If I had a band, it would be a big 10-piece band, and we’d do jazz and torch songs. We’d have a couple of sax players and trumpets, a piano, violin, a viola, drums, upright bass and a singer.
Our name would be The Velvet Epiglottis — because The Velvet Throat sounds too much like a porn movie. I’m kidding, of course. The name of our band would be The Velour Contours.
And I would have a smoky, yet smooth voice, I would sing some songs, but I would also love to play piano and the viola. (I used to want to play the violin, but I’ve changed my mind. I think I want to buy a viola and get lessons when my youngest graduates from college. We’ll have to wait and see, I might change my mind again.) And we’d play in dark piano bars and hotels after hours, and in airport lounges.
Or, if I had a band, it’d be an all-women “hair” band straight from the ’80s, hard rock — playing ballads of power. My hair would be black. Or white. Or black and white. And always windblown, even when I’m indoors. I would not play an instrument, I would only sing — my voice would be my instrument. I would be the female equivalent of Chester Bennington, a master of the sustained power scream — full of rage and strength and beauty.
The rest of the band would consist of the drummer, the guitar player and the bass player.
The band’s name would be Arcs of the Covenant. And we’d play dive bars and small venues, like the Bluebird, Marquis, Soiled Dove Underground, these little places around Denver.