Nine

Any hint of self esteem I might have had went out the window this past Saturday.

I had the honor and pleasure of watching the performance of one very talented singer at an amphitheatre somewhere in Lavington, Nairobi and decided that perhaps it was time I gave up music all together because if that’s what I have to compete with, I might as well try competing financially with Oprah Winfrey. But there was a way out of this sudden feeling of talentlessness.

I made it a hobby to try and sing like all my favorite singers, men and women alike. And since the way to learn is by emulation, I decided to hang around this wonderfully gifted singer, Esmeralda. It was not long before she had me under her wing, if only for that day, teaching me how to breathe, the facial expressions to make; it was a struggle and different from my default rock n’ roll sneer.

And so with my newly acquired skills – of controlling the crowd with my mind – I went back out into the world to put them to practice. Well, the world consisted of five of my neighbours, the watchman, the house help and the building caretaker, but it is a wise performer that tests their strengths on a dummy audience. I thought of calling my best friends but they would just smile and congratulate me even if I did a horrible job, because according to them, that’s what friends do – let you make a fool of yourself and then convince you that you were ‘the bomb’.

After what I thought was a breathtaking performance, I stood in front of my audience waiting for feedback. Now, judging from their lack of expression, I had had absolutely no impact whatsoever, or these guys were really good actors. But as it turned out, looking at someone with a blank face after they’ve shocked you is an Indian thing, according to Anmol. She lives in the flat above mine.

“Jeri that was amazing!” her daughter Indu said to me with that same non-expression. Where I come from, an extraordinary performance is met with more song and dance. The caretaker was indifferent, the watchman just wanted to know If he could play my guitar when I was done. It was Hakim though that gave me the honest feedback.

“Okay, one, your voice is almost perfect, you need to make your strumming cleaner and more distinct, right now, you’re just banging away,” he took a breath, “aside from that I really hope you’re planning to vamp up your outfit.”

Okay.

As soon as that was done, I went back into my flat, locked myself in my room and pulled a Prince: recorded myself playing every instrument I had, drums, rhythm, bass, keyboard, and then I played the lead over it with a metronome on. This, according to Hakim would help me keep time with other instruments and perfect my solo. The tricky part was playing lead and singing at the same time. I’ve found that it’s much easier singing what you play, literally.

I have until tomorrow night to practice, then Sunday all heavy metals will be sipping out of my fingers. Wish me luck, for it’s been hard work.