A Brother Like Norton
7-25-24 mm
A BROTHER LIKE NORTON
* Circa 60’s-70s (2685)
“If you bring forth that which is within you, that which is within you will save you. If you do not bring forth that which is within you, what you don’t bring forth, will destroy you.”. Jesus
My brilliant brother Norton was the eldest in the family. We had 2 younger brothers, and I, the only girl, was 4 years Norton’s junior. Norton took music seriously at an early age, studying classical piano. Later, in college, he’d switch to classical organ. Such an esoteric instrument, and I was proud of him, as my main role model. He poured himself passionately into every discipline he took on. Then, later returned to his first love, piano. I suppose, he hoped music would save him.
As a young teenager (those nowhere years when I felt both invisible and painfully conspicuous), I was curious about Norton’s popular music anthologies stashed among his extensive music collection. I had little interest in classical music; there were no lyrics, and the musical notation might as well have been in Swahili.
When he left his door unlocked, I’d spend hours sitting on the cold tile floor in his basement bedroom leafing through his collection of song books. I was searching for something I might recognize and try to sing. From an early age, singing was soothing to me. I wasn’t snooping, but wanting to be near and know the secrets of my revered and mysterious brother.
I marveled at the incidental things he left haphazardly on a dresser or his desk. Things he collected in his everyday life: snapshots of friends, books of poetry, cufflinks, a fountain pen, postcards from Europe. Interesting stuff I didn’t have yet. He had refined tastes and specialized in collecting ceramics, photographs of famous opera singers and composers and long playing records by celebrated artists I had only heard of from him. Fascinated by perusing the curios displayed in his room, I hoped he would not surprise me and find me there. This was his space. But, in our crazy family, respecting anyone’s boundaries hadn’t been discussed. But we did respect padlocks
When he was feeling generous or bored, he’d manifest a Judy Garland song book, and encourage me to sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
“A Taste Honey” was one of the first ‘grown-up ’songs I learned under his tutelage. Norton loved classical music, but he also surreptitiously appreciated “popular standards.” He liked the song “Autumn Leaves” and taught me how to sing it in French. At that time, I couldn’t see the point in singing it in another language, but learnt it because Norton was the type of brother that if he suggested it, I knew it was a worthwhile thing to do. He helped me by writing it out phonetically. Later, I found singing in French and other romance language an interesting and a rewarding challenge. When I started singing professionally it opened doors for me as well as my proclivity for learning foreign languages.
I was hungry to express myself musically. An example of having a passion yet not having access to a voice teacher who taught non-classical singing. I didn’t know such teachers even existed in Seattle. I picked up music by listening to my parents’ record collection, the radio’s pop station, and elementary school and Church. Or, if my brother introduce it to me.
I wondered how singers learned to read those esoteric symbols and bring a song to life. I imagined it was beyond my abilities, and wouldn’t be my talent, it was my brother’s. There was some big heartedness in his attempts to teach me basics, like the Solfege method (do, re, mi…) of reading music, how to warm up my voice with scales and a few Maria Callas arias.
But I believed, that unconsciously, I might be stepping on his toes by being too interested in music. I knew this and tentatively proceeded in my own indirect way.
I loved it when Norton would take time out from his disciplined practice for some comic relief. Then he’d invite me to sing some songs, which he’d teach me. He’d play selections from that big book of Organ Favorites for Special Occasions. “Roses and Lollipops” was a favorite that I related to. Both the melody and the words were easy for me. As well as “The Boy Next Door.” He’d invite me to sing them and in so doing, teach me the ones he liked.
As a classical musician, he didn’t transpose songs into my key. My voice didn’t consistently fit the key that the song was written in. At times, he laughed at me, and even I admit my voice sounded funny sung in a key that was unmanageable. When he was bored and through with this departure from his practicing, he said,
“Go now, I have to practice; your voice is giving me a headache.” I didn’t argue with him as I was getting a headache from his playing the song in the wrong key for my voice.
I’d leave his studio, accepting his opinionated artistic personality and those outbursts I felt better off ignoring. (Might miss out on future acerbic gems of his wit). Unfortunately, his behavior made me assume erroneously, I couldn’t sing. (Could he have been feeling competitive?) As much as I loved singing, I didn’t dare take it seriously, and no one in my family encouraged me except for occasional family gatherings. My singing more often became a platform to goof-off and make fun of myself, as I was “so bad.” But I hung in there. At least I was getting some attention.
Despite his intermittent cruel humor, I felt I could learn things from him that I’d never learn from anyone else, which, was not healthy in the long run. I learned I had to take abuse in order to get a little of something I desperately desired. Eventually, as I got older, I would tag along with he and his friends to drag shows at clandestine gay bars like The Golden Crown or Shelly’s Leg one of the infamous gay bars in Pioneer Square. Drag bars were my classroom in dramatic, comedic, performance. It was an education in creating over the top persona[TN1] s and tapping into a performers connection to an audience by entertaining freely and without inhibitions.
Our home was often pulsating with Norton practicing Mozart sonatas, Beethoven, Bach preludes and the list was endless. I especially enjoyed listening to his dreamy interpretations of Chopin. It was one thing my parents didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe that was what made them drink?
In his teen years Norton had his share of troubles with the kids in the neighborhood. He was different than the others, although I never saw him that way. It’s interesting what you don’t notice when you admire someone. I sensed he was ‘gay’, but no one spoke of it or knew precisely what that was—and why it was a problem. It seemed a non-issue to me. There was an underlying, subtle tension in our home toward him, stemming from that unspoken topic.[TN2]
In our neighborhood, there were several, edgy juvenile delinquents around Norton’s age. When he was 16, this mob of “ thugs”—harassed him regularly on his way home from school. They followed him to find where he lived. hoping to gang up on him.
For me, his adoring 12 year old sister, witnessing this was eerie and disturbing. I watched in awe from the large living room window as this group of hoods leaned against our dad’s meat truck, chanting “Norton! Norton! Norton!”, each one holding an ominous water balloon poised to be pounded on my brother.
Our mother, who never took ‘crap’ from any one (when it came to picking on her kids), went out on the porch, slamming open the metal screen door.
She yelled in her surprisingly deep, smokey, masculine-timbre voice,
“Get the hell off our property or I’ll call the Police!”
They knew she meant it—or worse—as she walked threateningly down the steps, grabbing hold of a rusty rake leaning against our house to wield as a lethal weapon. They sensed she was capable of anything[TN3] .
I loved her for that uninhibited way of yelling, and she meant business. (Maybe that’s how I developed my commanding voice!) I was glad the bullies were on the receiving end of her wrath for a change, and not me.
Because of his acute creativity and humor, I didn’t take into account all the pain he experienced at school. He hid that from everyone. It was a treat to hang out with him, and sometimes I preferred my brother’s company over my own friends. As siblings, we spent endless hours improvising and recording self-generated, psycho-drama- musicals based on our alcohol-fueled parents and relatives and their peculiar, boozy friends. Our “plays”, as we called them, were based on a standard ‘horror film plot’ with unrestrained, almost hysterical madness depicting the familiar, adults we observed and laughed about behind their backs. After taping, we’d listen and laugh till we cried.
“You kids are nuts; you can get into trouble for doing that!” (As if there was a special police squad on the prowl for nutty kids.) They tried to hide their inexplicable enjoyment, but they had a love of dark comedy, Jonathan Winters, Phyllis Diller and Lily Tomlin records. As a family, the one thing we enjoyed, besides eating delicious meals was to listen to these genius’ comic and laughing together. Ah, to be young overflowing with imaginative mischief! What a satisfying, dangerous thrill! I wondered what might have happened had we seriously gone into comedy together?
Norton found regular employment in churches and occasionally participated in concerts, recitals and competitions. When I got my drivers license I gladly became Norton’s chauffeur. Norton didn’t get his until years later. I’d hang out at the church while he practiced, and then bring him home. It was around that time, when I started examining the way I used my time. It needled me, that I didn’t have a passion to pour myself into as well.
One of the benefits of hanging around the church was I began to occasionally sing Lutheran solos, under his questionable tutelage. Like “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?” He encouraged me to turn and gaze dramatically at the large crucifix, to dramatize the awful truth to the congregation. I was directed by Norton to also deliver a morbid, and theatrical rendition of “The Old Rugged Cross.” Plus, I got paid.
Life was entertaining growing up as I was regularly exposed to the performance arts. Norton was the great director and I was the malleable, fledgling, actress. The drag queen he was afraid to be, doing anything he asked.
At 17, a senior in high school, I’d been on one of my first real dates with a guy whom I had a shy crush on. (He’d just graduated from high school.) That year, I had blossomed (gratefully) into a young Maria Callas look-alike.
Norton was 21 and attending the University; majoring in piano, exploring new forms of expression, and a noticeable, confidence and panache.
. I was envious that my brother and Munson Kangee, his eccentric and equally nerdy friend since grade school, were often doing creative, fun projects without me, like writing plays making home movies, and performing them for the community in the Kangees’ backyard. Munson’s mother doted on her two unconventional sons and encouraged all creative endeavors. This included the delegation of Munson’s younger brother David to play the unsavory roles—such as prisoner, crazy person, and the slave. I was hurt that they didn’t think to include me, but I was fully occupied doing summer-stock at the Green Lake Bathhouse Theater.
On this particular night, Munson, (who eventually became a well-known—art critic) and Norton, held a mock nightclub show in Munson’s family’s rec room, where he and Norton had been secretly rehearsing for weeks. I was invited and encouraged to bring my new ‘boyfriend’.
Munson played piano and Norton sang classic jazz numbers! This was something NEW. I hadn’t ever heard him sing seriously before. He had rarely shown an interest in popular music, let alone an affinity for singing it. His tone was deep, warm, whimsical, and sophisticated, He utilized a half talking, half singing style. It mesmerized me as it revealed a side of Norton that I had no idea existed.
But, most importantly, something about me was born that night that shook my world. More than a pleasant surprise, I had a realization: I MUST do this![TN4]
I accepted that Norton’s preference for classical music was somehow superior to my love of popular song and jazz. Classical would be the only thing he would ever want to perform. Yet he performed jazz standards impeccably, with a style unlike any singer I’ve heard since.
The nightclub act in progress hadn’t been mentioned before my seeing it, which made it all the more riveting. The night of that performance, the Kangee basement transformed into an actual night club. The mystique and professionalism of my brother and his friend, ignited my fantasy-driven essence, and steered it to form. Witnessing Norton’s—blossoming—captivated my younger self completely!
Norton sat casually on a stool, trim and fit, wearing hip-hugger bell-bottoms and a dreamy blue knit shirt, opened at the chest. This new Norton was a variation on a motif that was never before seen. It seemed like he was stepping through a portal up into his grander, more accessible self. No longer the focused, classical misfit, now he was sophisticated, impeccable, with a mouthful of polished, jazzy innuendos!
He interpreted hip jazz tunes with such élan and showmanship that I was hypnotized. I watched with studied intensity which ingrained on my imagination so deeply that I copied this persona he was using as a ‘lark;’ but I did it seriously. It’s imperative to have a role model at some point, and he was divinely mine in that moment. That night, an epiphany was on its way—and heading straight to my psyche. [TN5]
What really got me was his ability to command the attention of the whole room. I paid attention because I wanted what he had; in fact, I knew I had it, I just had to get busy and start revealing it, never imagining that I’d be stepping on his toes.
His smooth performance jolted me out of my limited scope of what music could inspire in an audience. I was overcome by seeing my closest role model, my big brother, reveal a hip, cool, fabulous side of life! In my own mind, this gave me permission to explore the possibility that I, too, could do this—and maybe even better? I was resonating all over the place!
I fell under the enchantment of a ‘muse’ as he sang “You’re Getting to Be a Habit with Me,” “Just One of Those Things,” “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?” “Once Upon a Time”; “Close Your Eyes.”
I clung to every lyric, every understated double entendre. Intoxicated with the energy of both Munson’s perfectly simple, yet spare piano accompaniment and Norton’s warm, mischievous talk-singing.
His interpretations and unique showmanship made an enormous impression and the seeds were sown.
Years later Munson dramatically bellowed at me. “And Norton will NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THAT!” I had no idea that was the direction Norton hoped to explore.
Munson implied that I stole Norton’s dream! I thought Norton already had his dream: playing the piano and, later the classical organ!
I needed a dream, damn it! The dream knew it as well and took me over, knocked me down, and captured me completely—right there in the Kangee basement! And it has never let me go.
[TN1]important
[TN2]Well said
[TN3]Great moment
[TN4]Nice!
[TN5]important