I have a secret I’ve been keeping for years, many years, and I feel like it’s time I just share it with you all. You should probably sit down for this one. It may change us both, forever.
Exhale. Okay, here I go: I can sing like Adele. I have always been able to sing like this incredible performer. I may not look like I have the same lung capacity as that adorable Brit, but let me assure you, I can hit those alto highs and baritone lows just like her.
Falsettos? You bet. I can break out in car karaoke harmony to an Adele melody that will have you weeping as you drive to the grocery store. Ask the Carpenter. He’s cried a few times just listening to me sing. Once, he tried to open my locked passenger door right in the middle of traffic, just to hurl himself out of earshot because I am that good. Silly man, I control the stereo and the door locks. Buckle up, baby.
Don’t believe me? Ask the two nice fellas in the pickup truck that pulled up beside me at the red light of the intersection of Tower and St. Andrew in Fergus on Saturday, late afternoon. I was waiting for the advanced green to turn left. They were going straight.
It must have been the staggering volume of my super awesome 12-year-old Toyota factory-standard stereo pulsating through the rolled down windows, (I air condition my vehicle the old fashioned way), or perhaps the visual sincerity of my emotional performance, but they had their necks turned all the way west to witness Kelly Adele in all her grandeur. Can’t blame them, really.
I was mid-chorus of the opening stanza of the lyrical ballad, Easy on Me, overcome by the emotion, one foot on the brake, hands clutching the steering wheel in anticipation of the adrenaline building to hit the long, sorrowful notes of a chorus that begged my virtual lover for forgiveness. A tear glistened in the corner of my eye (truth: I sneezed at the last set of lights). Perfect for dramatic effect.
Just before the light turned green, my pickup-driving audience and I made eye contact. They smiled because they knew they had just witnessed a drive-by concert with Wellington County’s own Adele. The light turned green, I hit the gas and sang on, leaving them in their wonderment. You’re welcome, fellas.
Oh, I know what you’re thinking: if I can sing like Adele, why do I seek out an existence away from the glory, fame and riches of superstar status? Good question. I ask myself this one a lot, actually. What can I say? I think fame is overrated.
Plus, I’d have to be social and go to fancy parties with rock‘n’roll royalty, movie stars and pro-athletes. I’d need someone on retainer to do my hair, make-up, nails, basically shop for me and dress me. Why bother when I can just sing alone in my old, rattling car with the windows down, the natural spotlight from the sunroof, the full-blast breeze from the dashboard fan to blow my hair back like a rock star. Free of luxury and the trappings of a millionaire lifestyle. Who needs that? Please. So cliché.
The secret is out. Look for more powerful performances coming to an intersection near you. Applause is strongly encouraged, but not required. I’ll keep singing either way. Feel free to join in.
