This week, I hit the studio, and we started mixing my new record. Listening back to one of my favorite songs, I cringed. My vocals were all over the place. Sometimes I was sharp, sometimes flat, and sometimes I just plain sang the wrong note.
So I asked my producer if I could sing it again.
This time, I sang it perfectly. I nailed everything. Great vibrato. Killer high notes. Big belting low notes. You know: the works. I felt like a pro again, like a real singer.
Except listening back, I hated every perfect note of it.
I missed all the gritty bits. The scratchy high notes. The parts I ran out of breath. They were the good stuff. They sold the story by making it believable. In the end, that rough pass was the one I nailed.
And the perfect pass was more cringeworthy than all my mistakes combined. It sounded fake.
Reader, there's a time to prove we're good, and there's a time to be good at being authentic, at being our flawed selves. Nobody wants art that's immaculate. They want art that makes them feel something real. I don't know if it helps to read, but being pitch perfect in life isn't always something to strive for. Sometimes it's enough to get up and be the best damned you that you can be.
With that, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving this week, and I'll see you next Monday. Get out there and be out of tune. -Em