There are a lot of things that are harder than writing a song.
When people do or create or manufacture a product, they follow a certain method.
I had no method.
No words.
No music.
No melody.
No rhythm. (to this day if you see me dance, you may say the same)
I had to start from scratch.
I had listened to many songs of The Beatles, Beach Boys, Elton John, Billy Joel.
I had taken many years of piano.
Now, all of that had to contribute to making something outstanding.
I would settle for nothing less.
The song was originally titled "Poor Pretty" but that seemed too somber
"young pretty" to me carried a more uplifting tone.
the tune was simple enough, 6 lines, 3 times.
I drew from what she had endured, what I feared, and what could be done, what would be best to say/advise.
the music flowed naturally, and wanting to add a little more panache to the song, I incorporated a waltz in the middle 12.
I played the song for my father, he suggested I rearranged a few parts so that it would be more gripping; he was right.
Song ready, Talent Show looming, they put my performance towards the tail end of the evening, as my performances had always been killer, always stirring up the audience.
I had ran a few vocal exercises the day of the show, my sound check was brief; my keyboard was ready and set to go when the moment called. My mother then took me to burbank to have some food, while my father stayed at the school to experience the other acts. My father phoned us while Mr. Singer-Songwriter was performing his piece.
Just a microphone and guitar.
I could hear the audience roaring with applause and tenacious hoots and hollers.
And I would later learn that his guitar solo was played behind his head.
Wow. tough competition.
My mother and I showed up some 80 minutes later.
I wore a deep blue 70s styled collared dress shirt, with a bright blue/white pattern running through it, bottomed out with blue jeans, belt and brown sneakers. I love brown sneakers. My hair was parted down the middle, and was running longer than the school limit allowed; I looked like James Taylor, according to one judge's scorecard.
The piano was set up, the student council announced my name; a short joke that was neither memorable nor good, and the curtains opened.
This night the audience was hushed when I took the stage.
I introduced it as an original song that I had written (I was new to introducing my material), and that I hoped they enjoy it.
I played the song perfectly, I sang it impeccably, I consider it to be one of my best single performances ever.
The waltz danced passionately and the last note at the end was held strongly.
I nailed it. The audience responded in a way that confused me. It was polite. It was measured. It was self-conscious. It was dumbfounded.
Mr. Singer-Songwriter came up to me after the performance and praised my performance, praised the song, and I told him the same, even though I had not witnessed it firsthand, as he did.
The Talent Show ended. The Talent judgement began.
In third place was a dance troupe
In second place was a virtuoso violinist
(who read sheet music from a stand, that was written by somebody else, c'mon)
At this point, I realised that my popularity with the judges and the people was not as high as Mr. Singer-Songwriter, and could do nothing but smile like Jack Nicholson.
Nevertheless, they announced...
In First Place at the 2006 Village Christian Talent Show is...
(name withheld) Mr. SINGER-SONGWRITER!!!
The audience went nuts, he collected his prize, the flowers, the trophy, and the larger sum. he thanked the people for the opportunity and was glad to have performed, he was very appreciative of the award.
He performed more than I did, he had a good award speech as well as a good song and a great performance.
I walked away with nothing.
I was upset that I had not placed second.
I was upset that I lost.
I was upset that I had not won anything.
Narcissist? absolutely. Nuts? yes.
Went from beloved to bemused.
That night I left disheartened and disappointed.
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