Rob, Fab Bring That Syncing Feeling

First Milli Vanilli and now New Kids On the Block.

The stunning lip-syncing revelations about Vanilli and accusations of same about the Kids bring to mind one of my first reporting assignments at another newspaper.

I was assigned to cover a musical competition among the student body at a college. What my editors wanted was an irreverent story intended to provide our readers frothy entertainment over their Sunday morning mugs.

But I was shocked to learn, while standing in the wings, that one of the most popular groups at the event was a sham. The lead singer wasn’t singing at all.

She fronted for a backup trio, all of whom had great voices. She did have qualities which they must have considered more important than musical talent: staggering good looks and stage presence. Should I change my story plans and write a serious, investigative piece, probing the ramifications of this fraud?

While mulling that question on the ride back to the office I recalled my stint as a member of the Franklin Elementary School band in Omaha.

I had been studying the clarinet, and one day there was a school pageant. My instructor had such confidence in me that I was selected to play in the chorus of the band, which included older children who had many more years of training.

During a performance, the band played “The Blue Danube”--everyone but me, that is. Oh, my cheeks were puffing and my fingers were moving, but I wasn’t playing anything. Too scared. When it came down to the actual performance, everything seemed to move too quickly for me, and I choked.

In view of the seriousness with which this subject is now treated--Milli has been sued and there is already mention of a lawsuit against the Kids--I feel that I must come clean about both these scandals--aging though they may be.

The knowledge of my own lapse into finger-syncing has been a heavy burden. It may have played a roll in my subsequent decision about whether to snitch on the bogus college group.

Like Milli Vanilli and the Kids, the group offered a tremendously entertaining package: Their sound was an earthy kind of soulful rock, a la Tina Turner, and all the while they danced like Paula Abduls in shiny unitards.

The whole routine was recorded, but what I was told by somebody in the know was that while the recorded voices were really those of the backup singers, the lead voice was double-dubbed: One of the backup singers was also singing the lead while the lead singer lip-synced.

I decided I would ask the group if this allegation were true. Being naive in the ways of show business, I thought my query would elicit either gasps and tearful acknowledgments or angry denials. But the reaction was neither: They cheerfully admitted that “some of us are better singers than the others.” They claimed they weren’t trying to put anything over on anyone, and felt that the audience got a good show for its money. Indeed, all of the student organizers of the event seemed to be aware of what was going on.

“A lot of musicians use aids nowadays,” one of them told me. ‘Aids’? All my musical illusions were crushed.

I don’t know what was running through the minds of Fab Morvan or Rob Pilatus of the now-defunct Milli Vanilli, but by the time the “Blue Danube” ended, I felt like a complete fraud. Even though I was only one small cog, and probably no one but the little guy next to me noticed that no sound was forthcoming from my instrument, I felt miserable, as if I had let down centuries of musical brethren.

However, I didn’t feel bad enough to let on to my music teacher what had happened. My failure was one for me to deal with.

After the musical competition at the college--in which the lip-syncing group scored highly but didn’t win--I decided that the whole thing was much ado about nothing.

These were only college kids, everybody had a lot of fun, no harm was done and I would write my frothy story. I think I also felt I had no business informing on anyone else, after my own childhood transgressions.

But those were more innocent times. No reporter worth his or her salt would pass up a chance nowadays to expose musical shenanigans. So all the scared, quaking youth struggling in elementary school bands in the vicinity should beware. Any lapses could land you in the news!