What is a blog for if not to post about the day when your dreams came true? Right? Because on Saturday my dreams came true and I'd like to post about it.
My friend Scott Wiley is a recording another album, this time he has enlisted his favorite friends and musicians in covering hymns and old gospel tunes. I mean, these people are bone-deep talented and tight. I don't know how much I can say at this point, but I think this project is going to be pretty dang wonderful.
And speaking of pretty dang wonderful (and bone-deep talented, not to mention tight), Scott called me one night to ask if I'd like to come down to the studio and record a song or two. Because you know my voice right? You know how my voice makes heaven-elated-and-tickled-white? My belting, especially?
I told him I'd see what I could do, and then I checked my schedule and it looked clear. What is a bigger sign that heaven wants you to sing on Scott Wiley's album than having a clear schedule?
So on Saturday Chup and I left The Chief with my sixteen-year-old nephews for a morning of heavy recording. Some people wouldn't trust their baby with two sixteen-year-old nephews, but Chup and I do. We do. We say, "Just don't let him climb on the kitchen counter top, or give him the whole bag of Pirate's Booty, and you should be good. Again, no kitchen counter top, no whole bag of Booty, and good." See? So easy.
On the car ride over I practiced my scales. And gurgled a Mexican hot chocolate. It really relaxed my voice.
When I got to the studio everyone was buzzing. Musicians and singers and studio lights, and documentarians, and photographers and a table with lots of candy (which I skipped, sugar is not good for my chords).
When everyone was ready Scott said, "Go!" (or whatever he said) and a guy started banging on a suitcase, followed by a fearsome threesome on ukuleles, backed up by several guitars and singers and tambourines and a big stand-up bass and a red retro guitar and did I already mention the ukuleles--yes I did because I had to use spell check--and then . . . then there was me.
Would you believe that the song I recorded was "This Little Light of Mine?" Do you think I am kidding? Because I am not. Here I am, with this little light of mine (my voice) letting it SHINE. Shine, shine, shine letting it shine. So apropos.
I mean, never mind that Cherie Call, Sarah Sample and Deborah Fotheringham were singing the leads, and I was just in a mixed bag choir of husbands and wives (me, Chup, Scott and wife Sarah) and you couldn't really, really hear my voice. But I lent it anyway, my little light.
That is what we do, us people with talent.
After an exhausting couple hours, wherein I was completely enchanted and in love with everything musical and recordingness, we headed home to reunite with our baby. With our hearts full of happy, melodic hormones, we opened the front door to find this:
Kitchen counter top? Yes.
Whole bag of Priate's Booty? On the floor, check.
Where were the sixteen-year-old nephews? Playing Halo.
But, I have never seen The Chief happier in his life. Just had run of the entire place, nothing off limits. Spoons, batteries, crayons, donuts, Mom's laptop computer . . .
Sounds like two of us had dreams come true on Saturday.
(Thanks June Audio!)