Souls made for singing

Grease. ABBA. Elvis. And more. Queen. Barry Manilow. Tom Waits. John Paul Young. Doris Day. The Andrew Sisters. Billie Holiday. Ella Fitzgerald. WHAM. Bon Jovi. Joe Cocker. Whitney Houston. Pat Benatar. Kim Wilde. Mary Poppins. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Musicals galore. These are just some of the singing which filled my world. Playing a role in shaping me through song. As I grew up.

In a corner of our back yard of my childhood home. Was a compost bin. A homemade construction from a left over boat shaped thing. Turned on its head. The base flat. Wide enough to stand on. And look out at the world, over the fence. Wide enough to stand on and sing. Which is exactly what I did. At five or six. Belting out a tune full of sorrow and hope. The infamous line. Used against me for the rest of my life. By a teasing older brother. ‘My boyfriend died. And then he came alive again.’ I sang that same song on our front porch, which was raised up like a stage, overlooking the front yard. I didn’t care who heard. It was a concert for my imagination, and I sang my made-up song as loud as my lungs could manage, to passing cars and the birds in the trees.

Stringing memories together of my childhood, sometimes it feels like my childhood itself was a musical. There was so much singing in it. My brother loved, and still loves, jazz. Jazz music belted from his bedroom window all day. And he would always sing along. He was my jazz education, and my love for Billie Holiday is thanks to him. I didn’t enjoy some of the heavy old 78 records he played on his special record player. Like The Andrew’s Sisters. But I loved the soulful voices of Ella Fitzgerald, Billie and more.

My mum, would put Elvis, Doris Day or Bing Crosby (man I loved that name, Bing) on the record player and sing along to the lyrics as she dusted the house, or washed the floors. From a distance, and through young eyes, she made cleaning the house look like so much fun, as she danced a little as she sang, duster in hand. Mum has a great voice, suited perfectly for the records she chose. And when faced with the need to clean the house, even now, some forty plus years later I will pop on some music to get me through the task. With a picture of mum in my mind, a smile on my lips and a giggle in my heart.

On Sunday’s we would watch musicals on television. As a family. After lunch. Mum lying down on the couch. The kids spread around the chairs, beanbags and floor. We would watch an Elvis movie which aired each weekend, or some other musical of that time, before jumping on our bikes to catch the last breath of daylight in our lungs. Innocent and easy days filled with music. I watched so many Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, alongside Elvis musicals, I am surprised I didn’t expect my first couple of boyfriends to pick me up and dance, or serenade me with a ukulele or guitar.

My older sister loved Barry Manilow and John Paul Young. We all loved ABBA. And we new every word to the Nolan Sisters’ songs. My first tape was a Disney take on famous songs, renamed to funny things like ‘Disco Duck’ the words rewritten for the tune ‘Macho Man’ and sung by Donald Duck. I was pretty young. I then upgraded as I got older to every compilation of the ‘best of' tapes around. Ripper 76, Hitwave released in 1978 and again in 1981.

My favourite records: The Village People, Wham, Bon Jovi, Janet Jackson Spandau Ballet. Thank goodness, I discovered Queen accidentally. Whenever my dad dropped things of at the rubbish tip, he would always come back with something he could fix and use. One day it was a portable tape deck for me. And inside it was an unofficial recorded tape of Queen Greatest Hits. I was about ten, and I played that tape all day every day. On my tape deck from the rubbish tip with dad’s red tape holding it together. And later, I played that tape anywhere I went, playing it on my walkman, even as my feet reached for the sky as I lifted myself up into the air on our outdoor swing set. I knew all the words to all the songs. I loved Fat Bottom Girls and because this song came just before Bicycle Race, and they are mentioned in the song, I only ever imagined those fat bottom girls on those bikes. No one else. I loved the idea of these fat bottom girls, confident and free, riding on their bikes. Their bottoms hanging over the seats. I loved that image the song brought to my mind.

When we would visit my cousins and grandparents by the beach for our summer holiday, we spent a lot of our time singing. My two favourite memories are of singing every song of the Grease album over and over again with my cousins. We would sing by the record player, or tape deck, in between adventures at the park nearby, and filling our stomachs with my grandfather’s famous home made chicken noodle soup and my grandmother’s buttery fudge. And I will never forget the laughter in the bungalow, as we all sat on the edge of the double bed, around my grandmother, her arms around us, welcoming us to her home. Singing Tina Turner’s ‘What’s love got to do with it’ in her thick Lithuanian accent. Pushing her false teeth out now and then for extra impact and laughter. I loved Tina Turner. Her sass. Her raspy voice. Her energy. I loved that we shared the same name. That a famous singer had the same name my family called me, Tina.

Music and song has filled my soul since I was a baby girl. It has always been a part of my life. My favourite photo is of my dad, playing his piano accordion, singing to a group of friends, but with eyes only for my mum. You can see their connection in the photo. It was just before they started dating. And it is like there is no one else there, but each other. I loved it when years later, married with four kids later, dad would bring out that piano accordion for us to sing along to his playing.

We sang every Friday in primary school with our music books, knees crossed on the floor. We sang in concerts in a tiny hall. My favourite memory was a silly little song about going to the zoo. We sang in the bus on the way to school camp. I sang in musicals and choirs in high school. I sang out the windows of cars with friends, wherever we were travelling, no matter how short the trip might be. We sang in the pool and on our bikes. And I sang in my bedroom all alone, and I sang as I tried to learn to play the piano. I have sung on a table at a Karaoke bar. When my children were younger I sang them songs at night, as they closed their eyes to sleep. One Christmas, I bought SingStar for my nieces and nephews. A gift more for me than them I think. I hogged the microphone that year, and had to be banned. I spent the Christmas I got my ukulele outside on the deck singing as I learnt how to play. And I still love to belt a song out in the shower. Or the car, much to the amusement of those passing by.

Thankfully my music taste has broadened and improved since my childhood. But one thing that has never changed. Is the fact that our souls are made for singing. And for that. I am forever grateful.