When I was a kid, I was convinced that I was going to be a famous singer. I used to kneel by my bedroom window and sing along to my WHAM! tape with all my heart, just certain that a music scout was going to roll down my working-class Ohio street, hear my silvery tones and sign me on the spot. I felt that I brought a depth and maturity to the lyrics that belied my seven years, and that it was just a matter of time before I was wowing sold-out crowds somewhere. I felt the pain of George's Careless Whisper, and thrilled to the snarky anger in You can have my credit card baby, but keep your red hot fingers off of my heart lady...Once, when I was quizzing my mother about my prospects as a superstar, she delicately suggested that I might be overdoing the vibrato a bit. I figured she was just worried that she wouldn't get to see me enough once I started touring.
I didn't become singer. Believe me, you'd have read about it by now if I had (though I do know a startling number of Irish songs and oldies, due to my years in the sub-par bar business. You should hear me sing Long Black Veil in the shower; it's MAGICAL.)