I’ve developed egg-phobia. Not the kind of egg you eat – although according to my naturopath I’m not supposed to be attracted to them either. No, this egg looks like this..
They make music, you see. My latest creative foray is participating in a parent band as part of my kid’s school fete. The fete is the Apple Fair. Our band; the Apple Fairies. And, although we discussed it, the consensus has been that we don’t wear wings.I made my debut with the Apple Fairies last year – I was a shoop shoop girl, gettin’ down with my oohs and playing the aforementioned egg .
Now, here’s the thing. We’re a parent band – it’s supposed to be a bit of fun BUT everyone except me is either a professional musician or has some sort of musical training. I like to sing – I’m in a choir and a Singing for Fun group. But Dionne Warwick I’m not.
Last year, I had a ball. I was terribly nervous beforehand and wimped out of my solo performance of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and was ably assisted by the incredibly talented local singer Andrea Robertson.
And, a good thing and a bad thing happened. We were the last act. This meant we went on at 7.30pm when a lot of people had left already (it’s a twilight fair) and those that were there were in the drinking tent ….need I say more!
So the pressure was off. I let rip with my egg (yes, I’ll get to that), bopping and a-ooing and I didn’t worry too much about my singing. It was the most fun I’d had in eons.
And, I must confess, that after all that rehearsing and with a certain teacher getting up between songs and asking if anyone could help move the tables away as they were packing up – it was actually a tad disappointing – the 7.30pm thing.
This year, a seasoned pro, I told my new singing buddy Emma not to worry. ‘We go on last – it’s just a bit of fun, no one’s really listening,’ I told her. But then, drumroll, Phil – our illustrious band leader and king of the rock n’ roll air-jump, told us we’ve been moved to 5.30. Yep, 5.30, when the fair is jumping and everyone’s there and most people will be sombre. Eek!
Back to the egg. Now the egg is or was my security blanket on stage. As a back-up singer of a certain age, it was my role to stand up the front, look vaguely glamorous, ooh in the right spots and when there was nothing else to do – play my egg.
Now Dave, the drumming king of the Bellarine, told me at rehearsal that ahem, if the egg is not played correctly, he’d rather not hear it at all. Er, what? The key, apparently, is to hold it between thumb and fingers and gently rock it back and forth – rather than the iron-pumping movement I had hitherto employed. Ok, so now I have egg-phobia…
And did I mention I’m soloing Forever Young. Holy Toledo Batman, I smell danger!