Fear Not Conquered, But I Am Still Alive

My.

Well.

Hmmmmm.

So.

Yeah.

The open mic.

Right.

I left work at about 6:30 last night, thinking "I should probably eat." I sat, the only person in Subway, staring at my sandwich for about an hour while listening to Lollybanger originals on my IPod, trying to drown out the hip hop by concentrating on lyrics, chords, and crescendos. I ate 1/3 of my 1/2 sandwich, and felt like I was going to vomit. I contemplated forcing myself to, but thought better of it, because could it really be good for your singing voice to be throwing up before a show? No, couldn't be good.

I headed over to D's. He really wanted to come. I don't know why he wanted to. Because I can't say "no" to him, I allowed it. Prior to the show, I talked to my Sister, whose band had a show last night as well. She was just as nervous as I was. It was lovely to have someone to share irrational nervous energy with. Unfortunately I had to cut her short because I was afraid that the longer I spoke with her, the less likely I'd be to brave the cold to go to an open mic that was torturing me before I even got there.

Bless D. He distracted me during our journey with deliriously-told stories of his weekend ski trip. He'd just gotten off the plane. He was unshaven and incoherent and adorable.

The open mic was at the same place we saw Primer last week, so the build up was agony. I swear it took 10x the time to walk there that it did last week. I guess time goes really slowly when you feel nauseous.

The place was beautiful. They had a grand piano and tables and lights and a bar and a swank menu. It would be a great place to play if one was confident.

There was nobody there, so there was no excuse. None. I went to the sign up table, where sat a bunch of encouraging people who all knew each other. I said "This is my first time" and they were all enthusiastic and cute and encouraging and I have no idea what I said to them because I was freaking out. I kept bumping into them and the waitress and tables.

I was #7. The hostess got up to introduce things, and turned out, since there were so few of us, we'd each get two songs and then a third if there was time. Two songs! I'd only prepared one. Shit. Shit shit shit. I have a million songs but can't remember how any of them go.

Boy #1 was very, very cute. He sang funny, theater-ish songs. He was very good. I enjoyed him.

Oh god. The second guy. Karaoke, basically. Dude wants to be Usher. He had backup tracks being cued by the sound guy, who had no idea what track to play. Unbearable. Remember the guy who sings karaoke in the Harvard Square T station? That kind of thing, only originals. Think Stevie Wonder meets Billy Ocean but sung in the style of a very bad Michael Jackson. But, he was enthusiastic. He was happy. He danced like Carlton.

The third guy was a keyboard playing bluesy guy that, well, yeah. Cheese. Utter cheese. Randy Newman-y. But blues.

The fourth woman looked exactly like Helen Mirren. For a moment I thought that she was Helen Mirren, because in NY you never know! I fell in love with this woman instantly because of her age. Her music, however, well. Yeah. One song she just wrote last week and it had no words, so she played and sort of did this weird jazz scat thing. She was an amazing pianist, though. Her lyrics, however, were trite. All of their lyrics were trite. I guess the average musician writes for the average listener.

The fifth girl was the anti-me. She got up and in the sweetest and most sincere voice said things like "This open mic is so magical" and "I am so excited to be here, with all of you, you're all so talented, some of you I've seen before, and some of you, wow, your very first open mic! Is she here? Yes - that girl in the back - its her very first open mic! Isn't she brave?" Awsummmmm. She played piano and was very good, and sang about things like love and optimism. Anti-me. I could be friends with this girl, but I imagine she now hates me based on our music.

The sixth dude was hippie boy with guitar. Don't know what he was singing about because I was number 7, and I couldn't function. He seemed alright. Generic. Fine.

OK.

The hostess called me up and I stumbled onto the stage utterly delirious. She said something about "courage" and I basically fell onto the bench and played a few keys to get my hands to stop shaking. Someone from the audience yelled "You'll have to move the microphone."

Shit. So it begins. Damn shortness! So I was like "Where to?" because I had no idea where a mic should be. I said something like "Yeah, this is my first one, I am having a million micro heart attacks, and this song is called 'Climb.'"

Readers, you might remember this song from the summer - it is a My Mundane Life in Song greatest hit! The song about being on the rooftop and feeling lonely. It's my favorite song I've ever written, and man did I murder it on stage!

Murder. Over. I'll probably never be able to listen to it again.

First of all, the freaking microphone. God. How are you supposed to play with a microphone in front of your face? It threw my whole game off. I had to hold my body differently and worry about the direction of singing. And it made me so nervous. Sometimes it actually physically interfered with my playing. Like I had to play around it. I will never make this mistake again. What I should have done was about half way through the song just stopped and moved the damn thing, but instead I kept playing and sucking and dying and being mortified.

Second of all, my foot shaking! GOD!!!! There were people sitting so close to me and all I could think was "They can see my leg SHAKING!" I'm talking violent shaking. Not a quiver. Like no control of the foot with which I am attempting to play pedal.

Third of all, the singing. I just couldn't play and sing and shake and have micro heart attacks and remember lyrics and chords all at the same time!

Fourth of all, I was so nervous that I didn't even play the entire song. I played a really stripped down minimalist version of it. I played the entire length of the song, but I didn't play depth. I left out the high end (which is my favorite part) because I couldn't reconcile the high end with the goddamn microphone.

Fifth of all, I messed up. Lots. Off key. Missed notes. Wrong notes.

Yeah.

So. When I finished, I was like "Well, you could just walk off the stage right now, or just do another one. Like you'll ever see these people again!"

The problem with this is that I don't know any of my own songs. The only song I really know is "Drone," which is from "Plumb Forgot." Raunchy, raw, completely inappropriate for this audience which had a dude who was 60-ish years old. I said "So, I have a million songs and don't know how any of them go, so I am going to give this one a shot. The lyrics are questionable - I prefer to think of them as raw - and I hope not to offend you - it's called 'Drone.'" Now, it would have been awesome if I'd said that calmly - banter-ish - but instead, I said it really antagonistically - insinuating that if you are offended you are an idiot. No control. NONE.

Shit.

I moved the microphone because I figured out during the 5 minutes of torture where it should be. And then I fucking ROCKED "Drone." I think I did. I closed my eyes and wailed. I played it a little fast, but whatever. I think it sounded ok. My voice was sort of cracking towards the end - because its long - and I got the final "jazz chord" completely wrong - like wrong key, wrong chord, took me three tries to get it, but whatever. People laughed with me. I finished it, and then ran off the stage and would have run straight to the bathroom to cry had D not been there.

D said it was good. Right. I was like "You're not objective! It was terrible! I can't believe this!" I was totally depressed, and sent text messages that said things like "Disaster" and "Never again" and "Sucked ass" and "Dreams shattered." I couldn't look at D. I felt like I was an embarassment to him. I was afraid people were thinking "Who's that loser boy with that girl who sucks?"

It felt disastrous. I let myself down. I don't know. I was expecting it to be terrible, but I guess I wasn't prepared for it. It's hard to fail. And it's hard to fail at something subjective, because you can't be convinced otherwise.

Except....

I was morose, down, and beaten. D was exhausted from skiing and planes. We were both thrilled when the third round was over (luckily I didn't have to play the third round, but, if I go next week, I get four songs because of it) and were scrambling to get out of there. D handed me my scarf and I sort of turned around to put it on and Boy #1 was standing there.

He said "I really liked your stuff."

WHAT!??!?!

I said "Wait, me? You liked my stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, shucks, I liked your stuff too." OK, I didn't say "shucks," but that's how I felt.

He said "You have a nice contralto."

Right. Contralto.

I'm like "Sorry?"

"Contralto?"

"What?"

"Low, like your low voice. I really like what you do with it."

Then I was babbling and saying things like "Yeah, well, I'm not really sure how to use it because I don't know about arrangements and I left out the high end of the first song completley which kind of sucks because its complimentary to my voice and I was so nervous and your stuff was really funny."

Awwwshummmmmm.

And then this boy changed my life. I swear he did. He said "You know who you remind me of?"

And I thought it my mind "How awesome would it be if he said 'Cat Power?' It would be so awesome if he said 'Cat Power,' because that would be such a compliment and then we could be friends because we have similar taste!"

"No?"

"Cat Power. Like what you do with your voice and your arrangements..." and it was everything I could do not to hug him. I was gushing.

I was like, in the style of valley girl, "Omigod, are you serious? I love Cat Power! She is my favoritest favoritest!"

"Have you ever seen her live? She wears these... blah blah..." don't know what he said, because I was thinking "Don't tell him how much that means, don't tell him how much that means."

I said "Yeah, well, I'll have to check her out some time. Yeah. Word. Ummm. Are you playing next week?"

"Yeah, probably."

"OK, well, yeah, then I'll see you then!"

"Cool."

Shit. So basically I am going to play the open mic next week even though I am scared shitless and will suck again because I want to be friends with this boy who writes funny songs and I want to tell him how what he said made my month.

D was psyched for me, but said "Yeah, I guess that's cool, but its not cool that he's so cute. And now we get to have an awkward New York moment where the three of us are standing on the same platform together waiting for the train for hours." Luckily that didn't happen, and I got to tell D that he is, in fact, the cutest.

I was totally manic-depressive-manic. After I spoke with Boy #1 I was NUTS. On a cloud. The high. Yeah. He's objective. He didn't have to say anything.

My overall feeling is this: My performance was, by far, the worst. Everyone else was pristine, professional, polished. My content, however, both lyrical and music-wise, was the best. Bench Buddy said "Emo but bad is so much better than professional pop." But still. I really sucked. But I still believe in the music. Which fell upon deaf ears, I think, in that audience.

Do I care? No. I don't care if they don't appreciate me.

I do care, however, that my performance was weak. I could be better. I think I need practice, but in order to get that, I have to repetitively torture myself. Is it worth it? Really, what's the point? I want the high, right? Can I get the high? Is that the point?

People. What is the point? Please remind me.

I am going to go back next week. There are good things:

1. The piano - rad.
2. You get two songs in a row, so I can play a stupid easy song first and warm up with it - so "Nuclear Football?" "I, Robot?" Thoughts?
3. One thing I hadn't thought about as far as originals go, nobody knows how they are supposed to go. Like the fact that I left out two layers of "Climb" really doesn't matter, right? Nobody knew it was missing except me.
4. Might make a friend. I think I can I think I can I think I can.

Bad things:

1. Could suck again.
2. Not sure what to play - playing "Drone" broke D's heart a little bit - I hadn't considered that at all - I hadn't considered the fact that I affect someone now - my songs are all so, well, angry and sad and the past. How awful of me. But it allowed me, again, to tell D that he is the cutest and the best ever and that maybe, just maybe, I can write a happy song. Or, maybe I'll sing "Thirteen." Oh. That would be the cutest.
3. Could suck even more.

But see? There are 4 good things and 3 possible bad things.

I should do it.

This entry was so long.

I love the blog. I love that the blog shares all these new experiences with me.

Blogs. Sigh. I am sitting on a song about this blog, actually. God it would be funny if I'd actually do it. I've been working on it since the train ride home for Thanksgiving.

OK. I should eat.

Thank you for reading, and thank you for all of your encouragement!!!!