"More like nobody wants to watch," Noah said with a smile. "And as for singing, well." He pulled up his grandfather's thick, twangy accent, "'I swear, that gran'son of mine cain't carry a tune in a bucket. Sounds more like pigs bein' slaughtered. The damn neighbors are complainin' so make him quit that caterwaulin'." He tucked away the accent again. "Unfortunately, it's true. I really can't carry a tune in a bucket. If you could actually do that. I've lost remarkably little sleep over it. The neighbors, well. That's an entirely different matter."