Webster Art

Every ten years I do an open mic. The first one in 1978 was at a former fire station turned bar. Half way through my first song I froze up with stage fright and lost my place. Under the spotlights my pause felt like 5 minutes. I literally couldn’t see the music through the terror. My wife told me later the pause was only 10 seconds. The next two songs went fine.

Ten years later Craig and I played at a bar by the water near where he lived in his old dead motorboat. I played a song that started with me playing guitar and harmonica together, then switched to voice.

He played banjo and got a rousing cheer. I got polite applause. Later I asked him how I did and he said my guitar and harp were great, until I started to sing.

My wife has always told me my voice sucked. I’ve done practice recordings where I sounded so bad that I agreed with her. Back at Indian Creek last fall I had a new friend tell me I had a great voice and that I shouldn’t listen to people who said I was terrible. I was hesitant to believe her, despite wanting her words to be true.

Last December I played quite a bit with Craig and Fletch while we waited out rain storms at Jtree. One night a guy walked up to our campfire while I was playing and was very effusive in his praise. Saying my playing was beautiful and hung around for a while as I sang Billy Joels’ Piano Man. Craig said it was true what he said ten years ago, but that my voice had improved. “It’s the same voice, but now you put more emotion into it, more confidence, you got better.”

When I was 6 Dad used to sing solos at the Presbyterian church where he was also the choir director. All my aunts and uncles had lovely voices when we gathered around mom’s piano every holiday. So you’d think I would inherit a little talent.

On to my third open mic

Last Thursday I played at a bar in the north end. There was a live house band there and I was told by the bartender to introduce myself to the musicians. They were all very welcoming. I signed up on a sheet of paper and sat down to wait for my turn to come up.

The house band did a few numbers and they were awesome. They had clearly been playing professionally for decades. Their music was smooth and polished. They’d been playing and rehearsing together a long time. All their pauses, breaks and solos were picture perfect. I’d talked to the drummer before hand and he explained why he preferred his guitar looking Zendrum over a real drum set. The sound was identical to real drums, but he could walk around the venue while playing.

My only problem was that they were extremely loud to the point that my ears were ringing after each song. Maybe that is normal at concerts. I don’t go to live music venues, so perhaps my ears just need breaking in.

The sign up guy, who I thought was just another open mic guy went up to play, with the band backing him up. They were smooth, this wasn’t his first rodeo with them. They did 4 numbers then invited me up.

They asked if I wanted the backing band and I said no. I’d been thinking about that and was worried that the blasting sound would distract me. The bandleader was totally cool and said no problem. They all stepped down from the stage and sat in the bar to watch.

Everyone was super nice. They got me a music stand and helped set up and sound check my bluetooth guitar pickup. I did Scarborough Fair first because I like the simple chords and harmonica guitar combo. That went well so I played Piano Man, followed by The Rose, which also has harp. That was 3 so I asked them if I should stop there and they encouraged me to play a fourth. Vincent is a song about Vincent Van Gogh who died tragically after only selling 2 paintings. I briefly introduced the song saying that he was one of my hero’s because I was also a painter.

At that point there were only 12 people in the bar, with 5 of them being the house band. It was a friendly crowd and they asked me what kind of art I did. I told them I painted landscapes and portraits and mentioned my website. Vincent is the only song where I didn’t play my harp. I liked the way my voice sounded through the sound system. I felt like I was singing OK, maybe even pretty good? The applause seemed heartfelt.

I didn’t make any mistakes in any of the four songs, or at least not serious enough to be called stage fright meltdowns. I played as well or better than when I practice at home, which I’d done a lot of: maybe an hour a day for a week leading up to this.

It was nine thirty after my set and I was tired so I left. I had seen three other people walk in with guitars and I wanted to hear them, but I was toast. I learned later that walking out after your set is a no no.

On my way out I asked the sign up sheet guy how I’d done.

“We are more of a rock and roll bar. You did ballads, which is fine, that’s your thing. But we don’t do a lot of those here.”

This felt like I’d maybe picked the wrong venue for my style of music. I learned later that there are open mics where the sound is intentionally all acoustic, as in: no electric guitars with massive amplifiers.

I haven’t played in a week, returning instead to my pen, ink and water color drawing. My latest twist is calligraphy. I find it strangely satisfying pursuing an art form that is 600 years old. These Pilot Parallel pens are cheap but very capable.