I can only look ahead. There is simply no other option. I've got to take the bitter with the better. It was bound to happen sometimes soon. It's bound to happen some more. Let's get the hurdles over with.
I attended the aforementioned "mic'ed" Open Mic. This one gets a bit more attention than the previous one I posted. It is ushered by
Caroleanne Solebello. Solebello is one of the founders and a former member of the band
Red Molly. I still remember vividly when I first came across them. Years ago, I was flippin' channels and came across a local PBS branch. It was showing a performance from the local place
Justice Brennan Coffeehouse. I just remember specifically the three ladies producing this haunting, Appalachian-mounatin sound. Each one of them a multi-instrumentalist, they kept alternating who plays the guitar, the banjo, the mandolin, the bass, and the slide-guitar. You can find plenty of Red Molly videos on the Tube.
Well, Solebello had bestowed her spot in the band upon another lady, and stayed at home to give birth to her first son, and spend time with her family. Nowadays, she still writes and performs solo, and once a month she volunteers by nurturing a local songwriting community. She was great.
Back to the disaster at hand.
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| Stepping up at Christopher St. |
I am not sure what all contributed to the overwhelming stage fright that hit me like a freight train, but it could have been any number of things: the fact that 14 people signed up for this open mic, as opposed to 5 from the last one; the skin-wringing cold that bit through all the layers that I had on me; the spotlight that they shined on the performers, the lack of preparation that I had with one of my songs, which I just finished writing the night before, bla, bla, bla.
The truth is, I did not expect at all to have such stage fright. I have been nervous before, but this was an animal I hadn't encountered yet. I guess I was unjustifiably overconfident.
So, I folded. It was horrifying.
The ol' cliche of a train-wreck in slow motion is the best depiction of the feeling. I just wanted the nightmare to end.
For this open mic, there is a strict maximum of two songs per performer. I performed
Cross That First Mile again, because I love singing that song and because I want to get as much practice performing it. Then, I performed a newly-written song called
The Tempest.
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| Bombing at Christopher St. |
When I sat down, the first image that came to my mind was comics
speaking of how they had "bombed". Surely it was nothing like it
because I had no one booing me off the stage and throwing tomatoes at me
(Do people still do that? How does that work? Do you walk into the
Apollo with pocket-fulls of tomatoes? Do they hand them out? I do wonder...) But it felt like
the biggest, self-inflicted let-down that one could endure.
I
fumbled through my chord progressions, my hands felt as if someone
poured concrete through my veins and lathered the palms with molasses; I
missed chords, I forgot chords, and then in some instances my fingers
simply wouldn't move! I sang off-key, I missed single notes, and on,
and on.
The one thing that I truly feared prior to standing up - didn't happen: forgetting my lyrics!
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| Bombing at Christopher St. |
I knew that my wife was recording a video of it all. I was so disappointed with it that the moment I sat down, I had already decided to not post the video of it. Like a pouting kid that takes his toys and goes home.
I couldn't speak for a while afterwards. J asked me how I thought it went, and I mumbled "Awful". She knew to leave me alone for a while (read: leave the pouting kid alone for a while). It was another 15 minutes before I reciprocated the question.
She says: "I didn't think it was that bad at all". So I watched the video.
Actually, watching the video made me regain some confidence, there. It is still a mediocre performance, but nowhere near a disaster that I made up in my head.
So, now back to the woodshed. The best thing coming from this experience is that I got a pretty clear idea of what kinds of improvements I must focus on. For instance: singing into a microphone, practicing controlling my breath, practicing my strumming without staring at the guitar (you can even see me glancing over in the video.
With singing, our vocal coach, Janie, always makes us sing into mics, but I had (obviously) never given it much thought. Luckily, I have enough gear at home that now I can invest hours into just practicing my songs with mics.
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| Looking up at Christopher St. |
As for moving on: new
goals! Looking up and recording all the songs to pitch to some local
song circles that perform. I am going to continue rehearsing and attending
the open mics, nonetheless. Not only is it good practice for me, but the community
is great and everyone shares their work and respects others'. With all
this, the new goal is to get a gig.
Open Mic Chris St Coffeehouse from
Skika on
Vimeo.
