Related quotes: Well, first I'd want a...

Well, first I'd want a better vibrato.

quote by Terry Kath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

If you've got a good vibrato, you can get away with a lot.

quote by Sonny Terry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think the fundamental part of my technique is my vibrato.

quote by Robin Trower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Control of vibrato helps your musical expression.

quote by James Galway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I can do the old hand vibrato just fine, but I like attacking the strings.

quote by Ritchie Blackmore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For me it's the instrument. If I want to think of a flute and the state of the arts I hear a vibrato; I don't know what a flute is unless the person plays it for me.

quote by Morton Feldman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evening Harmony

The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro,
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
The scent and sounds all swirl in evening’s gentle fume;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!

Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom,

A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe,
A tender heart detests the black of nullity,
The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom;
The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow.

A tender heart detests the black of nullity,
And lovingly preserves each trace of long ago!
The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow …
Your memory shines through me like an ostensory!

poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Holy Spirit

I lift heavy legs and groping for glasses,
stumble through my dark house
to see if night will return the sky.

Aching for the new day
I sip strong coffee
and write.

Listen! Birdsong rings
from dark trees.

Wise winter birds
know that the world
begins
and ends
with song.

With the rush of wings
they teach me,
how to capture the infant sun!

They show me
how, with trill and vibrato,
to end the dreary night.

They use breath and light
to rise to heaven,
and renew with love
the face
of the earth.

poem by Steven Federle
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Ontluisterend

Kom je in
een sfeer van licht
en versta je
het gedicht,
kunt de muziek al
horen spelen,
zit zelf in de band
die als geen ander kent
wat valt te delen.

Dan snaar de woorden maar,
bedaar de moordenaar,
verklaar de klank voor-waar.

Laat door de nauwe spleten
van de angst een spiegel klaar
voor hen die willen weten.

Deel het vibrato
langs kwatrijnen
of langs quadrofonen,
wees een falsetto of zo
die plots weer zal verdwijnen
in kwijnende tonen.

Spuug muren vol van oker
langs je handen,
en ben de joker
op te hete stranden,
de regenboog voor
tante Door

Ja grijp de luit,
gooi het eruit,
voordat het zal
verbranden.

poem by Madrason writer
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The Alleys of Madness

I walk through
The maddening alleys
In search of
A God
and a Dragon
Only to find
A pointless
liquor store

From this
I was left in
The fearful insanity
As horrible as
A blank document

What a wasteland
this empty space was
All that resided
the sheer terror
Of a journey which lead
Nowhere
If nowhere were to
Exist

Passionless and cold
My eyes were
as they desperately scanned
The uneventful surroundings
for a soul to gaze upon

My throat was left
with out laughter
And any forceful attempt
Only led to a frightening
Gag reflex

The inner rhythm
of my eardrums
Lost it's Jazzy soul
And all notes, lyrics,
beats, choruses
and vibrato
Wasted away
Into the cold
Milwaukee sky

I am now left
Blind, deaf, mute
and dumb
Existing as a
Useless husk

I quest on
to the inner
Perdition of my
mind

I find
a boy smoking
a cigarette
Who explains:
'You're just
relating with
The World.'

poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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The Disconcerted Tenor

A tenor, all singers above
(This doesn't admit of a question),
Should keep himself quiet,
Attend to his diet,
And carefully nurse his digestion.
But when he is madly in love,
It's certain to tell on his singing -
You can't do chromatics
With proper emphatics
When anguish your bosom is wringing!
When distracted with worries in plenty,
And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,
And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,
A tenor can't do himself justice.
Now observe - (SINGS A HIGH NOTE) -
You see, I can't do myself justice!

I could sing, if my fervour were mock,
It's easy enough if you're acting,
But when one's emotion
Is born of devotion,
You mustn't be over-exacting.
One ought to be firm as a rock
To venture a shake in VIBRATO;
When fervour's expected,
Keep cool and collected,
Or never attempt AGITATO.
But, of course, when his tongue is of leather,
And his lips appear pasted together,
And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,
A tenor can't do himself justice.
Now observe - (SINGS A CADENCE) -
It's no use - I can't do myself justice!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Deliverance In Harmony

When the money is depleted will they cease as enemies?
When they find themselves with cupboards bare,
Will they share this reality?
Or will their stupidity,
Continue as it is?
With divisions they have come to know.
And ignorance to feed.
With stomachs empty...
As they crawl on knees!

'Baritones and sopranos?
Your voices are weakening!
Tenors and altos...
Less vibrato!
I can hardly hear the bass.
Once again.
And folks...
Don't forget,
We are invited to sing...
For the upcoming Unity Festival.
So...
Look alive!
Again...'

'Now 'that' is what I call,
Deliverance In Harmony! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hot This Opera

Unfold slowly...
The block,
That's got you moody tuned.

Deep from depths to leap.
As if the sipping of chablis completes.
To ease and soothe,
An increasing that is released.

Feel a mellow grow.
Combine flute and soft cellos.
Vibrato vocals lift to sing.
Altos, tenors...
Mezzo-ling.
To ooze lyrics accentuated.
Without that hip-hop 'thing'.
For some may irritate...
To satisfy a purpose baited.
But...
That's not opera!

Bravah dah dah...
Bravah dee.
Doo abba dah bah,
Bravah dee.

With strings crescendo-ed,
Lilting oboes floating.
Crisp notes heard,
As if birds are chirping.
And...
Nonstop on ears to drop.
Hot this opera.

Bravah dah dah...
Bravah dee.
Doo abba dah bah,
Bravah dee.

With strings crescendo-ed,
Lilting oboes floating.
Crisp notes heard,
As if birds are chirping.
And...
Nonstop on ears to drop.
Hot this opera.

Hot,
This opera.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ownage

She struggled with words
Thing or thingy came easy
Signified sufficiently
Even though she knew
A mosquitoes' trombone
To be a proboscis

She labored her phrases
With ahs and ahzza'z
Twiddling her tongue
Searching a cool adjective
Or frantically an elusive adverb
Tumbling expended on place mat verbs

Admirably she read
Despite her dyslexia
The funnies, the horoscope
The want ads, labels
Garnering her information larder
By excessive eco-surfing
Fail blogs and Facebookination
Having pronounced television an-bad
Most certainly meaning anathema
As written in her eyes

But with a guitar slung low
Move over Jimmy Paige
Notes plucked from a personal chromatic scale
Single trilled or ruffled in chords
Double and triple picked sympathetics
Wringing the neck to weeping
Jabbing the air in vibrato, straining a wawa
To a last inaudible gasp
Bending a million dollar Fender Stratocaster
To her will
Tremolo or break you MoFo

She certainly was something else
An' words to describe the phenomenon
Ranged from Wow! to F'en Wow!
Spoken with a breathy
Awed and totally
Adulatory inflection
Or
Screamed hysterically
By row upon row
Of mad fans

poem by Winston T. Gylles
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Stronger Than Me (Amy Winehouse)

Stronger Than Me

Sauterne princess
sauvignon (so-vee-yan) wine
satin blues in an alto hue
you seduced me in the misty air of a London fog.
your rock, your jazz, your soul

your cool vibrato floats - like champagne bubbles - on the brim of crystal flutes
your songs melt in my veins - like a stream of the Free Basin sea
your harmony’s whisper - like oil simmering - in a hot iron skillet
You are stronger than me

petite frame, sweet, insane,
entire stage, all alone, little widow spider girl,
alluring and sexy, you kidnapped me with your forlorn poetry.

teasing me with your passionate eyes
b flat rhythms.
Your moody syncopations,
singing acapella riffs, honey coated falsesettos,
bouncing from saxophones to trombones, from guitar lics, to percussion sticks,
you knew the tricks
and I love the beat.

I saw you but thought I heard Billie Holiday
I saw you but thought I heard Lena Turner
I saw you but thought I heard Sarah Vaughn

I saw you - in the misty air - of a London fog.

your soul, your song, your spirit - enchant my lips
like sweet sauvignon wine

poem by Orin Griffin
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Incommunicado

By: jimmy buffett, deborah mccoll, m.l. benoit
1980
For the duke and travis mcgee
Travis mcgees still in cedar key
Thats what ol john macdonald said
My rendezvouss so long overdue
With all of the things Ive sung and Ive read
They still apply to me
They all make sense in time
Chorus:
But now Im incommunicado
Drivin by myself down the road with a hole in it
Songs with no vibrato
Takin the long way home
Now on the day that john wayne died
I found myself on the continental divide
Tell me where do I go from here
Think Ill ride into leadville and have a few beers
I think of red river or liberty valance
Cant believe the old mans gone
Chorus:
But now hes incommunicado
Leavin such a hole in a world that believed
That a life with such bravado
Was takin the right way home
So when I finished that last line
I put the book by itself on the shelf with my heart in it
Never wastin time takin the right way home
I know Im never wastin time findin the right way home
Chorus:
Still I am incommunicado
Livin next door to a leg with a pin in it
Life with such bravado
Is takin the right way home
Tryin to make it
Tryin to fake it
Tryin to take it home
Tryin to make it
Tryin to fake it
Tryin to take it home
I know im...
Tryin to make it
Sometimes I fake it
Tryin to take it home
All Im doing is...
Tryin to make it
Tryin to fake it
Tryin to take it home
But now Im incommunicado...

song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Licked The Wine

I licked the wine I licked sweet wine.
I licked chill wine off inflamed face.
I never left lingering incriminating;
any sticky dew rose red untasted trace.

I licked the wine; I licked full-blooded rose red wine.
I licked dew wine off dawn bud tender trembling lips.
I licked love undulating curves beneath vibrato hips;
in a song of time we dance summer ripe passions of vine.

I licked the wine; I licked sweet wine in memorial to time.
I licked chill wine off cherry sweet ripe youths luscious tits.
I licked while she swallowed tongue probing penetrating tips;
in love shines rebirth bright in festive season of harvest vine.

I licked the wine; I licked full-blooded rose red wine.
I licked while she screamed song orgasmic liquid joy.
I licked while white hot mouth savoured; new found wondrous toy;
in love we enshrine immortality posterity born in wedded love rhyme.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Formation

Katabatic winds scarce ruffle
the Emperor's resolute feathers.
An Antarctic winter shuffle
bands brooding fathers together.
Enfolded eggs, warmed by sanguine hearts
are balanced on icy clawed feet.
Penguins on the outer are ramparts
for the huddle's collective heat.
Waves ripple through close knit ranks.
Shrill rasping vibrato calls
rally the circulating flanks;
windward edge to lee, stoic walls.
Blizzards strafe lines weakened by fast.
Such unstinting paternal care
and dogged duty may be classed
a basic urge, but is this fair?
Effort requires monumental will.
Emperors who lack such are riven.
Labelled as love or instinct, still
either way, Life is hard driven.

SPRING (haiku)
The fathers retreat
to the ocean's rich larder.
Leopard seals await.

ANTARCTICA (dectina refrain)
A ught
N ature
T ends, some brave
A nimal fends.
R ealm of Emperors
C rowned by green laurels of
T he Aurora Australis.
I ce continent cannot suspend
C hallengers amended to transcend.
A ught nature tends, some brave animal fends.

poem by Diane Hine
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Love With Strings Attached

My first love wasn't flesh and blood
She was wood metal and plastic
With curves that drove men wild
My Gibson SG the best guitar I ever owned

Running my fingers up and down her neck
Applying pressure in all the right places
While stroking her firmly with my other hand
Coaxing from her a scream of sheer pleasure

No tremelo bar vibrato by hand
Playing her was almost as good as sex
And when we were done she didn't ask Do you love me

But I did love her
Holding her I was a rock star
Playing before thousands of screaming fans
Not really just some of the neighborhood girls

A teenager playing guitar in a basement band
One of maybe five or six on the block
Playing just as much to impress the girls
Than as for the love of the music

Saturday afternoon grab my guitar
Meet the rest of the band in the drummers basement
We kept our equipment there
Except for the small amp I had at home for practice

The music would flow out into the street
Through the open basement windows
One by one the neighborhood girls would come by
Practicing flirting with the band members

That's how I met her
The girl who would bear my children
Her curves drove me wild
And my SG couldn't compete

We fooled around she got pregnant
Doing the right thing I married her
Our daughter was the most beautiful baby ever born
Here I was a teen-aged husband and father

When money started getting tight
We sold things we felt we didn't need
Until we ran out of such items
And there was only one thing left

I took the SG to a local guitar store
They offered me a fair price
I accepted it
Back home I cried for losing my first love
And my infant daughter cried along with me

2005

poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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The Sound of Love...

It's 8 am in the morning…
Silver light spilling through the openings in the blinds:
The songbird signaling today is his and her play date.
I'm starting this day, in my place, in the circle of my lover's arms.
Eyes could no longer sleep, because the sound of poem
proclaiming love as natural as a bird professing his love
in the highest note, and arousing voices and images,
of my seeing and hearing you in mind and beyond.
Permission has been given to cease dreaming, instead dream out loud!
So, I stay nearby my poem to see, taste, feel, and hear
you anywhere awake or asleep.
I dozed off in your smile, yet am wide-awake, in your dreamy eyes.
When your arms wrap tight my waist, I feel the vibrato
of your fingers playing up and down my spine, likening
the melodious music Ilana plays on her Cello.
After all's said and done, we rose to the sound and aroma
of coffee dancing in water, under heat, reminding me of
our slow moves to the rhythm of that special song!
Dear, you need to know…
Ever since we met, you have been pen and paper
For every love poem penned:

Still, I can hear your baritone voice causing autumn leaves to fall and,
leaving me shaking like leaves in the cool mid afternoon breeze
Still, you stand strong like a Friendship Oak in my missed home State.
I'll ever stay present in the words my poem.
Your love likens spring
Exploding and bursting
Into blooms…
likening
The Sound of
Love
Resurrecting
The Silent Death
In Me…

By Almedia Knight-Oliver
November 25,2012

poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Goody, Goody Giddiness

I feel a giddiness that’s goody, goody,
but cannot sing like Turandot
about it when awarded with a woody,
because to do so would be not
polite unless the gal who brought my woody on
would join me in my aria,
approving of me as no jerk but John
who’s unprepared to marry her.

Inspired by Anthony Tommasini’s review of the new Metropolitan Opera production of Puccini’s Turandot, with Lise Lindstrom singing the title part, Marcello Giordani taking the part of Prince Calàf and Marina Poplavskaya as Liù (“He’s Come to Melt the Heart of an Ice Princess, ” NYT, October 30,2009) :
Though Ms. Lindstrom may not have the biggest Turandot voice, she sang with chilling power and nailed the top notes. Her sound was impressively focused, with a vibrant vibrato on sustained tones and no wobble. The youthful shimmer of her singing was balanced by rich emotional maturity. Yet there was often a hard edge to her sound, not quite strident but close. Whether this coloring is simply a characteristic of her voice or a sign of strain for a singer in her early 40s is the question. Her performance was strong. But I worry about her future. After Act II, when Ms. Lindstrom took her first curtain call and was greeted by a lusty ovation, she certainly broke character, jumping in place, clapping her hands with “goody, goody” giddiness, looking like the California gal that, after all, she is. It was hard to adjust my perception of her for Act III….The most complete performance came from the elegant Russian soprano Marina Poplavskaya as Liù, the slave girl devoted to Timur and in love with Calàf. She sang with warmth, beautifully earthy colorings and captivating pianissimo high notes. And Zeffirelli fans mourning the retirement of his “Tosca” production can flock to the biggest, grandest Zeffirelli show of them all.

10/30/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
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