Suddenly I Could See A Future

Nicola Miller + The Beatles: 'I Will' + Our parents' cassettes + Our kids' lullabies + Chasing vocal resonance control

Jul 16, 2024

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1982-1992

My parents had a couple hundred records but few cassettes. When we drove from Pennsylvania to Wisconsin to visit family for holidays, I would hear them on repeat. (I had my own tapes, mostly hair metal, but my parents didn’t like Poison.) Of all their albums, the White Album was my favorite, especially “I Will.” A lullaby for childhood.

I never once asked to take The White Album from the car and listen to it in my room. My parents never said it, but I felt that in the van they were sharing something with us: memories from their own youth, perhaps. To listen on my own would have lessened the experience.

2000

At 17 I started dating someone just as passionate about music as I was. She tended to prefer Sarah Vaughan and Ella Fitzgerald over the emo bands that I followed obsessively, but we both loved the Beatles.

One day, while on an ice skating date during which we danced to “Drive My Car,” she told me that someday, when she had a baby, she would sing them to sleep with “I Will.” I’d never once considered what songs I would choose to sing a baby to sleep. Woody Guthrie’s “Hobo’s Lullaby,” maybe?

“I Will” felt like a good option. The song soothes. Sure, the lyrics don’t hold up to analytic scrutiny. For if I ever saw you… Paul maybe never saw this person, but maybe he did! Her name? He doesn’t know. But the sound and tone evoke calm. Love is present from the very first notes sung.

Suddenly I could see a future. A wife. A baby. A song.

2003-2012

Toward the end of college I learned how to play guitar, inspired entirely by a desire to be like the Beatles.

Let’s be clear. I don’t mean all of the Beatles. Paul has always made me cringe. George was moody, but in a way that made him feel like real person. John was funny and tortured. Ringo was a loveable clown, asking to be nothing more than his simple self.

Paul? Fucking Paul. A goddamn ham. A theater kid trying to be the main character in everyone else’s life story.

“Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”? Christ.

Yes, “Hello, Goodbye” is special. And of course I wanted to play “I Will,” his masterpiece. Though never a great guitar player, I was good enough to not embarrass myself. But “I Will” – with its speedy chord changes, awkward finger placements, and its demand that I alternate between rhythm and lead playing, frustrated me. Now I not only loved a Paul McCartney song, but also admired his talent? This was too much.

2013-2016

Six years after that ice skating date, we married on a beautiful, cool August evening in the Pennsylvania mountains. We did indeed have a baby. And we did indeed sing “I Will” to him at bedtime, looping the song back on itself, slowing down with each iteration until he passed out.

I often missed hitting the highest notes at the end. He didn’t mind, of course, so I didn’t either. A lullaby for childhood.

I would feel myself drifting off to sleep alongside our baby. The song would start to feel as though it was coming from somewhere outside us. As if we weren’t the ones singing. As if, while my son slept, I too was a child falling asleep. In our old van, my parents driving us to Wisconsin. The turnpike rumble strips updating me on our progress from state to state.

2019-2021

When I started transitioning from male to female, lullaby time became a chance to practice my new voice. Singing requires control of one’s vocal resonance, the very same key to feminizing your speaking voice. Masculine voices have “darker” resonance; feminine voices are “brighter.” Physiologically, you brighten by raising your larynx, widening your lips to a near-smile, and expanding your throat in a muscle movement that approximates swallowing. I’ve gotten good enough at brightening my speaking voice that it never gets me misgendered, even over a phone call. But singing with feminine resonance still eludes me, and in the early days I often struggled while singing “I Will.” Anxiety would take over and my voice would hide as a whisper.

Now, Right Now

Our child is 11. He doesn’t need anyone to sing him to sleep. But every now and then he stills asks for “I Will” as a bedtime lullaby, and this couldn’t be more comforting. He has accepted every part of my transgender self. Although I still don’t love my singing voice, I know he doesn’t pay it any notice. He’s just a baby again, falling toward sleep. And I too become a child, just like him. I could sit in this song for days. Pure peacefulness. ✹

Nicola Miller works as an economist and lives with her family in Binghamton, New York.

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Airwaves:

This Thursday at 11 a.m. CST I (Peter) will be on “Finders, Keepers” a radio show on WHPK, the student radio station at the University of Chicago. The show takes a similar approach to Tracks, with guests picking songs that feel especially laden with memories and talking them through with the two hosts. I did a bit of radio in college, so I’m excited. Not sure how many songs we’ll get to, but I’m aiming to do a mix of “elaborating on songs I’ve already written about here” and “exploring some songs I haven’t written about yet but might want to someday.” about songs I might want to write about in the future.” The show will go out on 88.5 FM on Chicago’s South Side, and online at whkp.org. Later, when a recording goes online, I will share it here.

Archive Fever:

Some Tracks pieces that feel like cousins to Nicola’s treatment of “I Will.”