Page 20 of What Would Dolly Do?

So Tom sat down at the piano and played a few bars, and straight away I recognised the Patsy Cline song ‘Walking After Midnight’.

I loved that song and couldn’t resist singing along.

He segued then into a few more country standards and we jammed our way through as many hit songs as we could remember.

Sometimes I’d suggest one, other times Tom played a few notes and I joined in as soon as I recognised it.

It was fun and an excellent way to warm up.

Eventually I called a halt. ‘I really enjoyed the Linda Ronstadt number,’ I said, ‘maybe we could record that one.’

Tom swung his eyes towards Fergus who was still sitting in the control room behind the glass. I saw him pull a slight face.

‘Oh!’ The penny dropped and I realised Ferg had been recording the whole time. Before I could rail at the two of them too much, my voice filled the room as Ferg hit the playback button and we all listened as I sang the rocky Ronstadt hit ‘You’re No Good’. Ironically, it sounded pretty good.

Ferg stopped the track before the end and then jumped through a few of the other tracks he’d captured as we’d performed, and played back snatches of a few of them.

I was surprised how soulful I sounded on ‘I Hope You Dance’ and Tom said he loved the rasp in my voice in the grittier tracks and it was great to hear myself really let go and have fun in Kid Rock’s ‘All Summer Long’.

It was a cheeky trick but I had to admit that not knowing I was being recorded had helped me relax and play around with the music more than I would have done otherwise.

‘Hey Ferg, can you find that bit where she sang “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue”?

’ Tom asked. Ferg did as he was asked and then Tom sat and listened intently with his eyes closed as my voice soared up into the rafters with the song I knew so well by Crystal Gayle.

When it finished he opened his eyes and looked into mine.

‘Man, I knew it when I heard you sing “Little Sparrow” the other night,’ he said.

‘We’ve just got to get ya out from where you’re hiding behind Dolly. The world needs to meet you, honey.’

I could feel a warm glow spreading through me as I stood there in a shaft of sunlight from the picture window overlooking the water.

Tom’s belief in me was uplifting and I wasn’t daft enough to deny my own ears and judgement; the voice I could hear in the playback sounded good, raw in places perhaps, but I wasn’t just singing the songs exactly as I’d heard them done before.

I was phrasing slightly differently here and there, feeling the music and interpreting the lyrics.

I’d always loved the way country music invited you to sing a song your own way, to lean in and let your own life experience swirl through the music like cream through coffee.

From wistful and yearning to playful and bold I was able to hear my own voice in a way I never had before. It sounded good and felt even better.

Tom and Ferg were clearly experienced enough to know when things were on a roll and to keep a vibe going.

Now I knew I was being recorded but I was already feeling pretty comfortable so I went with it.

We laid down a few more tracks, Tom accompanying me, switching between piano and guitar depending on the number.

We went for a take on ‘Little Sparrow’ at his suggestion but avoided all other, more obvious, Dolly songs.

I don’t know how long we worked – if you could have called it work – I hadn’t had so much fun in ages. Well not with all my clothes on anyway.

Tom stuck to being my session musician until he started playing the old Martha and The Vandellas track ‘Heatwave’. I knew the song from various versions over the years but it never mattered how often I heard it or who sang it, I always loved it and it never, ever seemed to age.

Tom was playing a fast-paced rhythm on the guitar as I sang the lead but then it was like he couldn’t help himself as he began to sing backing and harmony.

As we really got into it together, our voices answering each other and blending at just the right moments, the door to the control room opened.

Ferg emerged and waved his hand, signalling for us to keep going as he leapt behind a drum kit, and then the three of us really got cooking.

We did the number several times, making slight changes and suggestions to each other, refining the takes until we had a track all laid down.

Listening to it back we could hardly stand still.

Ferg was drumming his hands on the top of the piano, I was jigging about and swaying almost desperate to dance, and Tom was sat on a stool with his knees bouncing up and down, he clearly couldn’t keep his toes from tapping.

All of us grinning like the cats who’d got the cream.

‘Boy, that sounds good, it’s like summer in a bottle.

You know how people always say if they could bottle a feeling like that they could make a fortune, well guys …

I think we just did it.’ Ferg grinned at us both.

Tom was nodding along as though he agreed with every word but, as happy as I was to have been part of the recording session, I wasn’t sure where that left me.

I’d had a taste of something glorious – but where did I go from here?

I didn’t want to appear ungrateful by saying anything so I kept my mouth shut and just smiled, but what Fergus said next wiped the smile right off my face.

‘Do you write your own stuff?’

Was he seriously asking me that question? I figured he couldn’t be asking Tom since he was a well-known singer songwriter with multiple Grammy award nominations to his name. Why would I have the first idea how to write a song?

‘From the look on your face I’m taking it the answer is no.

’ Tom’s eyes were crinkling at the corners in that way I was already learning they did when something amused him.

It made him look just the right amount of naughty.

While I was distracted by a surge of longing and lust Tom added, ‘But I think now is the perfect time to start.’

‘Huh? Start what?’

Tom came and stood in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders.

Was he going to kiss me? I was sort of hoping he might, we’d not kissed in hours and the feel of his hands on me was bringing back memories of the night before.

If Ferg hadn’t been leaning on the piano only a few feet away I could have pushed Tom Coltrane down onto the Persian rug right then and there.

But he was, so I didn’t. I might have been discovering my true voice but that didn’t make me an exhibitionist.

‘I reckon we should try and write something, me and you, right now. C’mon honey, let’s give it a go …’

He was serious. Tom Coltrane was asking me to compose a song with him. What the hell was this guy doing to me? Once again, I was forced to ask myself … just what would Dolly do?