On Friday March 28th my band, Sam's Cross, left Portland in the spring to head off ino the wilds of Washington to Spokane. It's 350 miles away, the road travelling through the awesome Columbia River Gorge, and then through hundreds of miles of nothingness where the tumbleweed congregates along barbed wire fences. Snow blew ferociously around the most noble little car of all time, our trusty 1985 Honda Civic.Finally, six hours after we had left a sign proclaimed "Warning, Hill!" and we descended into Spokane.
This is what it's like for me on stage, as a musician. For a start I feel like an actor going up on stage. It isn't me that people see up there, it is myself playing the role of an irish singer, hopefully in a well done and gritty film. In order to facilitate this illusion I wear costumes. This weekend I went with a three-piece tweed suit and a silly red beard. Fortunately the silly red beard comes with the genetics. The thing is that when I would stop at a gas station, or even when I first walk into the bar, people look at me like I'm a freak. There are a lot of quick glances out of the corner of eyes and muttering after you pass by. But as soon as I'm on stage, without having changed anything, it's suddenly completely fine, in fact it is cool and hip to be wearing a tweed suit in a dive bar in Spokane. This is a weird experience.
The next part of the weirdness is that you look out onto a group of people, most of whom you probably don't know, and they are all staring at you, waiting and expecting. In order to play music competently most of it has to become uncnscious, it's done with muscle memory, like walking. You don't pay attention to walking, you don't even know how your brain manages it, you just decide to walk across the room and your body does it. So, for me on stage I don't know how my body plays the music, or remembers the lyrics, I just trust that it will. So, the whole time there's a potential thought that you might just
forget how to do it. It also gives you time to think, half the time while I'm playing mandolin and singing I'm thinking about something else. I'm looking out into the crowd wondering what they are thinking. I'm concentrating on how the cheap tweed is very itchy. But mostly I'm asking myself, "Do they like it?"
Half the band hails from Spokane, a place that I had never visited and only imagined from the tales of woe from those 
who had decided to leave. I imagined trailer parks and tenements. Huddled rednecks in rusty pick-up trucks hating people like me with a passion. But Spokane is a real city, with victorian brick buildings downtown, parks and scenery. It has ridiculously pretentious yuppy bars with arrogant waiters correcting your pronunciation when they aren't ignoring you.
who had decided to leave. I imagined trailer parks and tenements. Huddled rednecks in rusty pick-up trucks hating people like me with a passion. But Spokane is a real city, with victorian brick buildings downtown, parks and scenery. It has ridiculously pretentious yuppy bars with arrogant waiters correcting your pronunciation when they aren't ignoring you. Spokane is, in fact, a place of mystery and wonder, a place of fairy lights strung below train tracks and art hung in bars the size of a shoebox. A place with elder leprechauns who will regale you with their opinions on the english in between their impossible attempts to seduce your womenfolk. In this mysterious new place we prepared ourselves to play music that none of the locals had heard before, and hoped against hope against disaster.
This is what it's like for me on stage, as a musician. For a start I feel like an actor going up on stage. It isn't me that people see up there, it is myself playing the role of an irish singer, hopefully in a well done and gritty film. In order to facilitate this illusion I wear costumes. This weekend I went with a three-piece tweed suit and a silly red beard. Fortunately the silly red beard comes with the genetics. The thing is that when I would stop at a gas station, or even when I first walk into the bar, people look at me like I'm a freak. There are a lot of quick glances out of the corner of eyes and muttering after you pass by. But as soon as I'm on stage, without having changed anything, it's suddenly completely fine, in fact it is cool and hip to be wearing a tweed suit in a dive bar in Spokane. This is a weird experience.The next part of the weirdness is that you look out onto a group of people, most of whom you probably don't know, and they are all staring at you, waiting and expecting. In order to play music competently most of it has to become uncnscious, it's done with muscle memory, like walking. You don't pay attention to walking, you don't even know how your brain manages it, you just decide to walk across the room and your body does it. So, for me on stage I don't know how my body plays the music, or remembers the lyrics, I just trust that it will. So, the whole time there's a potential thought that you might just
forget how to do it. It also gives you time to think, half the time while I'm playing mandolin and singing I'm thinking about something else. I'm looking out into the crowd wondering what they are thinking. I'm concentrating on how the cheap tweed is very itchy. But mostly I'm asking myself, "Do they like it?"There's nothing quite like dressing up in an outfit, getting up on stage and playing a role to teach you about how much people do it every day, all day. I absolutely love it. When was the last time you tried on a different role, allowed yourself to be a bit uncomfortable but got the joy of being someone else just for a little bit?
The last thing I want to say about playing music in this post is what being part of a band is like. When on stage you are on an island, you are up there for everyone to see and there is no hiding place. The ony people with you are your fellow band mates. There is nothing much you can do to influence how they play, and one person can destroy a song, and therefore destroy the illusion. You have no choice but to trust the others in the band completely, and you know they are doing the same with you. It is a group of people with different roles and skills all working together wihout speaking, all communicating non-verbally, protecting each other against public humiliation. it's that sort of situation that realy builds friendship. Whether playing a sport, or fighting a war, or playing music, it is proven trust between people that builds the strongest relationships. I will never be able to thank Dade Cariaga enough for giving me the gift of music, something I will never lose and a bigger gift than I ever expected.
Cheers to Spokane, you rocked!
1 comment:
Aw, shucks. 'Tweren't nothin' old pal.
Glad you had a good gig.
Dade
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