Just wanted to add to yesterday’s…piece…that I also want to get gigging again for the fear-facing, self-challenging, triumph-over-death experience that playing a show can bring. To feel, in short, a sense of achievement. An obvious motivation, maybe, but one that didn’t really thread its way into the aforementioned long-gestating performance-anxiety kvetch.
To that end, there are five fresh emails out there and more to come. Someone is bound to nibble, so stay tuned.
I see now that my original sweep of gig-grubbing emails was sent the first week of MAY. Time flies, yes? I received a sort of form rejection from one place, a kind word unaccompanied by a firm offer from another, and no reply at all from the other three places. I know that I’m supposed to follow up, but I’ve been stalling. Or is 100 days too soon? (Joke.) (I hope.)
I had this idea that if I could write a second part to my earlier post about performance anxiety, I’d answer some internal questions, get some things settled, and once again feel good about “getting out there.” But after weeks of poking at it, just this morning I looked at what I’d written and realized that I’d been winding myself up over two truths that aren’t revelatory, and that I wouldn’t be brave for pointing out. Namely, that 1) The moment you take a creative endeavor out of your basement, parties with profit as their chief concern WILL have to be dealt with, and 2) It’s okay to admit that some part of you wants to be recognized for your hard work and/or inherent talent (because everyone has that part).
Though these truths aren’t earth-shattering, they do bug the hell out of me. The first one’s a bummer, and the second is something I’d rather not admit to. The tempting thing is that if I don’t play out, 1) I never have to answer the dreaded question of draw (which equals beer which equals money), and 2) I can pretend I don’t care what people think. Truths avoided, problem solved! (In a totally cowardly and unsatisfying way.)
Thing is, I get to a point with writing and practicing and polishing where I think, you know, damn. I’m actually GOOD at this. I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I gotta be the Earl Grey for some percentage of Chicago’s music fans. It’s at this point that I send out the emails, and my vision is lofty, but incomplete: I see only the point A that is me and the point B that is “my audience,” with a black box obscuring all the sub-connections between.
Of course eventually, with the venue-silence that requires of me more self-promotion (sticky truth #1) and assertiveness (sticky truth #2), the black box is lifted, and the complicated jungle of circuitry is revealed. I can hear the booker asking how many people I can get out. I can anticipate the strained reaction of a crowd uncertain what to do with a somewhat-husky, somewhat-mopey, sometimes-twitchy guy in his mid-to-late thirties. Okay, fine: late thirties.
But while these fears are real — while the anxieties of the inbox and the less-than-perfect gig hum like window units in my noggin — I know that what’s scarier still is making music that no-one will hear. At the risk of sounding corny, as much as I despair the myriad x-factors that seem to conspire against it ever happening, I know that the pure A-to-B connection, when it DOES happen, is pure magic. In the end, it’s totally worth carving through the jungle for.
To that end, I’ve sent out a few more follow-up emails since starting this dumb essay. I’ll be live…soon.
My last gig was half a year ago. Cruising the path of least resistance, I’d emailed the nearby coffee shop with my MySpace link, and when they said they had Halloween night open, I said sure. Some of my co-workers live near the place, and it was a Friday, and maybe it would be cool.
Or maybe not. It was one of those places where you’re not sure why they let people play, since no-one seems to want it. I hate that sinking feeling, setting up your gear, getting dirty looks from the people whose reading you’re about to interrupt. But of course you soldier on, and so I plugged in…and the guitar and amp that had worked fine back in the basement refused to work. So I dashed back home, grabbed the acoustic two-string, and sat down at the back of the place (no stage, no mic, just like any other patron who happens to be noodling on a guitar) and proceeded to shake and stutter through about four songs before deciding it wasn’t worth it. Amy got to hear me do my Frightened Rabbit cover, but other than that it was a horrible experience.
I’ve reflected on that night many times since, and I have two basic thoughts on it. First, it’s inarguably lame that since Tom and Casey moved back to Ohio, I’ve literally only played when asked to, taking NO initiative to get gigs myself–the “path of least resistance” gig on Halloween being the only exception. I played Lilly’s twice last summer as a fill-in for my fellow-ex-Raleigh compatriot Denise Hradecky, and I’ve done Hoot Night whenever it’s made its way back to Chicago (thanks, Tom). But sending out CDs? Or whatever it is you’re supposed to do nowadays? Nope, can’t be bothered. I used to think this was a cool, low-stress way to go about it. And maybe that would make sense for a successful, full band in a “smaller market.” But I’m not so sure it holds for me and Chicago. All it’s done is shrink my profile. (“Profile.” Yech.)
The second thought I have about that crappy night is what a wuss I was for not sucking it up, pasting on a smile and plowing through a full set. Is it because I’m so unaccustomed to playing in general that I go full diva at the prospect of a non-rapt audience? What happened to the fun of playing for its own sake? I can’t shake the feeling that, like so many of my peers (hi, Eric Z), I should be able to stand down any audience, however small, unruly or uninterested, and just…do what I do. Because I’m pretty good at it, and there’s a chance that someone within earshot will like it. Couldn’t it–SHOULDN’T it–be as simple as that? Getting to that mental space is the challenge, anyway.
Well, in the spirit of all the above, I sent out four gig-grubbing emails this past weekend. Wish me luck. Meanwhile, I’ll make a note to myself that if I want to post again on this topic of playing out generally, the jump-off sub-topics would be 1) confidence vs. vanity, and 2) defining “worth” and “it” when wondering if a gig is “worth it.”