Things I have in common with Charlotte Church (but never knew)

On Saturday, I sung backing vocals for a friend's wedding.

I was extremely nervous about doing this because:
- I am terrible at singing backing vocals. Harmonising doesn't come naturally to me. In fact, most of the time it doesn't come at all.
- We weren't going to get a rehearsal.

I spent the week prior to this with the songs on repeat at work (thank god I work on my own) and in the car. I learnt the chords so that I would 'understand' that the harmonies were perfectly logical thirds or fifths and that they made sense, in order to try and instil some sort of musical theory into my brain or, if that failed, enforce some ignorant confidence. As usual, I failed.

I'm okay on the bits where the singer sings a line and the backing vocals repeat the line, preferably using the same notes or, at a push, an octave down/up (this in itself is treacherous ground for me as I have a budget range that doesn't extend much above or below the notes that I talk around). Oohs are also okay if there is one note per chord/bar and that note is the same note as the name of the chord, but these are usually advised with some assistance (I luckily had some from a friend of mine who was playing sax). But actual, proper, real life harmonies are another thing altogether.

I can't tell my left from my right. (bear with me). This gets even worse when I'm a little bit stressed or nervous. I have little to no understanding of which is which, other than when holding my left thumb with my index finger at 90 degrees they make an 'L' (which I have noted is a little disconcerting for my passengers when I'm driving, especially when it it involves either balancing my palms on the steering wheel or letting go altogether). But even that isn't a sure fire way of getting it right, especially if nerves are rattling around, as my brain loses the ability to judge which is an L.

The strange thing is, sometimes I get it right. Sometimes someone will say 'turn left' and I do. That is of course cause for much self-directioned praise and rejoicing.

But sometimes, and there is no rhyme or reason for this, I get it wrong.

That is the same for the attempt of a harmonic. I know around about where they are supposed to be, but that doesn't mean I'm going to get there.

Coupled with my crippling inability to learn lyrics I'm perhaps not the best choice for a vocalist (however I would make an extremely good Beastie Boy, as I tend to remember the last word of every line, especially when it rhymes, and can at least hit the same note that has been continued throughout the vocal lines of the rest of the line). I would perhaps even fair okay as a member of Greenday in the days of Dookie when all the harmonies were a fifth up and usually on the same note (things have got a bit complex since and I wouldn't like to put myself up for audition). But tackling the complex harmony of Suspicious Minds was something else.

We managed to squeeze in an extremely 'freestyle' rehearsal before the wedding, with my friend, the groom and singer, leaving barely enough time to get into his suit and down the aisle. This did nothing for my confidence and terrified me further, especially as the rest of the people I was playing with were music college graduates and were more familiar with improvisational performances. I need at least a gin and tonic or two and a few hours before I'm prepared to attempt karaoke, and then I usually need someone up there with me.

I managed to stay reasonably sober throughout the duration of the wedding breakfast, but my drinking had picked up a little in order to wrap my fears in cotton wool, or at least gaffa tape them firmly closed and suffocate them beneath several glasses of wine. And then we were on.

The first song we did, which if my hazy memory serves me correctly was Jumpin' Jack Flash, I launched into the chorus not in the harmony I'd lovingly attempted to learn in order to do my friend proud, but on the same harmony as he was singing. Suppressing my disappointment with my troublesome vocal chords, I instead sang the rest of the chorus, and subsequent choruses, with gusto if not with anything else intentional.

Things picked up. The crowd were amazing (and amazingly drunk) and we had a larger crowd than most small gigs I've been to recently, and certainly more enthusiastic (possibly because a pint of lemonade didn't cost three quid). The set, I can look back in the cold light of day and summarise, wasn't exactly musical genius but everyone played as amazingly as their alcohol addled limbs would allow and the band pulled the whole thing off. By the end of it arms and legs were flailing all over the shop, and I had discarded my previous worries and happily swapped them for bellowing random words, sometimes in time to the music, sometimes in tune, occasionally directed at the microphone.

Walking outside after the close of the set (and following an impromptu encore which involved repeating 20th Century Boy on which I managed to reach the dangerous heights of the top notes in the chorus with the help of my friend) a man walked passed and said to me 'There she is, voice of an angel'.

Bearing in mind that it was impossible to hear anything on stage even with my finger in my ear (its technical) I had previously asked whether I had severely buggered up any notes to my friends. They said no. That was enough for me. I'd got through it, and I hadn't forced my friend to permanently reject our friendship. To be honest, in all the bits where I was singing along too, so were the alcohol fuelled audience, and very loudly, for which I was very thankful. But I was aware that my performance would have most likely been rejected from the less severe of first auditions for X Factor.

I thought about this on the journey home and came up with a few possible solutions for his error. He could have mistook me for Ms Church, although I look as much like her as I do a man, as in not very, not insinuating that I do look an awful lot like her, just a hairier version. He could be tone deaf and my harmonising could have sounded actually like the voice of angels to him.

But I settled on possibly the most plausible of solutions when I remembered that I had in fact been drinking red wine from a wine bottle on stage towards the end of the night, had probably been swearing continuously throughout the day (the result of having to keep my blaspheming to a minimum whilst in church for 45 minutes), had managed to cover my silk dress in red wine (and then attempted to wash and dry said stain in the bathroom), been nurturing heavy eyes and flaking mascara and had been, for want of a better word, dancing with the assumption that I was someone's dad, making up for what I lacked in talent and rhythm with enthusiasm.

All that was left was to have a fight with someone called Gavin.