Tonight I'm in Winnipeg, after playing the first of two concerts at local churches. They're the first full-evening shows I've done since I started playing in the subway.
I had anticipated that my busking would affect my "official" performances in interesting ways. The first change I noticed was that my rehearsal time, to prepare for the shows, was streamlined. Because I previously played only a couple of shows a month, I had to work pretty hard to get an entire evening's material up to speed. No more! As I began to prepare for this weekend's performances, I realized that I had some forty songs well-memorized and rehearsed. I even remembered what key I played them all in.
What wasn't up-to-speed, however, was patter--the between-song banter that touring performers (the ones that play hundreds of dates per year) are so good at. My idols, the Canadian alt-country songwriter Fred Eaglesmithand American folksinger Cheryl Wheeler, are so funny between songs they could legitimately have careers in stand-up comedy.
On the subway, of course, I don't have to say anything between songs. I don't even have to finish songs.
Predictably, my patter was a little rough around the edges last night. I'd start funny little stories and realize, mid-anecdote, that I didn't have a snappy ending. (O-kaaaay...back to singing!) The audience, though, was warm and appreciative. So warm and appreciative, I found it a little unsettling.
No stranger to what¹s called "imposter syndrome", I have at many times in my life felt as if I was faking it.
I felt like that when I was working as a comedy writer. I felt like that when I was working as a screenwriter. And I felt like that tonight, even though my songs sounded stronger than ever.
I made fewer mistakes than usual on the guitar and recovered from any glitches a lot more smoothly. Same went for lyrics. In one song ( "Stage") I sang verse three instead of verse two, but realized quickly enough to sing the missed verse the next time around (with no eye-rolling, grimace or self-deprecating explanation, either). My voice was in great shape and I sang well and tried to enjoy the fact that one hundred people were sitting in their seats and looking straight at me and listening to every word I sang and noticing what I was doing with my guitar and I wonder what they're thinking for instance that man over there doesn¹t seem to be enjoying it but the lady next to my mother is smiling and how many people are here anyway and I wonder if I should sing two more songs before the break or three and did I put lipstick on before going onstage and...aaaiiiiieeeeeee!!
At one point, it crossed my mind that I might not be able to handle the pressure and might have to actually leave the stage.
Despite this loud and irritating inner dialogue, I managed to keep singing.
Since I started playing on the subway, I've gotten used to an amazing amount of background noise. If the audience isn't making it, looks like I'm capable of creating it myself.
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