Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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When the Soloist Can’t Sing

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Singing at my cousin’s wedding with my best peasant dress, a guitar from Sears, and hair teased enough to hide packages of candy.

During my twenties and thirties, I sang at weddings, funerals, and assorted karaoke events with equal enthusiasm. My most requested song was “The Lord’s Prayer,” and I finessed the perfect ending:

The last line of the song is, For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen. I sang the words in a crescendo until I reached the high note on the second syllable of “forever” and held the note long and loud until the audience squirmed. Then using the same breath, I slid down the scale to hit the note on the third syllable, saying “vah” instead of the hard “r” sound. I took a breath and sang “Amen” using vibrato with the passion of a celestial choir.

My imaginary celestial choir.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can’t do that anymore.


I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy heart disease after a heart attack in June resulted in an echocardiogram followed with angiogram surgery in July. I’m taking eight medications, but I still can’t catch my breath, so a myocardial MRI is scheduled in a few weeks. Because of my broken heart, I can’t sing four words without stopping.

I loved to sing. At the University of Idaho, I was selected for the Jazz Choir and the Vandaleer Concert Choir. In 1971, the Vandaleers toured Europe and sang in old cathedrals in six countries. Most of the students had never been out of the USA, and a few hadn’t left the state. When the airplane took off from Heathrow Airport in London to return home, I began sobbing and couldn’t stop. The adventure changed my life, and my goal was to travel the world with a song in my heart.

I was fortunate to travel through the next few decades, and I kept singing. When my two children were born, my repertoire included favorite lullabies such as “I Love You a Bushel and a Peck” and “Momma’s Gonna Buy You a Mocking Bird.” I made up several songs, and their favorites were “Teeny Tiny Baby Boo” and “Two Kids on My Lap.” I sang around the house, and my five-year-old son would sing along with me for part of the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah.

And the glory, the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all nations shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.

Because I played and sang the soundtrack from “Les Miserables” so many times, my daughter could sing the entire score by the time she was 11 years old. The touring company was years away from traveling to Idaho, so I took her to Chicago to see a live performance. That was the first of many journeys to see various musical productions.

Over the last few years, my singing was limited to lullabies with my grandchildren. I also sang in the shower and when driving alone. I couldn’t reach the high notes but managed to fake the melodies. The heart attack has taken away an important part of my life, and I don’t know if I’ll ever sing again.

To keep the music playing, I started to play songs on the piano and asked for requests on my Facebook account. So far, I’ve played more than 25 requests, adding costumes and decorations for each song. Requests range from patriotic to  spiritual to silly to entertaining. I believe I’m helping to heal my broken heart by giving music to others. This is a harmonious strategy to keep my heart beating in rhythm while sharing songs. And the people said, “Amen,” with vibrato.

Hymns are the most requested songs.
Playing “The Entertainer” because I am.
Playing requests for patriotic songs.
Playing “I Love You a Bushel and a Peck” for the kids and grandkids.

 

Survive the Summer with Songs

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I grew up listening to The Captain and Tennille singing about “Muskrat Love” and The Carpenters warbling “Sing of good things, not bad. Sing of happy, not sad.” I believe those two songs were solely responsible for the rise of heavy metal bands and for Black Sabbath’s song “Electric Funeral” about nuclear annihilation. It’s all about balance.

To survive this summer of irritating noise, make music an important part of your life. Turn off the news and listen to tunes that inspire, soothe, and tap dance through your mind with promises that the political elections will end in November. At the stroke of midnight on December 31, you’ll take a cup of kindness yet and sing “Auld Lang Syne” with the eager passion of a professional soloist despite knowing that when the sun rises you won’t be able to carry a tune in an empty punch bowl. But for a brief moment, when the year is new and full of untainted potential, you’ll become a soulful crooner for all the ages, sharing your song with the universe.

Your challenge is to keep the music playing long after the confetti is thrown into the garbage, the bills are past-due, and prosperity is still elusive. The late comedian George Carlin said, “It’s called The American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it.” His acerbic humor nailed it. How can you sing a joyful song when life keeps dumping junk on your head? Maybe you’re unemployed or in a lousy job, or you haven’t had any loving since 2008, or your dog ran away. Look on the bright side – you could write Country Western songs!

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Music and mood are closely interrelated — listening to a sad or happy song alters your moods and has the ability to change your perception of the world around you. For example, gothic metal music makes me want to destroy something with a chain saw, while a classical aria causes me to (almost) levitate with elation. In a stressful situation, a little dose of “Walking on Sunshine” could be all it takes to relieve the tension.

Here are some exercises to prove that music alters your mood. Imagine seeing and hearing the following scenarios:

You’re struggling in the steaming jungles of Vietnam as you hear the foreboding song “The End” by The Doors as played in the movie Apocalypse Now. Then you’re drinking alone in a dark bar as a Billie Holiday impersonator croons “Gloomy Sunday.” You claw out of a deep depression only to hear Kansas singing “Dust in the Wind.” By now you should be wallowing on the floor, sobbing in anguish about the wretched world.

Now, pretend you’re twirling on a panoramic Austrian mountain meadow singing “The Sound of Music” with Julie Andrews. You’re even wearing a summer dress with a festive apron. Then transport yourself to a sunny beach listening to the jaunty tune of Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Finally, turn up the volume on Chariots of Fire or Rocky. Yo, Adrian! Are you smiling yet?

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No matter what festivity, calamity, or horror show blaring on the national news, you should have a song or two ready to suit the occasion. It’s healthy for the lungs and cleans out the debris in your mind if you warble a  popular song in your shower or drive along attempting to harmonize with your favorite collection of jaunty music featuring barbershop quartets. Add it to your bucket list this summer to make your own music to help you survive until the end of the year.

Don’t worry if you’re unsure about writing a song. Remember the immortal lyrics of that famous song by The Captain and Tennille that rose to #4 on the Billboard Charts – “Now he’s tickling her fancy, rubbing her toes. Muzzle to muzzle, now, anything goes as they wriggle, Sue starts to giggle.” That song includes synthesized sound effects simulating muskrat copulation. Yes, you can do better!

Singing Backup with the Angels

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In December of 1962, the village of Wendell, Idaho hummed and bustled with excitement during preparation for the holidays. We were farmers and the crops had been harvested, stored, or sold, so it was time to organize and rehearse the Christmas programs in the schools and churches.

Mary Holsinger, the doctor’s wife, volunteered every year to direct the children’s choir at the Presbyterian Church. I was ten years old and eagerly joined the Sunday School Choir. For the performance, we wore starched white bibs with big red bows.

I found my voice during rehearsal for “Angels We Have Heard on High.” As the chorus stretched out the word “Gloria,” I opened my mouth and produced a sound that shocked and impressed Mrs. Holsinger.

“You can sing!” she said, almost in disbelief that the disheveled class clown had any redeeming value. “Let’s sing this again.”

As if prompted by the harking of the herald angels, the children’s choir erupted in a harmonious rendition of the famous song written one hundred years earlier in 1862. I took the chorus to new heights of volume and passion as I hit the high notes and slid down the musical scale to reach “in excelsis Deo!” My love of the music equaled my adoration of the Christ Child, somewhere away in a manger.

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I continued singing in choirs throughout high school and college and was selected for the prestigious Vandaleer Concert Choir at the University of Idaho. We toured Europe in 1971 and I sobbed because of the glorious sounds as we harmonized while singing Handel’s “Messiah” in ornate cathedrals in France, Germany, Holland, and England. It was a long way from Wendell.

After college, I became the wedding singer. The best I ever performed was when I stood in the upper alcove in the St. Stanislaus Roman Catholic Church in Lewiston and sang “The Lord’s Prayer” and “Ave Maria” in Latin for the wedding mass of my sorority sister. I felt so filled with the spirit that I could have floated over the congregation and blessed everyone with everlasting gratitude, world peace, and abundant joy to the world. I wish I could recapture that feeling.

After years of singing at weddings, I was demoted to be the family funeral singer. The mood was different when standing in front of crying people while trying to do justice to “Amazing Grace.” I still cringe when I remember screeching off-key at Aunt Buff’s service. After that, I didn’t sing at any more funerals.

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Now, my singing is limited to when I take a shower or drive my car. I still can belt out feisty renditions of songs from Tina Turner or Carole King, but my audience is as limited as my range. I can’t hit the high notes anymore, and the low notes sound anemic. Of all the singing, my favorite songs always will be the lullabies I softly sang to my babies and to my grandchildren as they drifted off to sleep in heavenly peace.

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I humbly thank Mary Holsinger and the Virgin Mary for inspiring me to sing about angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold. Maybe someday I can be a backup singer on the tour bus to Heaven. Hallelujah.