The View From the Stage

Last night was rough. It was good too, but it was one of those nights that I leave feeling depleted, a little down, wondering if there's a point to trying. OF COURSE, there is a point, but I had worked really hard against a tide of obstacles during the entire show, and I was winded from it.

I came into a scattered room listening to the 8:00 performer, who was a young, blond guy, with a beautiful, poppy voice. He was pretty too, in a young TV sort of way. So much so, that when he joked that he was auditioning the next day for MTV's series, Rockstar, I thought, THAT'S PERFECT! Then he said, "Just kidding guys." and I thought TOO BAD. During his set, I noticed that the rock show happening next door in the REAL CBGB’s boomed through the walls rather loudly. I could barely make out the young guy's guitar licks. I got a little worried.

After his set, a crew of women from work came in and sat right in front, which is good for me because when you have lights in your face, the view from the stage is mostly blackness. You see RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, a sea of black, and then the FARTHEST END of the club. It's like being near AND far sighted, without any middle ground. When I started, so did the rock show next door. You know it is really bad, when you are on stage, with monitor speakers pointing directly at you, and yet the sound from NEXT DOOR is drowning you out. To add to this, the young man who played a set before me (and who I sat and listened to quietly--even shushing some of my friends who came in, so he could play in peace) proceeded to stand with two of his audience members and TALK and LAUGH LOUDLY through my first TWO songs. I would have let this slide, because this is not an unusual occurrence when you play a show, except for a few factors: 1) Where they were standing and yucking it up was in a SPARCELY POPULATED LISTENING room. The bar is at the OTHER END for this reason. You come to sit and listen in front of the stage. You go to visit at the bar. 2) I was already fighting with the rock band next door, when I realized that I was getting HOARSE from trying to also rise above them YELLING and LAUGHING. 3) It was totally RUDE and UNECESSARY.

So I broke my usual sense of decorum and stance that you must at all times KISS THE AUDIENCE'S ASS and not make anyone UNCOMFORTABLE. Before my third song I said (rather boldly) to them, "Hey there. Hi! How's it going? You know, I need to do a song here and I could use a certain amount of mood, because well, it's a PERSONAL song, and you know, it MEANS SOMETHING. So thanks FOR LISTENING." To my astonishment, they sat down. At the end of my DEEPLY PERSONAL song, they got up to leave and I thanked them for their time and we were all on our way.

I wish musicians would get this. I can't tell you how many times this has happened--even in a crowded bar, where it isn't as obvious. I mean, you'd think that they'd GET IT, because they were just ON STAGE and I am sure it means something to them to BE HEARD, so why not transfer that over to the next musician? Why not say to your friends, "Hey, let's not talk over this person. Let us go to the bar, or outside, where we can talk IN PEACE." I don't mind if you don't want to STAY and listen, but it's so CRAPPY to be treated with no CONSIDERATION, by a fellow artist.

Anyway, the rest went fine (despite the rock show next door). I got off stage and people were there to say "Yay, Summer!" I signed CDs. The next guy came, and I went to the bar and talked with a few friends. Then Graham carried my guitar for me, and we walked along Houston, seeing other musicians ducking in and out of clubs. I remember so many years of playing and going home, lonely and freaked out about my life. It was nice to have Graham put his arm around me and say sweet things, and to feel tired, but not entirely screwed.