"About 10 years ago, I took some vocal lessons. I'll bet that helped. I got a tape of exercises that the girl gave me, which I don't do anymore, but they were good. And I don't smoke"
About this Quote
There is something quietly punk about how Dan Hicks underplays the work. He talks about his voice the way a normal person talks about changing the oil: a few lessons, a cassette of drills, stopped doing them, but sure, “they were good.” In a culture that loves the myth of the natural-born talent, Hicks points to the unglamorous truth: voices are built, not discovered. The line “I’ll bet that helped” lands as dry self-mockery, but it’s also a jab at the idea that artistry has to be mystified to be respected.
The subtext is practical bordering on ascetic. He’s not selling a breakthrough method; he’s naming the boring habits that keep a musician usable: a little training, a little maintenance, and one clean-living flex that matters in this specific job. “And I don’t smoke” isn’t moralizing; it’s occupational hygiene. In a music world where cigarettes, late nights, and self-destruction get romanticized as part of the package, Hicks frames restraint as craft.
Contextually, this fits his larger persona: a bandleader with comedian timing and a songwriter’s eye for the deflating detail. The quote is built like one of his songs - conversational, slightly sideways, refusing melodrama. It invites you to hear the voice not as a mystical gift but as a tool he respected enough to take care of, even if he couldn’t be bothered to keep doing the exercises. That shrug is the point: professionalism without pretension.
The subtext is practical bordering on ascetic. He’s not selling a breakthrough method; he’s naming the boring habits that keep a musician usable: a little training, a little maintenance, and one clean-living flex that matters in this specific job. “And I don’t smoke” isn’t moralizing; it’s occupational hygiene. In a music world where cigarettes, late nights, and self-destruction get romanticized as part of the package, Hicks frames restraint as craft.
Contextually, this fits his larger persona: a bandleader with comedian timing and a songwriter’s eye for the deflating detail. The quote is built like one of his songs - conversational, slightly sideways, refusing melodrama. It invites you to hear the voice not as a mystical gift but as a tool he respected enough to take care of, even if he couldn’t be bothered to keep doing the exercises. That shrug is the point: professionalism without pretension.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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