in the city just a few months and was auditioning for plays and sometimes musicals. As it happened, I met a guy (at an audition) who was, like me, trying to get acting work. (I’m calling him Micah, because I like that name). As it happened, he also played guitar and was a singer-songwriter. He came by the sublet one evening (because I invited him), made an incredible chicken soup, and played songs for my three enraptured roommates. Not weeks, but days later, he moved in.
Looking back on it now, I guess it was an “early twenties” type thing, though we ended up living together and even getting married and parenting a a son. We also started a folk-rock band called Flamewood, and sang at the NY Renaissance Faire as well as parties and small gatherings. We found a bass player (who I’m calling Jeff). He became a good friend, too.
In Flamewood, I learned to sing harmony (not easy for me, as I had never tried). I found being a folkish singer was the right fit, as you didn’t need to perform as much as a rock and roll singer would. And then, somehow, our folk days started morphing into more rock song choices, as both Micah and Jeff were attracted to the New York music scene.
Suddenly we weren’t playing clubs like Snafu anymore, which allowed us to experiment with all kinds of genres and songs. We were at clubs with names like The Dirt Club, or college venues, and one day, the legendary CBGBs put us on the schedule, and I had to decide what to wear.
I settled on a Victorian camisole and a skirt, because at heart I was still a folk singer. What I remember most about CBGBs, besides singing tunes we’d rehearsed within an inch of our lives, were the flies and other bugs onstage you had to keep from getting into your mouth when you opened it.
On the plus side, the crowd seemed excited to be there and the sound man was terrific. He had kind words for my performance, and knew how to make me sound as good as possible.
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What was missing, for me and others, was my ability to be comfortable singing punk rock. I loved the songs we were writing, but they were much blunter and edgier than what we had done before. Other singers bounced all over the stage, while I wasn’t even sure what to do.
Serendipitously, I met a woman named Margie Ann at the Author’s Guild, one floor down from the Dramatists Guild where I worked. We started talking about everything and nothing, as new friends do, and when I told her I sang in a rock band, she asked me to tell her the next time I was playing somewhere. I can’t remember where, but I do know she showed up.
When I asked Margie Ann a few days later what she thought, her comments were, I admit, discouraging. She liked our sound and the music, but felt I could do more to sell the songs. I knew she was right, and told her so, but also had to tell her how clueless I was about performing.
I don’t know what I was expecting Margie Ann to say, but I was completely surprised by what she did say. “I think I know what you need, and I think I can help you.” It turned out Margie Ann had enormous reserves of talent as a dancer, and she wanted to work with me for free. I said yes instantly, and we found a free space in which to practice.
The first thing we talked about was my look — which had to go, Margie Ann said. I moved from Victorian camisole to either a purple jumpsuit or a short, glittery skirt and striped top. I experimented with different hairstyles, putting my hair up one day and down the next. We also went together to see bands fronted by women. On one particular evening as we watched a singer perform, Margie Ann asked me to check out how that singer played with the audience.
I didn’t know what Margie Ann meant at first, but after watching the band for a while, I could see that the singer was really relating to the people watching her. It felt as though we were in her living room, and she was dancing around and talking with her friends.
At home, I practiced with an imaginary audience and even pretended to talk with them. In dance rehearsal sessions with Margie Ann, she taught me how to move around lightly on the balls of my feet instead of hitting the floor with my entire foot. The interesting thing about this was realizing that Micah was very comfortable as a performer, and knew a lot of the tricks Margie Ann taught me. Why he never spoke to me about them is a mystery.
I think that because we were in a relationship, he wanted only to say the most positive things and didn’t want me to feel too self-conscious. I remember a studio session where I was unable to sing the harmony with him. He told the engineer to record the next attempt, but told me no one was recording and we were doing a practice session. At that point, I was able to do the harmony perfectly.
Meanwhile, I continued working with Margie Ann as much as I could. She not only taught me what to do with my feet, but with my arms and the mike and even my eyes when I was blinded by the lights. Mostly, I learned that singing on stage was about connecting to the people in front of you.
After working with Margie Ann for a few months, our band returned to CBGBs. The sound man was still there and again did a spectacular job on our vocals. But this time, I was able to put all of Margie Ann’s directions into practice — and received a much stronger and more positive audience response.
While the band broke up after a year or so, due to differing opinions between Jeff and Micah, I will always take the lessons I learned there with me. The main one, I think, is that it’s never too late to change and grow your performances. You don’t have to be a classical dancer or a perfect singer. All you need is the will to connect with your audience — and a fabulous teacher.
And yes, there are teachers out there, and you can find the right one. You’ll also find audiences who will respond to you (and some who won’t, no matter what you do). What no teacher can teach you is confidence. But, if they’re good enough, they can share the skills you’ll need to fake it — until you don’t have to, anymore.
