Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Do You Know The Way To St Tropez?

Clearly I don't, because I managed to sing it in the wrong key at Sunday's gig.

Sir Fitzroy Callow is blaming himself for putting me off, because he launched into the introduction for Boys Don't Cry without realising everyone else was playing St Tropez. Maybe I did pick up the wrong cue from him somehow, but the weird thing was that once I'd kicked off in one key I just couldn't get myself off it - it was like train tracks. Honey was singing the right tune really loudly in my ear but that didn't work, and neither did Connie bashing the chords out super loud on the keyboard. I'd got two thirds of the way through the song before I finally managed to pitch it right.

Honey said to me after the gig, "Never mind, the good thing about live gigs is that nobody ever remembers the mistakes afterwards." But of course St Tropez would have to be the one song that two of my friends decided to video on their mobile phones, wouldn't it? So I got to conduct a full post-mortem on my cock up. This has enabled me to ascertain that I did indeed pick up my wrong note from the trombone, but no hard feelings Sir Fitz, because I should have been listening to the bass, piano and guitar, and you were outnumbered three instruments to one. Four if you count Bobby Fresh, who claims he was definitely drumming in the right key.

I don't fuck up very often, but when I do, I do it spectacularly. I can't decide if this is a good thing, or if it would be better to fuck up little and often. Obviously not fucking up at all would be best of all.



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