On the morning of the show I wake feeling philosophical.
I take stock of my situation.
Whatever damage I've done to my voice is done. In the past my voice has been resilient; hopefully it will recover again this time.
I've got bronchitis, and it could take weeks to get better. I need to sing tonight, and during the next two weeks in Brazil.
I need to sing, somehow. I will give it my all.
I cannot cough on stage at Beco das Garrafas. But once I start coughing I can't stop. I practise ignoring the spasms in the hope that they will go away. I must exert mind over matter.
I book my husband onto an afternoon walking tour, then I see an advertisement for in-room massage. Massage! That can help to move things around when you have a chesty cough. I book a one-hour massage for 3 pm.
We have a late breakfast, then we rehearse on the roof top for a while. We only run the newest songs, trusting that we already know the familiar ones and they'll be fine. I need to save my voice for tonight.
My husband and I have lunch in the hotel restaurant, then I leave him to be collected for his tour.
In my hotel room, a knock on the door announces the arrival of the masseuse. "I am Concessão", she declares, then commands me to undress and lie on the bed, while she puts on some relaxing music. I explain my problem. Then she performs magic on my body. She is very skilled. Her kneading and pounding loosens the congestion in my chest. She stretches and straightens me. There is lots of percussion on the back ribs, and a lot of shoulder and back work. At times it is a bit harrowing, to be honest. I breathe deeply and try to ignore the pain she is inflicting. Perhaps this discipline will help me ignore the urge to cough.
By the time she leaves, my airway is clear and I'm breathing more easily. But I'm also physically tired - she has knocked the wind out of me. I could happily watch TV in bed tonight instead of going out to perform.
I don't dare to lie down again - that could set off another coughing fit. Instead, I go for a walk on the beach, splashing in the waves.
I've been applying what I've learned in singing lessons - humming, and doing exercises to focus the sound in the correct position, away from the throat. Keep it forward - don't let it fall back. I practise taking slow, quiet breaths that bypass my ravaged throat.
Back in the room, it's time to start my serious preparations for the show. I have a shower and wash my hair. While I'm drying it, the phone rings. It's Mara - she says they want to bring sound check forward, and could I be at the venue in fifteen minutes? It's very lucky that our hotel is nearby.
Mara accompanies me there, and we laugh to see our poster sharing a doorway with the one for Marcos Valle's show tomorrow night. Inside the bar, Enéias and Junior have already started the sound check.
I join them on stage - the same stage where our music idols have performed. I whisper to Enéias "Tom Jobim was here." It's exciting. Neither of us can quite believe it.
Once the sound check is finished, I go back to the hotel to finish getting ready for the show.
I take stock of my situation.
Whatever damage I've done to my voice is done. In the past my voice has been resilient; hopefully it will recover again this time.
I've got bronchitis, and it could take weeks to get better. I need to sing tonight, and during the next two weeks in Brazil.
I need to sing, somehow. I will give it my all.
I cannot cough on stage at Beco das Garrafas. But once I start coughing I can't stop. I practise ignoring the spasms in the hope that they will go away. I must exert mind over matter.
I book my husband onto an afternoon walking tour, then I see an advertisement for in-room massage. Massage! That can help to move things around when you have a chesty cough. I book a one-hour massage for 3 pm.
We have a late breakfast, then we rehearse on the roof top for a while. We only run the newest songs, trusting that we already know the familiar ones and they'll be fine. I need to save my voice for tonight.
My husband and I have lunch in the hotel restaurant, then I leave him to be collected for his tour.
In my hotel room, a knock on the door announces the arrival of the masseuse. "I am Concessão", she declares, then commands me to undress and lie on the bed, while she puts on some relaxing music. I explain my problem. Then she performs magic on my body. She is very skilled. Her kneading and pounding loosens the congestion in my chest. She stretches and straightens me. There is lots of percussion on the back ribs, and a lot of shoulder and back work. At times it is a bit harrowing, to be honest. I breathe deeply and try to ignore the pain she is inflicting. Perhaps this discipline will help me ignore the urge to cough.
By the time she leaves, my airway is clear and I'm breathing more easily. But I'm also physically tired - she has knocked the wind out of me. I could happily watch TV in bed tonight instead of going out to perform.
I don't dare to lie down again - that could set off another coughing fit. Instead, I go for a walk on the beach, splashing in the waves.
I've been applying what I've learned in singing lessons - humming, and doing exercises to focus the sound in the correct position, away from the throat. Keep it forward - don't let it fall back. I practise taking slow, quiet breaths that bypass my ravaged throat.
Back in the room, it's time to start my serious preparations for the show. I have a shower and wash my hair. While I'm drying it, the phone rings. It's Mara - she says they want to bring sound check forward, and could I be at the venue in fifteen minutes? It's very lucky that our hotel is nearby.
Mara accompanies me there, and we laugh to see our poster sharing a doorway with the one for Marcos Valle's show tomorrow night. Inside the bar, Enéias and Junior have already started the sound check.
I join them on stage - the same stage where our music idols have performed. I whisper to Enéias "Tom Jobim was here." It's exciting. Neither of us can quite believe it.
Once the sound check is finished, I go back to the hotel to finish getting ready for the show.
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