Note #7: Open Mic Disasters and Other Novelties
Bouncing back
Open mic disaster; the beauty of a tossed off demo vs. the careful studio recording; Guided by Voices
originally published on March 4, 2023
The second open mic was, well, difficult. I cannot say exactly that I wasn’t prepared for it. But in retrospect, I could have prepared more. Unlike the first time, I did not practice at least an hour each day leading up to it. Nor, on the day of, did I spend half the day practicing, which would have amounted to playing everything through at least six times. No, on Wednesday, I played it twice and thought, good enough. I had no clear set list idea for which two songs I was going to play and thought maybe there would be an opportunity to do three. So, I thought I had a lot prepared, at least five or six songs, four of which I was pretty certain I would not dare do (my covers, for example, of R.E.M. and Hope Sandoval).
When I went up on stage, I still needed to read from my crib sheet the lyrics for the new song (“Falling”) which, as much as I had worked it out, was still was not worked out. So I had my sheet on the music stand and I swore I wasn’t going to fixate on it, which led me to flubbing a few lines. And, I managed to be fixated on it anyway, and basically messed up the song, mumbling through and repeating things. The good thing is that there were only nine or ten people paying attention (a much smaller crowd than the first time). Yet I was consciously aware of my nervousness, since I had been so unaware of it last time! Go figure.
I made a big show of moving the music stand out of the way for the next song. This was a big step for me, one I felt strong convictions about. But suddenly, with the abyss of black space and the silhouettes of a dozen people looming ahead of me, I completely forgot the opening to my next song (“The Way Back”). I forgot chords. Lyrics. I looked on for a few seconds, thinking, maybe I am bombing. Maybe it’s time to stop fooling myself . . . then I suddenly remembered, (like so many songs, starting on D . . .) launched, and basically flubbed that one, too. All the while, I was reminding myself, slow down, don’t speed through the songs.
In the end, it felt like disaster. I was glad to be done. I basked in the five seconds of polite applause realizing I had not enjoyed my second open mic performance as much as I had the first time. I could not imagine why I was putting myself through this. Is this what it is to perform?
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What does it mean to bounce back?
My sense is that I am serving the songs. It’s not about me, it’s the songs. This is a nice little bit of magical thinking I try to use as I perform. On the other hand, the songs were poorly served that night. I have a few takeaways, of course. Be better prepared next time. (I already knew this). I tell my daughter this all the time; if you are prepared, you arrive with confidence. I managed to arrive with confidence and screwed up anyway — everyone has a bad night. Secondly, I thought, try not to take it too seriously. I took it seriously for the rest of the night and into the next day, but 36 hours later, I am fine.
You cannot dwell on disaster. You cannot hold onto something that came out of the work that you created yourself. The simple fact that I remind myself of is this: approximately 99% of the world cannot get up on a stage in front of a group of strangers and play a song — and sing! — that they created themselves. That’s an immense saving grace.
Besides, I was already into writing a new song, one that I had to hastily write down before I forgot it a day before, and in the back of my mind, I was excited to pursue that and put the other stuff behind me. Performing is one small part of this, as is recording, etc., and it’s all part of the continuum of the music.
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As per my last post, it’s fair to say I have been obsessing over lyrics. To some degree this is getting in the way of the song. What’s wrong with how I mumble my way toward lyrics? Probably nothing. I am now wondering if even my attempt at “Falling” became cluttered by my need to have cogent lyrics or at least, the need to memorize them (for performance).
As usual, I’m excited about a new song, “Bad Again”, which came together largely just screwing around on Tuesday. I let it sit for a few days and then did a couple of quick demos, one on electric and then acoustic. This allowed me to get the structure, or a structure, down, without thinking too heavily about what I was doing. What fascinates me is that the song has eleven chord changes, and five parts (if possible: Verse, Pre-chorus, Chorus, Post-chorus (!), and Bridge). Besides the number of chords that mesh so well together, the structure is absolutely a surprise for me. I’ve got some good ideas for recording it, though I even like my second demo, which was frankly a quick toss off. I worry about over-improving it. I am tempted to go back and re-record “Falling” first. And this feels a bit like a problem: I manage to move on to the newest song and sort of disregard everything that came before. It seems the best thing to do is a recording document, put it out, and write more (which is what I do anyway).
I’ve been reading the excellent Closer You Are: The Story of Robert Pollard and Guided by Voices by Matthew Cutter and realize Bob Pollard might be a master at moving forward. But I rarely feel I’ve fully done the song justice. It must be okay to just do the recording the best I can, and post it. I am creating a lot of songs that I am now carefully documenting. That feels key to me. (I always regret not knowing how to play “19” or “To Know”, etc., songs I wrote and recorded twenty years ago that still sound great to me today but which I cannot figure the chords out). Out of ten or fifteen songs, maybe two or three are going to be the golden eggs (whatever that means!). I sort of believe this. There is no timeline I have to achieve anything by. I just want a collection of good songs to put on an album.
On the one hand, I look at my process as trying to craft something almost perfect, and then I want a perfect recording of it. On the other hand, I can toss off a late night recording of Hope Sandoval and the Warm Inventions’ “Around My Smile” on one track, and it’s the most played thing on my playlist. So I look at Bob Pollard (Guided by Voices) and wonder if being less invested in trying to overcome my limitations is better for me in the long run. That I should just write the damn songs and keep moving forward. That’s what I think I am going to do, at least for now.
