FRI MAY 1 2026
Every time I sing The Beatles songs, I actively try to improve my vocal, our vocals. This morning in the station I was being really, really focused on listening to the sound in the room, rather than the sound in my head. Before, I always backed off from the mic when I could hear “the room” sound, my voice out there. (In studio recording, listening to your own vocal can drive you down into a hole unless you’re really skilled at it, which is why you see people hold one phone off their ear while recording, to keep it alive and fresh.)
But I’m discovering that in the room, holding the mic away is actually giving me a false image of what the sound actually is. In tapes, I’m still oversinging. But it feels weird to totally relax. It feels, as Blake Lee said, like I’m not doing anything.
This morning I heard Gavin singing so hard he was wearing out his voice. I warned him that he was damaging it singing like that. And that he should sing softer and quieter during a ballad. He said, “I’m a punk singer! I don’t do quiet!”
This brought me back to when I first began writing for the theater and I played everything in a strict rock tempo because I wanted my rock integrity! I was scornful of “Broadway Rock.” I’m talking back in the 60s. (Until “Hair,” which I heard through Three Dog NIght, and then, eventually, the movie.)
But through the years, I’ve learned technique, subtlety, storytelling, pacing, patience, elasticity, breathing, placement and theatricality. I didn’t lose any integrity I already had. I’ve just grown up. The thing I always was is still there and gives me a kick when I need it.
Gavin Gold, a generation younger than me, came up on much meaner streets than I did. Capetown, South Africa under apartheid. His life was nothing like mine.
His music was Punk. Rebel punk rock. Hard edged and brutal.
I replied to him, “Okay, then, do this. When you sing with me, listen to my voice and try to exactly match the tone while I try to sound exactly like you.”
Then we sang “In My Life.” I know he’s probably done this naturally sometimes because I’ve heard this harmony before. But this morning was something different. When I turned my head so that we were slightly facing each other, the sound waves from our mouths began to vibrate and amplify themselves between us before hitting the mic.
If you’ve ever sung perfect harmony with anyone, you know this feeling. It’s why I love choral singing. One time, in junior high choir, there was this guy. When he and I sang together, it was louder than the entire choir because of the way our voices mixed.
When “In My Life” was over, we felt kind of stunned.
Suddenly, a guy steps up – by this time I wasn’t even aware of the crowd – throws a tip in the box and says, “This was for that harmony.”
I swear this happened.
That’s what he said. That was for the harmony.
Music is an endless adventure just like life. When you create harmony, you heal the world.
