Solo, not alone.

The blogging hasn’t stalled so much as life has revved up.

At work, I’ve moved to a new role. It’s a good move for me. But it’s brand new and I’m feeling the pressure. Worked until late last night.

At home, I’m right between the kids’ two birthdays. Early May and early June. Those celebrations come at me every year like a boxer’s best combo.

Stir in youth soccer. Add swimming lessons (not for me, though I would probably benefit). A pinch of business travel (to Arkansas, no less.)

And then cover it all with some music.

After the rehearsals we had a few weeks back (tax weekend, April 15^th-17^th ). I went out and played an open mic. It’s sort of a closed open mic, if you will, in that it requires an audition of sorts and has a set schedule. It was an interesting night.

The venue: a small, beer-and-a-shot sort of place on Chicago’s north side. Sylvie’s has two distinct sides, a bar side with dart boards and some old, square Nagel prints in silver frames. So random. Maybe they’re ironic. The other side has a decent stage and some tables and chairs. A sound booth in the back.

Both sides of the place smelled of urine, cleanser and hot dogs.

Several of my friends showed up early with me. I paced around drinking water and doing busy, jittery set-up work that didn’t need to be done. They relaxed and drank beer. More and more folks trickled in; I knew them all. It was a great feeling. A scary feeling.

I’ve played lots of shows in my day. Played in front of 11,000 people when I was 17 or 18. Was that scary? Not at the time. Exciting. What could go wrong? It was 11,000 people waiting for us to be done with our set. We were opening for the Michael Schenker Group in Dayton, Ohio. The sign at the lip of the stage was publicizing a chili cook-off somewhere in the vicinity. So the people with feathered hair that were NOT interested in us alt rock kids could take the last train to fartsville until MSG took the stage.

A few years after that we played in front of 1200-1400 several times opening up for bigger bands in Chicago. Way more exciting than scary. We thought we we’re on the path to rock stardom. Plus, I was taking the stage with my three best friends. There’s power in that. Band-of-brothers-type power. It was us against the world. And as trite and hackneyed as that expression is, it’s true. There is instant confidence to be gained by adding like-minded friends and facing people together, with guitars and amps and drums.

It got so that playing to several hundred at time was like falling out of bed. Easy and fairly common.

Playing to 30 people I consider friends? Fucking horrifying.

It shouldn’t be, right? It would be safe to assume that even the worst performance would elicit polite applause and a few “nice jobs.” Friends are friends because they’re friendly, right? True.

But who do you want to please more? Some mulletted knob in line for the porta-potty at the MSG show? Not really a factor. How about the shoe-gazer with the superior attitude? Ok, maybe you want to win over a skeptic or two, but you don’t need to have dinner with them. Friends are with you. You want them to like the music for a reason bigger than the fact that they like you. You want them to think the music is good. To be impressed. To feel that the songs are strong. The lyrics are meaningful, and the performance is good. Maybe even surprisingly so.

Because you don’t want to make a friend into a liar. If I suck up there, my friends are gonna tell me I did well. But when they stop and think about it later… they might think: “meh… hang it up, brother…” And that’s unacceptable to me.

Which is why it is so worrisome to get up there in front of the people that you know and love.

But I did it. I got up there, just me and a guitar and played some songs.

And I was nervous. Add to it a guitar malfunction and I was downright shaky. I have an acoustic guitar with a pick-up in it. That means typically I can plug it in to a sound system and play right through the house speakers. Something went wrong and I had to mic the guitar. Which means I had to sit or stand in one place. Which is not what I wanted to do. So I had to sit. Shackled to this situation, I got even more nervous. My leg literally shook uncontrollably as I sat. I had epic, sahara-like drymouth. My mind raced.

But the beauty of playing for friends is that they do boost your confidence. If you do well, they clap a bit more vigorously than others. They hoot. The holler. They laugh at your attempts at banter. Which feeds back to me as positive energy. When I was younger these were the same people that would buy me a shot and tell me I had a chance with ladies I had no business talking to. Friends, like alcohol can add courage and grit to a nerve-wracking situation.

I kept on. And it was fun. Through the dry mouth and shakes, I think I did ok. When it was over, I got some hugs. I got some complements. And most importantly I got to chase off the nerves and have a few drinks with some good friends. Because even though I was solo, I wasn’t alone.

It was a positive thing. A challenge I set for myself. Some much needed stage time before the Storytown : Reunited show happening this summer. So I signed up to do another one. It’s this Monday, May 16^th in Chicago. Same place same time. Later that week, the members of Storytown will convene in Columbus for a few days of rehearsal in our run up to June.

Until next time.

Advertisement