Ears

Last week, the subway musicians who use amplifiers got together at Osgoode station to have our amps registered and approved. We needed to set the appropriate levels for our machines so we won't play too loudly on the TTC and annoy people or cause a safety hazard.

After the amp test, I went to Bay Station to play. The Bay corridor is a long, usually quiet expanse of white ceramic tile. It's not the best-travelled busking spot on the system, but it has very good acoustics.

I placed my amp on the floor, turned it on and plugged in my cord. I set my volume at the correct level and began to play.

I thought, briefly, that the sound of my guitar was more quiet than I expected. I double-checked the amp. The red light was on and the volume was set correctly. I kept on playing confidently and attracted several donations.

I played for almost another half-hour before I looked at my amp again and realized that although the cord was plugged into the amplifier, it wasn't plugged into my guitar.

I had been playing all this time without any amplification, while assuming I had that extra "boost" all along and acting as if I was.

Slightly embarrassed, I plugged in the cord, hoping no one was looking. The new-and-improved sound filled the space beautifully...and I attracted the same number of donations as before.

+++

Meanwhile, I'm trying to finish my latest CD, "Broadview", and finding my ears can deceive me there, too.

I find myself putting the recording and my performance under a magnifying glass (probably driving people around me completely nuts) and not knowing when to trust my own ears. I have good reason to doubt them. Over the course of my life, and as recently as Friday at Bay Station, I have "heard" my music as louder or softer, stronger or weaker, and more important or less important in the big scheme of things.

Early in my career, I sometimes thought my songs and my performances were better than they actually were. That wishful thinking is very powerful. It motivates artists to get out there and play with confidence, and usually the work improves over time. On the other hand, the power of negative thinking is equally strong. When I listen to my work today and compare it to that of major label performers with much more experience (and money), I sometimes find myself paralyzed and unable to hear my work clearly and appreciate it.

The best listening (whether the relationship is between one person and another, or between one person and a song) takes place in an atmosphere of gentleness and trust. There needs to be a willingness to hear...and an ability to tune out the cacophony of so many distractions: other music, mass media, advertising, and our own personal self-talk messages about success, achievement and quality.

When I listen to anyone's CD with an attitude of acceptance and openness, without expectations and evaluations, I usually find something to like about them even if it's not "my kind of music" or if the work has technical flaws. I sometimes find it difficult to listen to my own recordings that way, especially at the final stages of a project, because the music has gotten tangled up in ambition and judgment.

The people who threw the coins into my case at Bay Station were responding to the un-amplified Lynn and the amplified one. It didn't really matter to them how "good" I was compared to anyone else: they don't have any attachment to the outcome of my musical story. They were simply enjoying a song, fully and briefly, acknowledging it gratefully...and moving on.