Here I Go Again ...

****** The Editor-In-Chief wishes to apologize to all faithful SloaneView readers:

Preparations for next week's activities in New York City have consumed us, and we still don't have firm song selections for the cd. Well, there are fourteen on the list, but one or two reside in the "Iffy" column. This situation is causing restless sleep and frightening Performance Anxiety Dreams. These nocturnal intruders involve clubs or concert halls filled to capacity, audience eagerly anticipating my impending arrival on stage in five minutes, although I am pacing the floor, have yet to apply makup and can't find my music. Last night, Frank Sinatra popped into my dressing room, beaming and bright, announcing he'd made the trip from beyond just to hear me for the first time, a treat he'd denied himself when he walked among us and for which he was profoundly contrite.

This sort of disturbing, even slightly poisonous atmosphere pervades and grows more noxious each day as the actual performance date approaches. I can see next Wednesday through Sunday looming darkly, a great chasm of uncertainty. Streisand's legendary stage fright is a mere chilly breeze compared to the Category 5 tornado I am subjected to. Some of my closest friends have been long aware of this stifling stranglehold which fluctuates in intensity but has accompanied me every step of the way during my fifty-plus years of singing. (I once began to hyper-ventilate while singing in Carnegie Hall. Those moments were admittedly a lot of unexpected fun, but I've been doing my utmost ever since to prevent a similar barrel of laughs.)

I know many singers and musicians who simply can't wait to walk into the spotlight. I, however, realize full well that when the M.C. begins his introductory remarks about Carol Sloane, my knees will become liquid poles upon which my substantial frame teeters, heart-rate will accelerate to dangerous levels, hands will become icy claws shaking with fear as they grasp a microphone which waves about like a horrid black snake. (Are you getting the picture?)

With some obvious (but not much) exaggeration, I have attempted to describe the tortures I KNOW will be all mine to savour next week. Is it any wonder my first request leaving the stage is that somebody will PLEASE hand me a flute filled with a bit of the Dom . (Okay: Veuve Clicquot will do).

The Schedule:
Record new cd for Arbors: May 6 & 7, New York City
Sing a few songs with Ken Peplowski and Warren Vache at
The Iridium Jazz Club, NYC (scroll below to particulars)
May 8, 9, 10
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