Music making adventures: From babies to Frente

I’m having an experience of a lifetime tomorrow. And it seems such an implausible prospect that it hasn’t quite sunk in that it’s actually going to happen. Even this blog post feels like I’m back in grade 5 English writing an essay about ‘What I’ll Do On The Weekend’. I’ve had the honour of being invited to participate in a hands-on workshop in songwriting and performance presented by Simon Austin and Angie Hart before seeing Frente perform their Adelaide gig of the Marvin the Album 21st anniversary tour.

A while ago, I posted a cover of Accidentally Kelly Street on Soundcloud as part of my Twitter music challenge group thing. I’d posted five songs in my new venture of what I guess you could call song blogging (sblogging?) and was growing a bit more comfortable with the idea of putting my very amateur singing and ukulele skills out there on the internet. It had all been Guns & Roses, Randy Newman, Michael Jackson, Queen and the Beatles until that point; as remote from the artists as it is to Mars.

Now it was different. I sat in my lounge room with huge doubts and anxieties messing with my head and my body. It felt like the ukulele edition of Operation, but with fuuucks! instead of a buzzer. There was a chance this would be heard at some point by someone who I greatly admired; who had genuinely affected me as a young person; who at best would be flattered but at worst would be insulted. I’d been practising it how I’d remembered it went but when I finally listened to the original - oh shit - did it sound like I was audaciously trying to do an Angie? Or even out-Angie Angie? What the fuck was I doing? But I did it anyway, and in a small but significant way, it was a milestone in my capacity and confidence as a music maker. I eventually felt brave enough to record Ordinary Angels and Paper, Bullets & Walls.

Making music for others to hear is a gift, no matter how rough or polished it may be. I experience this at least thrice weekly in my Babytime and Storytime sessions. Try to raise your voice to a chattering crowd and you can struggle. Pick up a soprano uke and give it a few strums; now that’s an attention getter. Babies’ heads jerk around to locate the sound with gaping eyes, and their grownups beam at their cleverness. Happy music has amazingly infectious properties. I love it when the babies sometimes strum air-ukes with their tiny fingers in recognition of me during our chats. I love it when mums tell me how their babies have fallen in love with my ukulele that they now have their own in the house. Some of them have even started going to family-friendly orchestral events. (This is not to suggest I’m some sort of Pied Piper of Hindmarsh. I also seem to have a knack of sometimes making them cry when I talk to them. Thinking of it as Beatlemania helps my ego.)

This time a couple of years ago, I was an awkward three-chord-wonder. Now I’m hanging out with Frente. Still half expecting to wake up and find teacher calling bullshit on my outlandish ‘My Most Exciting Day’ essay claims.