Rock Band Revelation


Image Credit: Rock Band 4

Rock It Like You Mean It

I love music.  Most kinds.  I love everything from 13th century chants to opera to bluegrass, big band, mainstream rock and even some metal–don’t judge, I’m expanding my horizons.  I love to sing, but only in my car or in the house when no one is around.

I used to love singing even when people could hear me.  Then, someone whose opinion I held highly told me I didn’t have a voice worth listening to.  And that opinion was reinforced by being involved in musical theater where people are literally judged by how well they can belt a song.  You want the best on stage.  Totally understandable.  But I, in my angsty teenage years, heard only that my singing sucked, rather than I simply wasn’t strong (or clear or whatever) enough as a vocalist.  So I stopped singing anywhere I might be judged, e.g. in public.

It’s a common story.  We’re told that what we put into the world isn’t worth someone’s attention, as if our joy needs to equal a product for another to consume.  No one ever tells us that the monetization of something doesn’t nail down the only way of expressing or experiencing that something.  The message we get is, if we can’t sell it, it ain’t worth shit.

Thirty years pass.  No karaoke for me, no sing-alongs, just solos in my car–unless I’m super tired or tipsy and my guard is down.

Enter the XBox game, Rock Band 2.

Stick (my daughter), Red (her partner) and I started up a band, The Facehuggers (we’d just finished watching Alien and Aliens, and we’re geeks–but you knew that).  Red is our kick-ass guitarist.  I’m usually on drums.  Stick does a lot of the singing, except when the game tosses out a tune from before she was born … then it falls to me. That version of Rock Band was pretty forgiving about how you played, how you sang.  Energy wasn’t needed.  You could whisper or meow your way through a song as long as you hit the beats and phrasing, so I could hide even as I was singing.  It takes a certain amount of talent to be self-effacing when you’ve got a mic up to your face.

This winter, we splurged for the newest version, Rock Band 4, and everything changed.  Now the score is based partly on how much energy you put into your performance.  You can’t tap the drums lightly, you have to play them HARD.  You can’t merely breathe your songs into the mic. The best scores come from rocking it like you mean it. And we’re all competitive enough to want the high scores. We have a tour bus to earn and fans to win!

I had to put up, stop playing, or fail out of the game, and no one wants to be a loser in front of their kids.  So I put up, let loose and belted out an old Pat Benatar rock ballad.  And it was gloriously fun!  In that moment, I had a revelation.  We live so much of our lives ashamed for being normal, ashamed of not being what’s reflected in our media.  I know so many people who won’t sing in public–it’s not just me–or write, or draw, or garden, or sew, or anything, really, because they fear derision.  They have joys they keep in the closet.

Who are these nebulous gate keepers who get to determine how we find our happiness?  If we take joy in what we do, what we put into the world as play, as self-expression, isn’t that what is important?

So sing out, I challenge you. Give yourself permission to do what makes you happy however much you can.  Sing out loud and long.  Paint, dance, yodel, write, role-play, act, build, create … whatever lightens your heart.  And for your own joy’s sake, break it out of the closet and rock it like you mean it!

See you on the high score list!


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