The Lone Ranger

Long ago, I performed at a lavish corporate party as the Lone Ranger, mask, guns and all. I worked hard at my Clayton Moore imitation, and was proud of how I captured his essence—the walk, the eyes behind the mask, and most of all, of course, his wonderful voice.

I don’t naturally sound much like him, however, and the vocal technique I used was decidedly unnatural. When I worked the gig, the din of the room threatened to render my vocal preparations irrelevant. I valiantly shouted my forced Masked Man sounds, and when it was over I had no voice at all. I couldn’t speak, I had traumatic laryngitis.

There are no guarantees in life where your health is concerned. It was reasonable to suppose I’d recover, but how could I be certain? I could only wait, in silence, unable to speak, unable to sing.
I recovered my speaking voice within a few weeks, and within a month or two my singing voice was back, 100%.

We each have a unique voice, and the voice knows the song it makes. You may train your voice, you may imitate other voices, but always your song is there, unique, ready to sound-off. It’s remarkable how insistent your song is, how persistent.

Sing something.