As a boy with some musical ability, I was sent for classical piano lessons by my parents. But once puberty kicked in, the only interest I had in Beethoven was the Chuck Berry tune. So I started experimenting with boogie woogie and pseudo-jazz of my own creation instead. This led to playing in “originals” bands in my early 20’s, where I would lurk at the back of the stage hunched over my keyboard, which probably suited my introverted male nature at the time.
However, along the way I discovered not only did I have a strong and clear singing voice, but also a three-octave vocal range. Which meant, unlike many men (Sinatra, for example), I could sing along with the majority of female singers without effort.
Whenever the opportunity arose, I would make use of that ability by doing backing and harmony vocals. Then in my early 30’s, while playing bass in a semi-professional group, I had a bash at singing the lead in public for the first time. And perhaps not entirely by chance, the song in question was “Dreams” as originally sung by Stevie Nicks (without changing the gender references – ha ha).
Fed up with being a “weekend warrior,”, in my mid 30’s, I elected to drop out of the rat race in order to study music formally. I went to the university as a mature student, where I had to commit to one-to-one tuition on my “primary” instrument. As a Jack of all trades, (I once even did a pro gig as a drummer!), I had “been there, done that” and was now more interested in the bigger picture. Merely to satisfy the criteria. I had a go at mastering jazz piano. And wasted my time accordingly, as my heart wasn’t in it. (Dave Brubeck et al could once again sleep at night!)
It so happened that I had come out the closet at the time I started at the university and after a year of finding my feet on the local scene, realized I had the ideal opportunity to finally indulge my inner diva. I ditched the piano lessons to learn how to sing properly for the first time.
I was also now focusing on arrangement as one of my main academic modules, so I killed two birds with one stone by knocking out a disco-style backing track of Barbra Streisand’s “Evergreen” for my drag debut to take place at a weekly lunchtime event held in the Student Union bar.
The only other person aware of my plan was the lecturer who organized said event. When the time came, I got changed into an outfit Shirley Bassey might have envied before coming on stage to perform over the backing track. And then promptly disappeared again like Cinderella, leaving most of a stunned audience thinking, “Who/what the hell was that?” Afterwards, I went to a lecture as if nothing had happened. However, one or two of my fellow students realized it was me under the wig and make p. And thus, the cat was out of the bag.
I decided to make the most of my newfound celebrity status and put together a revue featuring several re-arranged versions of popular songs for another Student Union gig. I also invited a talented, but scatty woman from my course to play my “boyfriend” as part of the show. She agreed, as long as she could do a spot as herself beforehand.
I came on and performed the grand opening number of my act while she changed nearby (already dressed in required shirt and trousers). I announced her character was joining me on stage and waited for “him” to do so accordingly. And waited. And waited. While hoping the ground would swallow me up, standing there like a lemon making feeble improvised attempts to explain “his” tardiness!
After what seemed like ages, she finally turned up in man mode and the show went on. But ,afterwards, I thought, “Exactly how long does it take to put on a jacket, tie and false mustache?” Seemingly far longer for a woman to do so than a man!
Although I still cringe at the memory of that debacle, I learned my lesson and made sure the next revue (billed as “An Xmas Xtravaganza”, complete with MC and male dance troupe) went without incident. While basking in the acclaim of a receptive crowd afterwards (including one of my lecturers, who couldn’t help but tell me how pretty I looked as a woman), a member of the staff asked if I was interested in having the act recorded for transmission on the university television station (that was broadcast to a potential audience of several million). I saw that as the big break I had long been waiting for and so readily agreed. However, there was one snag: I wasn’t allowed to do any covers as they didn’t have a catch-all PRS license (the British version of ASCAP, BMI, etc.). So could I do original material instead? I pointed out that the whole point of the revue was to do familiar songs in my own customized arrangements, so I felt obliged to decline the offer. And thus (like Fagin in Oliver!), I’d better think it out again!
After I left the university, I made a brief attempt to break into the professional drag circuit. But after a couple of salutary experiences getting changed in cramped and dingy toilets in order to entertain a handful of semi-interested punters was enough to convince me it was more trouble than it was worth. I decided to put such aspirations on hold until such time I found a collaborator truly on my own wavelength, which finally happened 15 years later, but that’s another story.
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