Most of our adventures, for my partner & I, are in the creative realm. We found ourselves in a little cafe on Wednesday night, in room full of songwriters. It was just the two of us, a guitar, a tambourine, two voices, running thru a little history of our own very personal songwriting explorations.
Most of the folks in the audience were accomplished singers, songwriters, poets & musicians. These folks perform all around town, have done so for years & years. They are part of thriving, folkie, singer-songwriter culture in Chicago. It was quite intimidating to play our songs for these folks. Sure, we write songs, but, I think my partner and I feel we don't really belong, or fit, within any particular circle. All of our music seems so personal, hand-made, organic, very much us, but, decidedly quirky, gnarly, spicy, maybe a bit homely.
What was that little cloud hanging in the air of the cafe? Judgement.
We both swallowed our uncertainty and sang with deep conviction and purpose. It was all so, so intimate, folks right up close, taking in every word, & chord. Everything went off quite well, but, still, I had few kerfluffles, miscues, flubs on my fretboard, and in the middle of one song, my guitar went out of tune. Yikes. Chaos rears it's head near & far. For some reason I was playing with a new set of strings, not my usual ones, and I was using a new pick. What was I thinking? Trying always to refine my approach, and do better.
Shite. I forgot. Everything counts. Every last thing. If you are going to make a change, best to test it out, before bringing it out. Ha. I know, you are probably thinking, "He's actually gonna blame the strings & the pick?" Sure. Why not? Although, I have a feeling it was also the "social distortion," the being aware of a very discerning audience, that distracted me, and contributed to my losing focus. I was playing songs I have played many, many times in every conceivable circumstance imaginable.
Still, I'd say, we did really good, most our set was performed well, the audience response aftwards was overwhelmingly positive, giving & loving. But we both knew it wasn't perfect. Yesterday, I restrung my guitar with my usual strings, and I ditched the new pick, and went back to an old standby. Details, every last little detail my friend, really can be the difference between the hoped for perfect, and the not so perfect.
Sure, we know we may never actually get to perfect, it's a chimera, but it is the goal, the beckoning promised land that is always dancing just out of reach on the shimmering horizon.
