Certain Occasions Call For Normal Singing

I recently read about Madonna lighting Shabbat candles with Netanyahu, and it made me wonder how much flair she put in her bracha (blessing). Did she harmonize? Did she vogue? Did she try to throw in a few subliminal Shanti-Shanti-Shat-ayay-ohs?

Certain occasions call for normal singing.

Just regular lah-dee-dah voice, akin to whistling. But not that super fancy vibrato-whistling. Murky waters I'm meddling in here.

I’m talking to you, Talented Singers.

I’d rather hear the least tone-talented buddy shout “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow” than hear a Talented Singer try to find his or her spotlight while -Row-Row-Rowing his or her Boat.

Take Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday should not be scatted, trilled, harmonized or otherwise American Idol-ed. Just sing Happy Birthday, okay? It’s an ensemble piece—the idea is blend. BLEND. Not, check out this high note… toooo YOUUUUU-U-OOOH! (going on well after the rest of the group has ceased singing, and the birthday boy has tears streaming down his face from your having inadvertently blown out his candles)

Another example is Mom-n-tot music classes. I’m as susceptible as the next singer to forgetting myself in the sentimental sway of Oh Shenendoh, but I try to rein it in. I DO! (And I apologize again for my over-zealous rendition of “Everybody Loves Saturday Night” in Swahili AND Chinese. Ren-ren-si-hu-wan-lei-pa-ei-lu, Y’all!) But please, please? Let junior take a stab at “Itsy Bitsy Spider” without your best Judy Garland…Mister.

One small final request. The shower? The Car? HAVE AT IT, BABY! But if I’m in the passenger seat, can we make some effort not to flagrantly mix genres, while pretending normal car-singing behavior?

Pat. I didn’t know where to look when you Julie Andrew-ed all over Salt-N-Pepa in 1994. I had to fake cough and stare intently out the window the entire ride home. How badly I needed to share the unintentional hilarity, you so generously and innocently provided. (Think Sweeny Sisters. Think Will Ferrell and Ana Gastayer as The Culps.)

Especially because you are a boy Pat, and we were playing romantic opposites. There never were sparks—me being the wrong gender and all—but I heard that refrain over and over again when we had to stay lip-locked throughout that entire scene. For thirty performances.
Pooosh it. Puh-Pooosh it rrrrreal good. I said. Yes, I said Poosh it! Complete with awesome thespian diction and a surprisingly light-hearted trill.

Talented Singers? I have one word for you. KARAOKE.

See you there.

We are not going to take it. Oh oh oh No! We are not going to take it. No, no we certainly are not going to take it, any mo-oh-OH-OH-HORRRRE!