Member-only story
The Weird Delight of “The Masked Singer”
When I was seven years old, I began taking vocal lessons. My teacher, Ms. Dotty, was assessing my range and asked me to sing the highest note that I could.
“I can’t sing high,” I said. “See?” I squeaked out what I’d later learn was a C6. Ms. Dotty made a bit of face but quickly recovered it.
“I can work with that,” she said.
Eleven years later, I was one of only five first sopranos in my college choir, meaning that I could pleasantly sing up to a high E. After I graduated, I joined a cover band where I sang everything from The Cranberries to Blondie.
I often dreamed of becoming a professional singer. I even tried out for “Glee” when they held open auditions. I had perfect pitch and a broad range. When I sang karaoke and in my cover band, I specialized in impressions of Gwen Stefani, Adele, and Dolores O’Riordan. Yet I had my own voice, which as I aged became a velvety croon rather than the bright belting voice that I always wanted.
My singing career never took off, but I still enjoyed hearing other sopranos work their magic. People were always surprised to learn that I was a soprano, because my speaking voice is rather low. Singing was my secret talent, and as I drifted away from my professional singing goals, I kept my talent close to the vest. “Singing is the expression…
