House Concerts (The Toe Incident)

On Saturday night, my friend Brenda hosted a concert in her living room.

It's not a big living room.

But it's a warm space with a group of supportive listeners in it. So it's perfect.

In recent years, house concerts have emerged as a new opportunity for independent musicians. Some of these are well-organized, curated concert series, booked well in advance and featuring many very well-established artists. Others are more casual, privately-arranged events, often hosted by strong members of an artist's fan base.

When friends do this for me, I'm deeply grateful. It's a privilege to come into anyone's home and play...and it's very helpful to have the host introduce my music to their friends. Meanwhile, I've been told by the hosts that it works for them, too. It's an easy way to throw a party and the performance gives the evening a nice focus. (When it comes to admission, you can either charge a ticket price in advance or at the door, or take donations. Often guests buy CDs as well, so it usually works out well for the artist.)

I enjoy the relaxed quality of house concerts. I like being able to talk to the members of the audience in real time, answering their questions about songs and responding to requests. Being so physically close to people can take some getting used to ("eye contact with woman in far corner, yes or no?") but once you get the hang of it, it feels natural and fun. On Saturday, the twelve people in Brenda's living room seemed to be exactly the people I wanted to be with that night.

The only big problem I ever had at a house concert was the infamous "toe incident".

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It was the first day of summer--not according to the calendar, but according to my wardrobe. I was wearing sandals for the first time that season, and I'd even painted my toenails before the gig.

This particular house concert welcomed children as well as adults, so several pre-schoolers were sitting on the carpeted floor directly in front of me. I was standing for my performance, and I was tapping my foot to keep time, as I usually do.

Suddenly, I felt someone playing with my toes.

It was a small boy about three years old. Still singing, I tried to give him a stern "cease-and-desist" look, but I couldn't get his attention. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but keep tapping my foot, despite being worried I might squish his fingers.

I tried to catch the eyes of the parents. They smiled glowingly back at me from the back of the room, where they couldn't see their little boy. He had a firm grip on my toes now, making me afraid he might try to eat them.

At least I had a good excuse for not quite nailing that chord.

I figured, if you're professional, you should be able to handle pretty much any distraction, so I stuck with the song. (Of course, it occurred to me that a well-aimed tap of my toe might get the point across--but then again he might start to cry, which would be worse.)

Finally the song ended, and I said "please stop playing with my toes" (as sweetly as I could). The parents took the little boy into the kitchen (where he had a loud tantrum because he was missing the show).

On Saturday night I wore boots.