The Garden Where You Wait
A secret lo-fi folk song and some musings on the art of singing
I’m not much of a singer. I’m not built for it. It’s funny because my youngest brother is the best singer I’ve ever been around. And my father is a Pentecostal preacher with one of the most powerful voices you’ll ever hear. (When he’s out in the congregation at his church of a few hundred people, you can hear him singing from anywhere in the room, no matter how loud the band or the crowd is.)
Me? My voice is really quiet. If I’m in a loud restaurant, just trying to speak loud enough to be heard makes my throat hurt. I routinely notice people straining to hear what I’m saying during normal conversation.
I’m sure some of it’s psychological, related to my social anxiety, but I do have a deviated septum, perpetual sinus issues, and asthmatic lungs, so I repeat: I’m not built for it.
That’s why I usually don’t write music with vocals. If I do find myself starting to write something that feels like a song (i.e. words set to music), I usually give the idea to someone else who might be better suited to utilize the idea (as I often do for Ösla, a musical project with my best mate Henry.)
I’m not sure why I wrote this song, “The Garden Where You Wait”, or why I decided to sing it. It was an idea that mostly arrived out of nowhere in my head one day when I was playing mandolin. I couldn’t think of anyone who might like to record this one, so I decided to sing it myself for my own edification.
(Note: I know I post a fair amount of music, and it might give you the idea that I release every idea that pops into my head, but I work on heaps of music that I never share with anyone, or at most I send to my closest friends).
“Sing” might be a strong word to use in the context of this song, as I don’t know if whispering into the voice memo app on my iPhone (as I did to record these vocals) really counts as singing. Either way, it’s the closest I can get to singing and feeling okay about it.
I don’t know how real singers do it. Voices are so vulnerable. There’s a sort of torture to listening back to a recording of your own voice.
I feel so much safer sharing instrumental performances. Writing lyrics feels embarrassing. I’d rather obfuscate the meaning of my compositions through layers of instruments that can’t speak literally. Plausible deniability.
Yet, here I am, with this song. It required a lot of coping to finish. Some of that coping was asking two singers infinitely better than myself (my aforementioned brother, Brady, and best pal, Henry) to record as many layers of background vocals as they could muster. (Brady also added some sweet guitar swells at the climactic end of the track).
It’s really nice to make something you don’t intend to release, especially when you get help from people you love. In the end, I’ve realized I like this song, and while I know my voice may not be everyone’s cup of tea, I wanted to share it with you because you feel like a close friend. Or at least not far removed from my small circle of close friends and confidants.
I hope you like it.