I was reminded of that last night. We did a performance at a little black box theater. Just two of us. We performed a "theater piece," we titled "Woes and Wonders." Funny, in our last rehearsal on Friday, in our own little rehearsal room, everything clicked, sounded wonderful. At the actual performance, not so much. Everything was bit shabbier, a bit more hollow-sounding; instead of a nice, clean wooden, sweetly resonant floor, we performed on a hard, sort of dirty concrete floor that swallowed everything. That was buzz kill right there. And there was a noisy air conditioner gobbling up the frequencies in the air. White Noise ruled the night. There was some kind of residue in the air, dust, maybe from the slowly disintegrating ceiling above, that settled over everything and everyone. The black box was originally an old ballroom. A sort of bombed out relic. It is amazing, or no, maybe not really amazing at all, how the simple elements of a room can dictate the vibe of the moment. The elements, the logistics, the practicalities of set and setting are critical. Truth be told that room was bad news all around. Every performance and performer seemed to be flattened by the room. "Flat," describes the tone and mood of the night.
We gave it our best. As someone said to me afterwards: "There were moments of inspiration." Yes. That is how if felt to us too. What did it add up to? Who knows?! It started with me sitting on the floor in a lotus position, guitar in hand, tuning, up and down and all around. Why wasn't my guitar tuned correctly to the first song? Lack of foresight. Lack of preparation. Lack of focus. It was small hiccup, but an important reminder: always be tuning, always be in-tune. Not a new lesson. One I've learned over and over, but failed to apply. I mean, I did the tuning in the moment, and tried to make it part of the performance. But it was a shaky start.
We did find a groove, despite the elements. I tried a little experiment, a little three-minute, unscripted, in the moment monologue, just speaking off the top of my head. Sort of that Allen Ginsberg idea, first thought, best thought. It wasn't brilliant, it was kind of weird, but kind of cool too, maybe something I will try again sometime. Still the best moments for us were songs that we sang together, two voices, a lone guitar, in a duel with a dusty, musty, bomb-shelter of a space. Tuned up, turned on, dialed-in, finally. Another show under our belts.
