Pushing

I'm a bit overwhelmed this week. We have a show Friday night (that's tomorrow), and since we don't play more than once a month or so, we really need to prepare. This show involves additional musicians who will play sets before we go on, and whom I've asked to join us for a couple of songs and then all join in for a show closer, so that means even more planning and more rehearsal than usual.

None of this would be such a big deal: I've got the set list mapped out and have run through everything, and Shelle and I will do another quick run-through tonight while our oldest son is at his ballet class. This will probably be a typical family rehearsal, standing in the kitchen with supper on the stove and our little girl sitting on the counter while we do our best to muddle quickly through the set list by skipping intros and instrumentals. It'll be enough. The big complicating factor this week has been my own bone-headed over-commitment in the interest of pushing myself to do something new.

I am not a classical guitarist. Not by a long shot. But it's something I'd like to learn and something I've dabbled with. So when I was asked some time back to play a guitar part as accompaniment on a Walter Pelz piece for the choir Shelle and I sing with, I said "sure." I didn't realize it would fall the Sunday after this Friday night concert, and of course I waited until this week to start learning the music.

Learning a classical piece -- even a relatively easy one -- is for me a very painful process of working through the notes and fingerings one measure at a time. That's because I don't really read music for guitar: I have to think too much about where a particular note falls on the fingerboard. Imagine trying to play piano if you only knew where to find the E and A below middle C and a D, G, B, and E above it. You could find the other notes on the keyboard, it'd take you some time to read through anything. That's approximately where I started this week trying to read the piece I need to play Sunday. We rehearsed with the full choir and flute last night, and it wasn't a total disaster. I've got it down well enough to chug along alright, and the second time through I had almost mastered my nerves enough to stop randomly plucking the wrong strings. But it's been a lot of work during a week when I haven't had a lot of extra time.

So it's been a long week already, trying to squeeze these painstaking rehearsals in when I could while keeping up with a crazy work schedule and the usual stops on the kid shuttle and so forth. In the end, though, I have to admit it's kinda cool. I'm enjoying the challenge of doing something that just a week ago felt like it was beyond my reach. So I guess I'll keep pushing for a few more days, then take a little break. Then I'm going to start working through the Berklee Method for Guitar that my friend loaned me. And maybe one of these days I'll take some lessons.

Can't Always Get What You Want

When I was a kid, I saw a Paul Simon concert on TV where he ended by saying, "Have a sweet and peaceful evening, everyone!" He was so sincere that you could almost ignore the cavorting unicorns and rainbows that seemed to radiate through the sentiment. Sometimes, when I read back through the kind of write-ups I often do after shows, I think about that sign-off. I'm always on about how magical and perfect everything was.

Well it ain't all sweet and peaceful. My last show -- two weeks ago now -- was the sort I'd just as soon put behind me. Luckily, the folks who came out were very forgiving -- they even tipped well! But I didn't give 'em much to work with. I was late getting started because I had little league baseball practice first, and I was pretty tired for the same reason. But that's not really a good excuse. I owe it to folks to be energetic and prepared when they take the time to come hear me play. Certainly, it was not an unmitigated disaster, but my energy really dragged and I had a couple of rather big, obvious gaffes. At one point, I felt suddenly led to play Townes Van Zandt's "Pancho and Lefty," but I let my mind wander until I could hardly remember the lyrics or the chords. Another time I played a very soulful version of Prince's "Nothing Compares 2U," only to get my fingers on the wrong string on the very last chord, ending in horrible, glaring dissonance. Everyone just laughed at that, 'cause what else could you do? I also talked too much, including telling an actual joke that bombed.

Even a lousy show has highlights though. I played "Fake Plastic Trees" for the first time in about two years, and it felt great. Oddly enough, barely anyone in the audience knew the song. I had to explain that it was a Radiohead song. I also played a mini-set of lullabies, because when I should have been preparing for the gig the night before I had been instead trying to put my 3-year-old to sleep. And there was a little girl at the show who was really sleepy, and who lay down on a bench while her mom rubbed her back. That went over pretty well, even if it was a pretty big departure.

In the end, the feedback was positive, and that speaks well of a patient and generous audience. But I definitely learned my lesson about trying to wing it at the last minute! No more cruising in late and unprepared for me. From now on, I'm going back to preparing a set list and rehearsing!