At 57 years of age, I can actually say, “I’m a singer.”
I always wanted to say that and I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t.
As soon as there was an opportunity to join chorus in grade school, I did. I performed in a few of those fun little elementary productions with great enthusiasm. I sang along with the radio, I read the lyrics while listening to my favorite albums, I bought the magazine, Song Hits, because it published the lyrics to several songs in each edition. In high school, I was in chorus – a first soprano even – and I discovered classical music.
I performed solos at school concerts and I was a member of All-County and All-State choruses. My voice teacher asked me to join the choir at his church, which I immediately agreed to even though I wasn’t a church-goer myself. That led to solo performances during services and helping to teach the Asbury Choir. I didn’t care much for the religious aspects, but I was there for both services every Sunday, simply because it provided me with the opportunity to sing.
I was a music and English major in my junior and senior years at Cicero High. I took Music Theory and Music Appreciation. I joined the chorus for a few of the high school musicals too. I embraced multiple genres and I truly enjoyed learning new material. My mother wanted me to take typing and shorthand, so I would have skills when it came time to find a job. I told her I didn’t need them because I was going to be a rock star. She told me I needed to have “something to fall back on.”
I was shy and bullied all through my grade school years. Music was my salvation. At 17 years, I came out of my shell and I sang in the Senior Variety Show. Most of the people who viciously picked on me had never heard me sing. That night changed some people’s tune. (Pun intended.)
I briefly attended OCC as a music and English major where I made gobs of new friends, most of them music lovers like me. I had hoped to start a band, but that never came to fruition. In hindsight, I should have gone to Potsdam. My voice teacher strongly suggested I join the music program there and regrettably I didn’t.
Seventeen-year-olds don’t always make the best decisions.
Fast forward to the new millennium where after years of just singing along with pre-recorded material, I discovered karaoke. It was the only opportunity I had to sing at the time and I seized every chance I had to sign up and grab a microphone. I did practice with a band that would never be a couple times, but that was as far as that era of my life would take me.
Now, here we are in 2020 and my life is drastically different in a good way.
Next month, I’ll be celebrating my 9th year on the board of directors for the New York State Blues Festival. An event that’s had its share of rough 
patches, but is becoming one of the biggest music festivals in the region. With the postponement of 2020’s plans, we’re cautiously optimistic about 2021 and with no touring acts being able to perform live, we’ve managed to secure most of our 2020 lineup for 2021 with fingers crossed. With all of the stress comes a great sense of accomplishment and there have been moments I questioned staying involved, but truthfully I have no regrets about retaining my role as Secretary and Vendor Director.
As a volunteer organizer and board member for a 501© (3), I’m not affected financially when the fest doesn’t happen. However, it doesn’t take a lot of thought to consider just how far the ripple effects of COVID-19 cancellations actually do reach. Just the New York State Blues Festival alone is a boost to the regional economy each year. When larger events like it don’t happen, the city, the county, and the state take a hit from the loss of revenue. Vendors, printers, production companies, technicians, restaurants, beverage distributors, sign makers, artists, hotels, gas stations, grocery stores, retailers, rental outlets, and other event suppliers all feel the pinch. I can’t help but wonder how all of them are doing.
In addition to my involvement with the fest and with the local music community, I’m also one half of the Thrift Store Gypsies with my boyfriend, Todd. We began attending open mic nights around CNY in 2014, which led to learning new songs on a regular basis. Once we gained enough confidence, we started booking actual gigs. We didn’t take ourselves too seriously, because we honestly didn’t think anyone else would. As it turns out, we were well received and people actually wanted us back. Who knew?
Our proudest moment was when Larry Hoyt recorded us and played us on his radio show, Common Threads. We actually had our own “That Thing You Do” celebration in the car.
When Julie and Jimmy opened The Listening Room at 443, now known as The 443 Social Club & Lounge, Todd and I were fortunate enough to begin hosting our own open mic night every Thursday. It had its ups and downs, but it morphed its way into something we felt was truly special. People can criticize it all they want, but the open mic community has a life of its own and we’ve met many wonderful humans through attending and through hosting. We’ve listened to a boatload of talented performers and it never gets old. Even with all the hiccoughs, it was becoming something beautiful.
Our last open mic night at The 443 was March 12 and even then we weren’t sure we should be going ahead with it. In light of all that was happening around the world with COVID-19, we cautiously went ahead with it, not expecting a great turnout. Much to our pleasant surprise, it was a magical night.
The weeks and months that followed led to cancellations and postponements of gigs we had excitedly booked far in advance with the hope of 2020 being our biggest year yet. We were using some of our gig money to record and slowly making progress toward a CD with original material. Most of our setlists are covers, so we wanted to show that we really can write songs and maybe even gain a little credibility for it. Without gig money, that came to a screeching halt.
We both have full-time jobs and we don’t rely on music to make a living like some of our super talented friends do, but the supplemental income does
help quite a bit. I do live paycheck to paycheck just like a good chunk of the population does. To be honest, it’s still a novelty to get paid to sing.
When The 443 reopened at the beginning of August, Julie was generous enough to have us play “Patio Happy Hour” on Thursdays. I mean… who knows when it will be safe enough to have an open mic night again? Frankly, we were honored to be on the roster at a place that hosts crazy amounts of talented musicians on a regular basis. Needless to say, we were pretty excited. I had no idea how much I missed it until that first week.
We were only two weeks in when the SLA notified venues and promoters of its new regulations on promoting, ticketing, and cover charges. That instantly crippled what was already a flailing industry and The 443 sadly closed its doors once again. The battle to save music venues kicked into high gear and we’re all keeping our fingers crossed that this is only temporary. Julie & Jimmy have since reopened, but there is no way to advertise without risking a shutdown. They employ bar, food prep, and wait staff, a sound technician, not to mention Julie herself.
More ripple effects…
I’m now realizing that my dream of being a singer has come true and music is so much a big part of who I am. Most of my local musician friends have been performing for years and most have had experiences I will probably never have the good fortune of knowing. I’m still in the stages of getting my feet wet in many ways and working on ways to improve my vocals, even at 57 years of age. Like I said, it’s still a novelty and it still feels amazing to stand in front of a microphone and pour my soul into a song. Not to compare myself to any of the fabulously talented veteran artists, but six years in at doing gigs, I’m still what some may consider a rookie and I’m okay with that.
I only hope venues like The 443 Social Club & Lounge will survive and I will be fortunate enough to continue on this path I now find myself on, because after a lifetime of dreaming, I’m happy to say, “I’m a singer.”
Babette Puzey
Baldwinsville, NY