"Fine, tell me! Tell me everything you've been longing to tell me. I'm listening!"
He got out of bed and had been banging around, trying to wake her up. She sat up in bed, groggy, naked and tangled in the white hotel sheets. Both of them were washed of any negative emotions from last night. But he was frustrated, had a bad night's sleep, tossing, wondering how to ask her to be honest with him. Things had gotten weird the night before, but they had both attributed it to her being too drunk and too honest.
The bedside clock showed 5:03am, the sunlight was just beginning to light the sky, but he turned on the table lamp. He plopped down naked in the purple hotel chair. Usually, he would've put a towel down. But feeling the velour next to his skin reminded him of his power. He was still Inconsiderate Rock Star; he could piss on all the furniture and it would only add to his reputation. There were still a dozen women would would buy this chair on eBay. Right now, it was his throne. Inconsiderate Rock Star Ass. If he was going to let her tell him what was wrong, he wanted to protect himself emotionally, even if the attempt was feeble.
The show last night had bothered him. It was fine, as usual. But he wasn't getting laughs from his usual jokes. Not that he ever did. And the guitar connection had crapped out on him, even though he had taken it to get it fixed from that guy in the city. He hadn't tested it, though and was in no position financially to buy a new one.
She hinted at it. The old jokes that weren't even funny when they were young. How he handles the audience. She was his favorite heckler. Although he hated it, her hinting, her superiority. He wanted to finally fight with her about it; the passive-aggressive, shy attitude she was copping drove him crazy. He wanted a reason to hate her. To dismiss her entirely from his life. Or maybe, give her that one chance in a million. To be right.
"I'm listening," he said.
"First off, you shouldn't be doing gigs by yourself. One of your biggest talents is your banter. It's not a matter of you not carrying a show. Your body language is more relaxed. You enjoy it more. You are a great leader, and you are great at stepping back and letting other people share the spotlight around you. Joe, the guitarist in your band, is incredible. It only makes you better to have him on stage with you. And the smiles on stage, when you are clowning around with A.J., and even then you guys forget to use the mic. Share the banter."
Damn, she was right. He was thinking she was going to tell him how unprofessional he was being. How it finally showed that he was just throwing all of this together. How he had always been making it all up this whole time, his whole life. Okay. He could take that.
"Second, you need to make the first 5 minutes, 10 minutes and half hour COMPLETELY SOLID. People come to your show, expecting you to fail. They are looking for reasons to hate you. The Over-The-Hill-Rock Star, playing in crappy bars. Or, if you are egotistical, they want to hate you for being good. Be yourself, present yourself solidly for the first 3 songs; and the self effacing stuff is great, but you need to script it. You do a lot of stuttering. It makes you look surprised."
What?
"You don't focus on the Patter. The stuff between the songs. You're a musician, of course, all of your effort is going into the music. But WE, the fans, are focusing on everything else. We already KNOW the songs. It's the least of the performance. We're gonna remember WHO you are as you reveal yourself in the spaces between songs. How you deal with the thing breaking. We don't mind if the mic is crappy or the guitar konks out. We are watching like HAWKS to see how YOU handle it. Are you gonna blow up at the sound guy? Are you gonna ignore it? Are you gonna make a joke? Somehow, it happens at every show and you just look caught off guard and frustrated. Make it a part of the show. Understand that you are STILL performing. You are ROCK STAR from the moment you get out of the van to the moment you get back in. Now, you seem to only perform when you are doing the songs. It doesn't matter that you want to think it's different. When you are in the space, doing a sound check, we are WATCHING."
Accept the things you can't change. He stared down at his misshapen gut, the bellybutton staring up at him like a black hole. His limpness and his legs slightly different colors. He wasn't making eye contact because he wanted to hear more of what she had to say. It wasn't so bad. She's his harshest critic, and the only one he can really believe. She's seen him for the past 7 years. She's eloquent. She has stuff she wants to say, and she's been sitting on her hands for too long.
She's clear. Clearer than anyone he had the nerve to listen to. Nothing to gain.
"You have to make the beginning solid, so they'll stll be paying attention when you get to your sweet spot."
"What's my sweet spot?"
"Your best talent. Yes, you are a great all around entertainer, musician, etc. Even comedian! But 3/4th through every show, just when we are all getting used to the performance of this ROCK STAR, you surprise us with the guitar. You begin to glow. The past slips away, and suddenly we see you as you are. This guy who was put on this earth to play. It's incredible and happens EVERY TIME. As long as people are paying attention. That's what I've been trying to tell you. You fucker. Now, I'm going back to sleep."
She pulled the covers over her head and he sat, staring at the bed for the next 2 hours until she stirred again. He didn't move.
"So, help me."
"Okay, get me some coffee first"
"The Poet Game" by Greg Brown
He got out of bed and had been banging around, trying to wake her up. She sat up in bed, groggy, naked and tangled in the white hotel sheets. Both of them were washed of any negative emotions from last night. But he was frustrated, had a bad night's sleep, tossing, wondering how to ask her to be honest with him. Things had gotten weird the night before, but they had both attributed it to her being too drunk and too honest.
The bedside clock showed 5:03am, the sunlight was just beginning to light the sky, but he turned on the table lamp. He plopped down naked in the purple hotel chair. Usually, he would've put a towel down. But feeling the velour next to his skin reminded him of his power. He was still Inconsiderate Rock Star; he could piss on all the furniture and it would only add to his reputation. There were still a dozen women would would buy this chair on eBay. Right now, it was his throne. Inconsiderate Rock Star Ass. If he was going to let her tell him what was wrong, he wanted to protect himself emotionally, even if the attempt was feeble.
The show last night had bothered him. It was fine, as usual. But he wasn't getting laughs from his usual jokes. Not that he ever did. And the guitar connection had crapped out on him, even though he had taken it to get it fixed from that guy in the city. He hadn't tested it, though and was in no position financially to buy a new one.
She hinted at it. The old jokes that weren't even funny when they were young. How he handles the audience. She was his favorite heckler. Although he hated it, her hinting, her superiority. He wanted to finally fight with her about it; the passive-aggressive, shy attitude she was copping drove him crazy. He wanted a reason to hate her. To dismiss her entirely from his life. Or maybe, give her that one chance in a million. To be right.
"I'm listening," he said.
"First off, you shouldn't be doing gigs by yourself. One of your biggest talents is your banter. It's not a matter of you not carrying a show. Your body language is more relaxed. You enjoy it more. You are a great leader, and you are great at stepping back and letting other people share the spotlight around you. Joe, the guitarist in your band, is incredible. It only makes you better to have him on stage with you. And the smiles on stage, when you are clowning around with A.J., and even then you guys forget to use the mic. Share the banter."
Damn, she was right. He was thinking she was going to tell him how unprofessional he was being. How it finally showed that he was just throwing all of this together. How he had always been making it all up this whole time, his whole life. Okay. He could take that.
"Second, you need to make the first 5 minutes, 10 minutes and half hour COMPLETELY SOLID. People come to your show, expecting you to fail. They are looking for reasons to hate you. The Over-The-Hill-Rock Star, playing in crappy bars. Or, if you are egotistical, they want to hate you for being good. Be yourself, present yourself solidly for the first 3 songs; and the self effacing stuff is great, but you need to script it. You do a lot of stuttering. It makes you look surprised."
What?
"You don't focus on the Patter. The stuff between the songs. You're a musician, of course, all of your effort is going into the music. But WE, the fans, are focusing on everything else. We already KNOW the songs. It's the least of the performance. We're gonna remember WHO you are as you reveal yourself in the spaces between songs. How you deal with the thing breaking. We don't mind if the mic is crappy or the guitar konks out. We are watching like HAWKS to see how YOU handle it. Are you gonna blow up at the sound guy? Are you gonna ignore it? Are you gonna make a joke? Somehow, it happens at every show and you just look caught off guard and frustrated. Make it a part of the show. Understand that you are STILL performing. You are ROCK STAR from the moment you get out of the van to the moment you get back in. Now, you seem to only perform when you are doing the songs. It doesn't matter that you want to think it's different. When you are in the space, doing a sound check, we are WATCHING."
Accept the things you can't change. He stared down at his misshapen gut, the bellybutton staring up at him like a black hole. His limpness and his legs slightly different colors. He wasn't making eye contact because he wanted to hear more of what she had to say. It wasn't so bad. She's his harshest critic, and the only one he can really believe. She's seen him for the past 7 years. She's eloquent. She has stuff she wants to say, and she's been sitting on her hands for too long.
She's clear. Clearer than anyone he had the nerve to listen to. Nothing to gain.
"You have to make the beginning solid, so they'll stll be paying attention when you get to your sweet spot."
"What's my sweet spot?"
"Your best talent. Yes, you are a great all around entertainer, musician, etc. Even comedian! But 3/4th through every show, just when we are all getting used to the performance of this ROCK STAR, you surprise us with the guitar. You begin to glow. The past slips away, and suddenly we see you as you are. This guy who was put on this earth to play. It's incredible and happens EVERY TIME. As long as people are paying attention. That's what I've been trying to tell you. You fucker. Now, I'm going back to sleep."
She pulled the covers over her head and he sat, staring at the bed for the next 2 hours until she stirred again. He didn't move.
"So, help me."
"Okay, get me some coffee first"
"The Poet Game" by Greg Brown
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