I don't think I'm singing. I feel like I'm playing a horn...What comes out is what I feel.
I can't stand to sing the same song the same way two nights in succession. If you can, then it ain't music, it's close order drill, or exercise or yodeling or something, not music.
Singing songs like 'The Man I Love' or 'Porgy' is no more work than sitting down and eating Chinese roast duck, and I love roast duck.
I hate straight singing. I have to change a tune to my own way of doing it. That's all I know.
The whole basis of my singing is feeling. Unless I feel something, I can't sing.
So I asked him to play "Trav'lin' All Alone." That came closer than anything to the way I felt. And some part of it must have come across. The whole joint quieted down. If someone had dropped a pin, it would have sounded like a bomb. When I finished, everybody in the joint was crying in their beer, and I picked thirty-eight bucks up off the floor. . . . When I showed Mom the money for the rent and told her I had a regular job singing for eighteen dollars a week, she could hardly believe it.
When Lester plays, he almost seems to be singing; one can almost hear the words.
I can't stand to sing the same song the same way two nights in succession, let alone two years or ten years.
I can only sing songs my way. I don't know any other way.
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