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 Stricken with performance anxiety and writer's block, Editor Mitch Phillips decides to rediscover music on his own terms - again. In two short stories, "The Special Bubble" and "Panic and The Performance" he finds more than one excuse to pick up his instruments again.
When you feel obligated (even if the obligation is self-imposed) to report on local music and the CD's start piling up around you all you can think about is escape. This isn't a very healthy attitude...'Dear Reader,
As you may or may not have noticed, I've been on a self-imposed sabbatical from writing about music for at least the last two weeks. One reason was to "clear the pallette" so to speak. When you feel obligated (even if the obligation is self-imposed) to report on local music and the CD's start piling up around you all you can think about is escape. This isn't a very healthy attitude, so I decided to re-discover music on my own terms - again.
It had been too long since I picked up my own guitar to write a tune, too long since I'd found a deep, satisfying pocket with my bass. But just to pick up these instruments from where I left off wasn't particularly satisfying either. The itch to play had returned, but a reason to play hadn't presented itself. I know, you don't really need a reason - but I felt the experience wouldn't lead anywhere new unless there were.
The "Special Bubble."
My seven year-old daughter awoke in a particularly good mood one morning, singing to herself as she skittered around the house as children do. She made the lyrics up as she went along; completely uninhibited by whomever might hear and experiencing the pure joy of making music in her un-corrupted innocence.
I could hear bits of re-occurring melody lines and a central theme as she bounced around the house and outside on the deck; something about bubbles, she was playing with bubbles and singing about them. She seemed particularly fascinated by the ones that landed on an object without bursting. She called them "Special Bubbles" because you could get up really close and see all the colors swirling around in the soap.
Inspired by her stream on consciousness, I grabbed my guitar and began picking out the lines she sang in the nearest key. When I'd chosen the first chords to harmonize with her melody, I asked her to come inside.
"Listen honey," I said, and proceeded to sing back her own melody while playing guitar as accompaniment. Her eyes widened and she began to giggle and jump up and down on the couch. "You were listening to me!" she declared with glee and feigned embarrassment.
"Do you want to write a song with daddy?" I asked. She nodded her head enthusiastically, giggled some more and we sang what we had so far over and over. "Oh special bubble you're the one who flies over the sun...."
We collaborated on the lyrics as parent and child in the purest sense; she provided the ideas and enthusiasm and I provided the structure and the boundaries. She told me all about special bubbles and I helped her with syllable length and let her choose the rhymes. I wrote everything down, from the words to the chords and the melody. I wanted to fix this moment in time and never forget the pure joy of sharing the song-writing process with my daughter for the first time.
By the time I'd written down a verse and a chorus she was already off on her next adventure with the neighbor girls, special bubbles having been cast aside for the more promising melodies of the ice-cream man. I'd gotten my fix, she was entitled to hers: I forked over a couple dollar bills and she was off.
Panic and The Performance
Sometimes, musical inspiration can be forced on you.
The very same day my daughter and I had written "Oh, Special Bubble" I received a phone call from a friend who played in a cover band. He needed somebody to back-up his bass player who did musical impersonations (Elvis, Marvin Gaye, Disco Guy, etc....) on the center-stage mic at least once per set. Their regular substitute was unavailable for the gig, but it payed too well to cancel.
"You're a bass-player right?" queried my friend.
"Right," I answered suspiciously. "Why?"
"We need a sub this weekend and guess what? You're it!" I could hear him grinning over the phone. I hadn't been on stage in over a year and hadn't touched my bass in half that time. Could I still pull it off? I wondered.
"No problem," I replied. "Shoot me a set-list and get me some music if you can." What did I get myself into? Sometime you just have to push the gig to get things rolling.
The next day he e-mailed me a list of about twenty songs and a badly recorded tape arrived the following day with only some of those songs on it. Out of the twenty on the list I'd only played one previously. I had two days to learn them all. Time to panic.
My friend was good enough to include the key signatures, unfortunately it wasn't necessarily the key in which the songs were recorded. In most cases, it was only a matter of a half-step difference (due to varying tape speeds) so I found myself re-tuning my bass after every song to match the key. This actually turned out to be good practice for my ear - re-tuning "on the fly" as the tape rolled.
When I was confident I'd committed the taped songs to memory (or at least familiarized myself enough to fake it), I started calling everyone I knew for the remaining material. I don't have a high-speed connection so Napster, Kazaa, eMusic and the like were out of the question. I needed this stuff fast and preferably free (under any other circumstance, I wouldn't have any of these party-standards in my music collection).
With the help of Junior G's wife for the disco stuff and my wife's friend Carla for the rest (she does have a high-speed connection), I managed to collect copies of the remaining material by four a.m. prior the day of the gig. It only cost me a couple bucks in gas and one free guitar-lesson for Carla who's recently become infected with the six-string virus.
Now, a real musician worth his instrument should be able to pull this off without rehearsal, provided he or she's at least heard the material before. Truth is, I'm just not that good. But since I'm a bit of a perfectionist and too anal to go into a gig completely cold, I rehearsed my ass off in the few hours I had left. I've always tended to over-prepare.
My lack of sleep coupled with the performance anxiety of playing un-rehearsed material live put me in a surreal state of consciousness by the time I'd arrived at the gig. It was at a carnival and it felt like 110º degrees outside with the 95 percent humidity. This might not have been so bad had I not been required by the band to wear a dark sport-coat. Whew!
I hovered around the stage with my bass ready as the show began, going over in my mind every note I'd be called on to play. But a curious thing happened that I didn't anticipate; as the band began to play the songs I didn't have to know, I couldn't remember the ones that I would have to know! It was like trying to remember a melody to a certain song while another is playing. Impossible! (At lease in my present state of mind.) I felt the first rush of panic redden my cheeks, the heavy blanket of heat having already drenched me in sweat. 'Chill out,' I told myself. 'You can do this.'
As I stepped onto the stage and faced the audience, a familiar calm washed over me. I'd been here before. Many times before. No sweat, I thought to myself as my confidence returned. I can do this.
Then they threw me a curve: "Okay, what transition tune do you want to play while Rikki's in the dressing room?"
Transition tune? Nobody said anything about transitioin tunes! The panic returned; I'd only learned the show tunes for the impersonation sketches but it followed that I would have to back him up while he was off-stage getting into and out of his costumes. I scanned their set list frantically as they and the audience awaited a decision. Within seconds I'd decided and we were off, playing songs I was totally not prepared to play.
But you know what? The gig went off without a hitch. Sure, I missed a couple cues on the medleys but that was to be expected for never having rehearsed with this particular band. Two bars into the music I felt right at home again, albeit a bit more challenged than I'd expected. But it was a healthy exercise in "Can I pull it off?" It turns out that I can with a little healthy panic.
The band was happy with my performace and invited me to play again with them in the future. The city workers who hired us for the gig were happy with the band's performance and promised to hire them again in the future. Me, I was just happy to play and invigorated when it was over. I promised myself to play more in the future.
- Mitch
©mitch phillips 2002
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Re: Bandheads In Repose II (Score: 1)
by ultim8 on Friday, July 05, 2002 @ 22:28:58 MDT
(User Info | Send a Message) | | Thats a scary picture! Is that you Mitch? |
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Average Score: 5
Votes: 1
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