And Sometimes, Ya Suck.

When I say "Ya", I mean me.

Man, did I suck at the jazz jam the other day. I have been struggling for a while now, with anxiety and depression and fear and sadness and terror. And it was all I could do to show up at the jazz jam and sing. I've felt that way for a while now, since I've been in Taos. Sometimes I have to drive around for a half hour or so, before I muster up enough courage to walk in that door. Once I get behind the microphone, though, somehow I feel a lot calmer.

I am always grateful for the kindness of the musicians and the willingness of Gary, who runs the place, to find and print out lyrics to the tunes I don't know.

Here's the dirty secret that I suspect they all have figured out - I am really not a jazz singer. I like it, but I rarely listen to it. Even when I was studying scat singing, weekly, I didn't gravitate towards the greats (Ella, Sara, etc). My ear has always been drawn to R&B, funk, pop and blues. And, when I'm feeling down, it is really, really hard to get myself to listen to any kind of music, at all.

I have learned just how difficult it is for the musicians to change keys to accommodate singers. Hearing how they have to transpose in their heads, on the fly, has given me a new level of respect. But, I know most songs aren't written in keys that compliment my voice. I just didn't have the confidence to ask for different keys, this week. So, I sucked. A lot. Of course, I haven't been practicing and my voice is not very pliable. My anxiety made it difficult for me to concentrate on the music and when I tried to improvise or scat, well, you might have an idea of how it sounded.

But, I showed up.