It’s like I always say: a new year, a new project. Wait, did I say that? Maybe I dreamt it. Never mind, I like to give things a crack, so watch me go! Anyone following me on Facey has probably noticed that the most regular of my gigs in recent months has not been my comedy shows. Lately, there’s a little known act pulling rank: ‘Last Chance Clancy’. There are a few reasons for this new project, the most noteworthy of which is those two preschool-aged ‘natural disasters’ under my feet. ‘Returning’ to the music scene in and around our hometown has also meant that a certain penis - I mean, pianist - is sharing the stage with me again. I’ll admit, I’m finding it quite challenging to perform some of the classic tunes I’ve always loved without changing their lyrics to suit myself. A perfect example of this is the Deniece Williams cracker ‘Let’s Hear it for the Boy’, lovingly tweaked to become a naughty number for the ladies: ‘Lets hear it for the toys’. It’s tough to hold my tongue. Really tough.
Even friends are commenting on the success of our latest project. Not surprised, but uplifted by what they’re seeing on stage. And it’s completely expected that people wouldn’t know what to expect. After all, it’s been more than 4 years since we’ve stepped on stage together and delivered a ‘standard’ tune. But I’ve figured out the key difference/s between the ‘pub singer’ I was when I last played in the covers world and the ‘performer’ I am today. Yes, I’ve had my metaphorical balls on the line, plugging away at an art that offers no glory to those who don’t put bums on seats: comedy. So, I made it my mission to get bums on my seats everywhere we’ve played and continue to play, and in doing so, I grew. Not just a little sideways (bloody snot flickin’ kids), but also as an entertainer. And those metaphorical balls of mine didn’t just sit on that line, nor dance on it, nor slouch awaiting a scratch. They ‘dropped’. Yes, your mind is following my drift: I’m reaping the benefits that come with high class vocal training and the hormonal changes associated with having babies. Kids: I guess if they’re gonna fuck up your bottom end, they need to compensate by delivering something fruitful to another bodily region!? In this case, it’s the vocal chamber that wins. Age improves many things and the voice is no exception. Throw a couple of kids into the mix and not only will your voice naturally evolve, but you’ll get plenty of practice testing it’s new timbre while you’re yelling at the little turds to “pick up the faaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrr(king) – Lego!” Ahh, the joys.
Resting atop, but certainly not ‘finishing’ things off, I have also entered the world of private speech pathology practice. A family-centred approach remains at the heart of all I do in the health world, but to the detriment of my continually evolving next/future album release (one day I’ll finish it, I’m only 22 after all, so plenty of time), that can often mean I’m out ‘therapising’ in the hours I would’ve been home wiping snot, washing clothes and appropriately modelling my favourite adverb. Yep, I do mean ‘fucking’. So, yeah, I hate sitting still.
In the coming months, we’ll continue cruising as 'Last Chance Clancy' alongside our other life projects. We’ll also look to begin piecing a QLD trip together. I know, I know, we’ve had QLD on our lips for such a long time now that folks have literally given up asking: “when are you coming up here?” You’re welcome to call me a fibber, an arsehole, I’ll take it, ‘cause I know it’s been a ‘plan’ for far too long. We need to make it an ‘action’ and I’m doing everything in my power to help it off the paper and into the tour bus. In a perfect world, we’ll also hit TAS for a visit in 2018. I’ve got dreams. I always have plenty of dreams to pursue. Watch this space.
I do have several irons in the fire. Some folks may judge them as too many. Others call me ‘busy’ or ‘crazy’. My response is: ‘I’ve either got undiagnosed ADHD or I’m simply an idiot’. Whatever the case, there’s no denying I’m squeezing every inch out of life and paying the mortgage along the way. If I’ve got one request, it’s that you and those in your circles regularly set aside the 2-3 minutes required to indulge in ‘The Fanny Mechanic’. Let this fabulously ‘wrong’ song open your legs – I mean, life – the way it’s opened mine. It’s certainly good fertiliser for your inner entrepreneurial streak. Nothing is off limits.
Over ‘n out! LE xx