Music: Italian
Book: The Jester
So last night was awful. How do I put it nicely? I received a plethora of emails expressing excitement and pleasure that I was singing an early acoustic set in a child-friendly establishment on a weekday night for a change. Everyone couldn't wait to come...supposedly. The numbers for the door, however, were disappointingly low. A few brave, kind souls fought the rain and made it to the show…but where was everyone else?
I had a random thought that it's easier for me to be on tour than it is to stay in the Twin Cities and play gigs. At least on the road I have a guaranteed following of loyal fans. Here, in my own city, it's hit or miss: a glorious CD release show followed by a handful of people on a Wednesday night. Ironically, I don't mind the small shows; in fact, sometimes they become the most rewarding. But I DO mind the expectations I develop when people express interest in having more venue options, swear they can’t wait to see me, mention a group of friends coming along etc etc etc…but then don't show up. It makes me feel wretched - for me, for the few who show up and for the poor venue who just got screwed out of a good crowd.
To be clear, I don't want your money...I need it to survive as a musician, but that's not why I play. Day after day, artists slash open a vein and bleed out every known emotion for the masses to dissect, explore and sometimes reject - completely! Whether or not people accept the music or the message, we still get up and do the same damn thing the next day. Because we have to. Because we want to. Because we need to and it's a waste not to share what you can with the world with hope that someone out there, anywhere benefits from what you do.
Last night, that 9-year old girl I mentioned yesterday mouthed every word to every song she knew from my latest CD. Realistically, I only sang for her. I enjoyed performing at Acadia for the few who showed up but it was a struggle and in the end, sadness won.
I war with myself, my conflicting emotions every time these heartbreaking feelings seep out after being crushed by my own expectations. Probably my own fault, but that disappointment is there none-the-less. And I’m ashamed that I allowed those painful, destructive thoughts into my psyche when I should have been giving the audience in front of me every ounce of passion and concentration.
Side note: Another factor could be the insane man who joined the show for my last set, sharing comments such as: "All republicans are fascists", "Welfare people can't do anything", "My favorite bottle of wine is $6" and "Everyone is corrupt, EVERYONE, me, him and YOU TOO!" (pointing a finger at me). Needless to say, regardless of political affiliation, I would think the entire population en mass would find some offense with this man. He seemed to judge and attack every person he came in contact with. He was verbal and abusive and unfortunately determined to have a conversation with the poor souls who came out to see a live music show at Acadia. Just the icing on yesterday's cake.
