We've started to enjoy one of the unique benefits of the internet age: interest and positive feedback from total, faraway strangers. People I've never met, who I've made no attempt to schmooze, have taken the time to listen to our music, and to get onto our mailing list and spread the word about our music. As I'm sure many other musicians could attest, there's something very agreeable about letting the music do the talking - and to know it's actually connecting with someone. While I never write music primarily to please an audience ('guessing what pleases folks' usually proves to be an excellent recipe for mediocrity), I love knowing that our quirky forms of expression might actually resonate with others - even those from different cultures. Look, Ma, no record label. Brave new world, and we might not be all alone after all...
A few years ago, I was invited to play a solo show at a Victoria coffee house. I hadn't done much solo guitar/voice performance before, but I was intrigued by the idea. I assembled a repertoire of originals and favourite (usually somewhat obscure) covers and hit the stage. I have video footage of the performance, which I didn't dare view until years after the performance. It was about as bad as I'd feared. I had the look of a cornered dog, desperate to be anywhere but where I was, ready to bolt at the first opportunity. Musically it was okay, nothing stellar. What went wrong?
I'd suffered a weird form of stage fright. The audience was quite small, and made up almost entirely of my more contemplative friends, most of whom knew me through my teaching job. For whatever reasons (probably silly and irrational), I found it impossible to relax in front of such an audience. I was hugely grateful to them for coming out to see the performance, but I felt woefully inhibited by their presence. I was phobic about revealing this other side of myself to folks who'd known me for years already.
Curiously, I have no such qualms with perfect strangers. If your impression of me is based entirely on what you read/hear in my lyrics, it's probably a more accurate picture than what you'd gather from a chance meeting with me on the street. For better or worse, I've grown used to making an inaccurate impression in the flesh. It ain't deliberate.
An audience of friends compared to an audience of strangers is like two very different currencies of equal value. I love playing for strangers because of their built-in objectivity and I feel like the music (rather than me personally) is more likely to be scrutinized. I love playing for friends too, as many of them know the music intimately already, and I deeply value their informed opinions (not to mention, it's just a pleasure to be among friends in whatever setting)- but as I found, it's often necessary to mentally prepare beforehand for 'friend-heavy' audiences in order to avoid a stilted, cautious approach. Meanwhile, I've spoken to a number of musicians who feel the way I do about friends vs. strangers in an audience - and I've spoken to others who feel the opposite way, or just wonder what planet I'm from. Of course, that may well be from having read my lyrics as well. I get that a lot ;)
A few years ago, I was invited to play a solo show at a Victoria coffee house. I hadn't done much solo guitar/voice performance before, but I was intrigued by the idea. I assembled a repertoire of originals and favourite (usually somewhat obscure) covers and hit the stage. I have video footage of the performance, which I didn't dare view until years after the performance. It was about as bad as I'd feared. I had the look of a cornered dog, desperate to be anywhere but where I was, ready to bolt at the first opportunity. Musically it was okay, nothing stellar. What went wrong?
I'd suffered a weird form of stage fright. The audience was quite small, and made up almost entirely of my more contemplative friends, most of whom knew me through my teaching job. For whatever reasons (probably silly and irrational), I found it impossible to relax in front of such an audience. I was hugely grateful to them for coming out to see the performance, but I felt woefully inhibited by their presence. I was phobic about revealing this other side of myself to folks who'd known me for years already.
Curiously, I have no such qualms with perfect strangers. If your impression of me is based entirely on what you read/hear in my lyrics, it's probably a more accurate picture than what you'd gather from a chance meeting with me on the street. For better or worse, I've grown used to making an inaccurate impression in the flesh. It ain't deliberate.
An audience of friends compared to an audience of strangers is like two very different currencies of equal value. I love playing for strangers because of their built-in objectivity and I feel like the music (rather than me personally) is more likely to be scrutinized. I love playing for friends too, as many of them know the music intimately already, and I deeply value their informed opinions (not to mention, it's just a pleasure to be among friends in whatever setting)- but as I found, it's often necessary to mentally prepare beforehand for 'friend-heavy' audiences in order to avoid a stilted, cautious approach. Meanwhile, I've spoken to a number of musicians who feel the way I do about friends vs. strangers in an audience - and I've spoken to others who feel the opposite way, or just wonder what planet I'm from. Of course, that may well be from having read my lyrics as well. I get that a lot ;)