When I was a teenager I had a friend who attended singing lessons. It is true that I had never heard her sing (she claimed that she cannot sing in front of the people she knew), and I took her at her word that she had a beautiful voice. Well, after 10-15 attendances she was already bored. And not because of the signing, but because the teacher blessed her with a song she had to sing at every attendance, Barbra Streisand – Woman in love. She became so horrified with the song that she started shivering any time she used to hear the word ‘love’ or if somebody mentioned the name of Barbra Streisand. This is why I think that two years ago she must have been on the brink of depression to hear almost ceaselessly on the radio a song that kept repeating: Barbra Streisand. I truly believe that she must have felt avenged and supported the people who wanted to record a similar song, praising Stela Popescu.
Anyway, I used to hear her telling me about the diaphragm – that thing that supports the singing – and I used to imagine myself (as I was her friend, and that somehow guaranteed me my voice, too) as the new Whitney Houston, to say the least. And so I used to grab the red badminton bat and confidently perform in front of the mirror in my room. I would inevitably start with « end aiiiiiiii » (in those times I had no idea what that lady sang and how one would spell it – I was certain about one thing, something was hurting her. I, instead, was tormented by talent) and I would not stop until my sister would come, probably sent by my mother, to calm me down, whispering affectionate menaces. My precious memory, actually proving the beauty of my voice, leads me back to one summer afternoon. My mom and my sis were in the living room, tailoring and sewing some clothes. I had to make the most of it as they weren’t around the stage, and the sewing machine was noisy enough. I took the microphone a.k.a. the hair brush and I started: « bitaaar suit me-morizz… ». Perking up my ears, I continued to sing encouraged by the fact that no one came to ask me to shut up and I concluded that since I had been singing so much, my voice must have sounded better. I finished my song. Still no one appeared. And so I started singing another song. And this was when I heard footsteps in the hall. The door to my room opened. Two inquiring eyes were staring at me. My sister’s eyes. “Ah, it was you singing! And we thought that we left the radio on!” I had never felt so proud before. If my voice sounded just like one on the radio, then I was going to have a glorious musical future.
Fame has not yet been cast upon me. But I won’t stop. « End aiiiiiii, uil olueiz lave iuuuuuu……..»