She didn't want to alarm us or get us too excited, for she knew it'd take years for her to grow into her full power, for her to climb the ranks of the Actress Brigade to reach her eventual peak as Commander-In-Chief.Īnd we were willing to wait for it. She had to start out with something simple, something everyone knew: a patriotic tune, a gift for her country! She kept it toned down.
This is just the beginning of her musical career, and I like to think she knew exactly what she was doing. I'm writing this to help the 14-year-old who just happened to see the end of Mamma Mia! on Showtime after her step-brother made her watch Iron Man 2, and felt immediately, cosmically compelled to Google "Meryl Streep singing," and who cannot afford, mental-health-wise, to miss even a single note.
This isn't an obvious first entry for many reasons, but I'm not writing this to be obvious. (Note: an asterisk denotes a movie wherein Meryl Streep sings, but one that is decidedly not a musical.) The Deer Hunter (1978)* And I couldn’t help but wonder: if Meryl Streep is willing to sing for us, who are we to continue to go about our lives without singing her praises every opportunity we get? So, like the gay, millennial, Brooklynite version of Carrie Bradshaw, here I sit, in front of my laptop. It’s there, simply, to behold, like the Mona Lisa or Patti LuPone’s bong lockers or the Sex and the City 2 movie. It’s because I cannot fathom how, with only the will and fortitude of a mere mortal, I am supposed to find a way to analyze, explore, celebrate, even simply outline the greatest gift we’ve been given in modern civilization since the advent of electricity: Meryl Streep’s singing voice.īut as I lay here now, it strikes me that Meryl Streep singing isn’t something to be rationalized nor unpacked. Unlike most of my peers, however, I’ve been swirling around this article for months, watching and rewatching and researching and stewing - Julia Child’s boeuf Bourguignon level stewing - over how I can possibly start.
As I type this, I’m sitting on a bed in Brooklyn using an IKEA velvet throw pillow as a lap desk and sipping an iced coffee, like any good millennial would do.
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