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Flo Fitzpatrick, click here
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What can happen when choosing songs and singers for one's wedding.
(Several names changed to protect the incredibly guilty!)
If I could embroider, I’d stitch a sampler that reads: “Thou Shalt Not Sabotage Thy Wedding with Thy Music.”
The sabotage refers to musical choices made in both song… and singer.
Especially when the latter is a relative or friend. Having a cousin or aunt or sorority sister or anyone volunteer to sing at your wedding is risky business. And we all know these relatives. The least objectionable is the good vocalist who’s determined to do the entire Ave Maria. All six minutes. The song is longer than the vows.
Then there’s the friend or relative who is eager to sing at your wedding but has little to no ability to pull them off a song in a recognizable key. Which makes listening to the song…oh let’s be kind and say... tough... for the listeners and can be humiliating for the singer who pretends not to notice all the wedding guests who are ducking under pews to avoid a face-to-face chat.
It’s hard to be tactful when trying to refuse Aunt Delia after she offers to sing all five verses (plus six choruses) of her favorite romantic melody. One option is hauling out an ancient anti-drug poster with the words, “Just Say No!’ and practicing until you can smile at Aunt Delia and politely state it instead of shouting and stomping your feet. “Just Say No!" is a bit tacky, but it’s explicit.
Notifying Aunt Delia that she’s off the program because you’ve booked Taylor Swift or Travis Scott for the big day is another option. Booking Ms. Swift or Mr. Scott is even better, but highly unlikely to pull off. You can also explain you’re going for a multicultural experience and consequently, the entire ceremony, including songs, will be in Greek. Nice dodge unless Aunt Delia happens to be from Athens or Crete. Then you’re stuck.
Even if the performing relative or friend is a talented singer, timing and song selection are crucial for success and keeping a romantic, rather than comedic tone. Chances are the words talent and timing are as far removed from reality as Taylor or Travis taking a day off to sing a tune while you march down the aisle.
Allow me to illustrate a few instances of sabotage.
Starting with my college roommate’s wedding. Beautiful ceremony. Garden wedding in Texas. The bride’s mom was well connected politically in the state and folks I’d eventually vote for were in attendance (along with my parents.) I was a bridesmaid, being escorted by the groom’s father down the literal garden path. Actually, I think Dad of Groom might have been Granddad or Great Grandad of Groom because he had to be at least 90 to my 20, and a good five inches shorter than my five–six, but we were determined to handle the “look” with grace.
And then, suddenly…the action stopped. No one knew it was coming. I didn’t know it was coming. Grandpa didn’t know it was coming. Frances, the bride, didn’t know it was coming. But there it was. Tommy, the groom, jumped out from behind a large bush on the garden path and began to serenade Frances with “The Hawaiian Wedding Song.” He actually had a decent voice. But the combined leap and the song choice were too much. Hysterical laughter threatened to burst out of me. I was determined to squelch it, doubtless to the future detriment of my internal organs.
But squelch I did. At first. I was inwardly congratulating myself on maintaining my composure when I made that one fatal mistake. I glanced at my dad, sitting in the second row of white wrought-iron chairs next to a state Senator on one side and my mom on the other. Pop looked at me. I began to shake. He began to shake. My mom stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth in an attempt to suppress the laughter. I squeezed my escort’s arm to keep from falling down and pounding the earth. He asked if I was having a seizure and I couldn’t even gasp, “No!” I just shook my head and let the tears fall.
The event became family legend. Say the words “garden wedding”, “Hawaii” or “bushes” at Christmas or a family reunion and to this day everyone loses it.
Which brings me to another wedding that occurred about twenty years ago. All members of my family were invited. Keep in mind this means ALL members of the family who had the oft-told tale of Tommy’s leap from the bushes memorized.
Jeanette, the bride, had an aunt flying in from Spain who was determined to sing…in Spanish. Jeanette loved her aunt. Jeanette did not want to hurt her feelings. I am calling this aunt, “Delia.” (Perhaps it’s just as well I never got her real name. This could be libelous. Or slanderous. )
I was sitting with my parents, my brother, his wife and their two teenage sons. Our whole durn family is very musical. The one exception to the talent pool was my mom who loved music but didn’t play an instrument or sing. However, Mom, like the rest of us, was oddly blessed, or cursed, with near-perfect pitch. Both my nephews played instruments. I’m a singer/dancer. My dad played in a collegiate dance band back during the Depression and with a Dixieland band when he was teaching at Baylor. Both of my brothers played in that band, as well as a jazz group. One brother plays a variety of instruments and has been a member of different bands for many years (still is.) He happened to be part of the wedding party that day - had already played guitar and sung a duet with the bride’s dad to “Sunrise, Sunset.” Sweet. And they kept it to a couple of verses and choruses so the guests wouldn’t become restless. Brother was lucky. He was all the way to the front of the church instead of sitting with the rest of the family in the cheap seats.
I must also point out that my dad, my brothers, and my nephews, and I love the movie “Young Frankenstein”. Madeline Kahn belting out “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life” during a passionate moment with the “monster” is a well-remembered scene. And, you guessed it…”Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life” IN SPANISH, was Aunt Delia’s choice to sing. The choice alone was guaranteed to send howls of glee throughout the entire family. But worse, vocally, Aunt Delia was no Madeline. Closer to the monster. Whatever key Delia thought she was in was one I’d never recognized. One that didn’t exist.
And so it began. My dad choked and snorted. My brother’s neck turned redder than a ripened cherry tomato. My 14-year-old nephew spun around to look at me, closely followed by his 12-year-old brother. Both grinning. Broadly grinning. As in teeth flashing. I desperately whispered, “Turn around!” as I bit down on my lower lip and prayed we’d not be evicted for unbecoming behavior. The pews were shaking.
Somehow we survived the Spanish Madeline-wannabe without anyone breaking a rib.
The Wedding March emanated from the skilled string quartet and Jeannette’s proud father escorted his daughter down the aisle. The actual ceremony began. It was elegant and very moving. We could relax. But…it wasn’t over.
After vows were exchanged, Aunt Delia got up to sing again, accompanied this time by the hapless cellist from the quartet who’d switched to guitar. Delia had chosen“The Wedding Song,” made popular back in the 1960s by folk group Peter, Paul, and Mary. It’s a lovely melody with lovely lyrics. Ethan, the guitarist, began to play. Delia began to sing. She hadn’t a clue as to the tempo or the lovely melody. I don’t know if she butchered the lovely lyrics because I don’t speak Spanish. Ethan had the exact expression on his face I’d last seen when one of the older brothers was schnookered into playing a solo for the Christmas concert at my high school while we sang “Little Drummer Boy.” Best described as acute embarrassment mixed with patient suffering and inner rage.
Jeannette, bless her, forgot the nearby microphones taping the ceremony and commented to her new husband that Delia should have practiced more, chosen a song she knew, or let Ethan sing the durn thing himself.
Moral of the story. Choose wisely when you choose a singer (and a song) for your special day. There are enough reasons to be nervous about the whole ceremony - don’t add the stress of “Singer-Anxiety” that could become Wedding Sabotage.
But…let’s say the wedding day arrives. Despite your best attempts at plea bargaining, Aunt Delia gets up and sings “Viva La Vegas” (dressed in a a white rhinestone studded jumpsuit) along with the groom and three of his pals who serenade you, the bride, with a routine complete with 80s MTV choreography while your fifth cousin Ferdinand rides a donkey down the aisle strumming Brittney Spears' medleys on a banjo. All professionally recorded for posterity.
Take comfort in technology. DVD players have been known to skip or freeze.
Every device on the planet has a mute button.
And if all else fails, post it online, watch it go viral and catapult Aunt Delia to stardom, sit back, relax and let the laughter roll.
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Web Site:
Flo Fitzpatrick
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