Saturday, April 27, 2013

Worst Singer Ever

Today I witnessed a woman who was perhaps the worst singer I have ever heard. I will not name this vocal monstrosity because to do such a thing would give this smelly heap of terrible free publicity. Somehow one of her singles made it on to Dance Moms. How this accident of fate happened for a waste of flesh such as herself I will never know. If you think my words are harsh you should have heard her sing. Or attempt to do what is classified as singing.

This all happened at a Brooklyn Street Fair. The first guy got up and drummed, not bad. Second woman sang songs in Spanish for the kids. Then this woman who I am speaking of takes the stage. She has a terrible weave on her head and so much makeup on her face that it is melting. She has a tight rhinestone top on and jeans that are so tight she looks like baking dough coming out of the rapper. Up close and personal I could see the tacky leg tattoo on her foot. She shuffled her ipod and began singing. Maybe she would dazzle us with dance tunes. I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Well the singing started and she was terrible from the start. There was no pitch/tune recognition, and when she went to hit the high notes it was a complete nightmare. She kept blaming the acoustics and the sound system. But these things were not hiding the fact this fat blob was off pitch and off key. To make matters worse she was just standing there like a fat load. Her songs were all whining about men who dumped her. She sang about one man she was with for two years. He is probably at the local psych ward after trying to jump out the window to escape her terrible singing. After his attempted suicide he probably begged, "You don't understand, just listen!"

 As a matter of fact the whole fair tried to escape her whole singing. For the other acts people crowded around the stage. For the most part, they ran when she began to trill. My guess is she was not singing about a man but rather Bob Evans and his All You Can Eat Specials. That is why her heart was breaking, they ran out of food.

I will back up my criticisms by saying I know what the hell I am talking about. First thing is first, I sing daily when I deliver my telegrams. I work with some talented women, namingly Lynn and Leslie who can hit those high notes. While I don't have the range my coworkers have, God cursed and blessed me with a basement voice, when I sing I sell my personality. Sure I might not have the vocal chops some do, but I can sell a damn song. (So much so I accidentally got a number one hit on internet radio). This beached whale could do neither. Oh and I know for a fact music is exact. My cousin was a trumpet prodigy as a kid and now tours the world. Oh and my other cousin is in Notre Dame's Marching Band. And in addition my dad was a top soloist with his boy's choir back in the day who made a record. I have also spent most of my Sunday's in a recording studio and am working with a hell of a composer. Music is exact. It is not like comedy where no one but me can hear me screwing my jokes up. When you screw your music up we all hear it you painted dumbass.

As she  screeched I thought she couldn't get any worse. I was wrong. This woman proceeds to begin singing in Spanish. That was not the worst of it either. She begins screaming off key in Spanish. Never have her people been so humiliated since the days of Columbus and the Taino genocide. For a moment she captured the Spanish speaking crowd due to language commonality. But then they too fled from her awful destruction onstage. Again, their people have been oppressed enough. Why be degraded further? At times like these I wish we could time travel and rent John Wilkes Booth to get rid of the ear sore and eye sore on stage. Of course I could also tell Helen Keller that I envy her deafness because despite her handicap she misses out on big wet abortions like this experience.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "No Mas! No Mas!" (Note: I know the a has an accent mark over it).

While this was going on, I saw a hipster couple pass. The girl who looked like she ate raw, didn't bathe, and probably didn't shave said, "This girl sucks ass." I rarely agree with hipster women but this was one time I concurred. My only regret was that this was not the Apollo so we could not boo her. Or better yet, that we couldn't fly Simon Cowell in to have him destroy her dreams on the spot. This woman had the body of Adele and the voice of a Spiced Girl with the stage presence of a living room lamp. Bad combo.

After she was done whining about men in her native tongue the festival director came over to try to correct the situation. I wanted to be of service and tell him that no matter what he did with the sound nothing could remedy the fact that this woman was off pitch, off key, and had no stage presence. Not to mention the cow had her background vocals pre-recorded, and as they were going instead of dancing or engaging the crowd she slurped water from the bottle at her feet. Now having bombed onstage plenty of times myself I have a sliver of sympathy for a performer giving it their all even when it isnt working out. This load, on the other hand, wasn't even trying. Then again that would involve physical activity. For her she wasn't about to expend such energy doing things like singing well or performing, but rather scarfing some of the free samples one tent over.

When she finished destroying the beautiful language and misrepresenting her culture, I heard the festival coordinator say he was cutting her a check. She was paid to bomb like Hiroshima? No wonder Amy Winehouse stuck a needle in her arm and no wonder Whitney Houston died in her bath tub. Shit like this.

She tried to tell the festival head it was the mic once again. And once again I just wanted to tell her she was a moron with nothing going for her. She then left the fair, probably to go home and eat some bon bons. Probably to write more songs about the man who broke her heart when he tried to escape from her craptacular singing. Or maybe she got hit by a truck. But I would be worried about the truck. No, I am not going to be weightist and say she probably put a dent in the thing-although I have been weightist this entire blog.

Rather her off pitch screeching will crack the windshield and the poor truck driver will lose his life. No quiero, no quiero, no quiero.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

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