My First Stage Performance as a Singer/Songwriter

    For most of my life I have written song lyrics, usually silly little ditties. I am trying to learn how to play music and I have been playing bass regularly for about three years now and recently started guitar. But I really don’t play that well and I have never performed on stage before.

   I found out that one of my favorite musical artists, Rodney Crowell, was hosting a songwriting camp along with a host of other stars. I decided to attend despite my lack of ability. The experience was as good as I could have hoped for. There was creativity in the air and we were encouraged to express it.

   Each night there was an open mike and there were 25 – 30 performances. When I arrived, I had declined a chance for a slot because I knew I wasn’t ready.

   When I got up this past Sunday morning around 4, my usual time, there was a song in my head, a bawdy little blues number. So I did what we were trained to do and got up and wrote it down. Later I worked out a little three note bass riff which I practiced throughout the day.

     We had a class with David Baerwald on Sunday. While the other classes focused on critiquing our songs, David’s class was music theory and was very helpful. Turns out that David is quite a famous composer, songwriter, performer and is very sought after. More about David at the end of this piece.

  During the day I kept thinking about my song and the organizer of the open mike for the night agreed to put me on last. I went inside my room and practiced my song a couple more times. Someone had offered to play with me but I decided to go it alone.

      I sat through 22 songs. They were all great but they were mostly performed on a soft strummed acoustic guitar with very tasteful vocals. They began to sound the same after a while. Finally it was my turn. It was about 10:40 in the evening.

      I took the stage and waited patiently for them to set the mikes. Then I stepped forward. The night had begun with well over a hundred people in attendance but by now it was down to about fifty. I learned when you are on stage you can’t see the audience at all because of the stage lights. This is how I introduced myself.

“Congratulations to those of you who stuck around till now.

   You’ve reached the bottom of the fuckin barrel.

   My name is Adam. I’m 60 years old and this is my first time on stage as a “musician.”

   I wasn’t going to perform but then this song hit me this morning and I wrote it down and figured it out and here I am. I ain’t gonna tell you what its called but its inspired by the great Clarence Frogman Henry who a couple of months ago I watched slay the crowd at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival at age 87. Now I have a new life goal.”

   Now it was time to play. My song began with four slaps to my bass. I pulled it off. Next was supposed to be the three-note riff. My fingers went to the wrong place and my riff failed. I tried and failed again. And again. My Bass was miked so it was putting out sounds but they were the wrong ones.

   At this point I could have stopped and tried to compose myself. Instead I decided it was time to "sing." There had been no sound check before I opened my mouth and the volume of my voice launched a full scale assault on the audience. Made it through the first verse and first punchline and heard some laughter.

   I then tried the Bass riff again. Again I failed completely at playing this very simple riff. So I started to sing the second verse. Except I forgot the lyrics. I took a breath and started over and stumbled my way through it. The verse ends with me doing some funny voices (in tribute to the Frogman) and I again heard laughter.

     Okay, I made it through two verses. Only one more to go. I tried that Bass riff again but by now I had no idea what a Bass guitar even was. So I stepped up to the mike and delivered my third verse that concluded with another funny voice. My vocal style is best described as completely over the top. I could hear screaming. Hopefully it was the good kind.

     I finished singing, tried that bass riff one more time, failed again, slapped it one time and took a bow. The crowd (such as it was) went wild.

      I was trying to take a deep breath and compose myself when David Baerwald comes running up to me. “That was fuckin amazing” he says to me. I tell him how my riff had fallen apart and I had not played a single note that I intended. “I don’t fucking care” he says to me, Nobody gives shit about your technical virtuosity. That was fabulous.”

     Other folks came up that night and were very kind. I had trouble going to bed I still had an adrenaline rush. I went to class the next morning, lots of other people were coming up and saying “awesome performance” and other nice things.

     Then I hear this story. David Baerwald had been at the show and got bored and went outside to smoke cigarettes and chat. Finally his buddy dragged him back inside even though David was saying he wanted to leave. But he got seated a minute or two before my performance.

     When I got on stage and launched into my song, people told me that David leapt from his seat and began pumping his fist before running over to complement me after I was through.

     But not only that, David went out to dinner with people on Monday night (our final night here) and was telling them that my song was the highlight of the whole conference for him.

      This is pretty high praise coming from a famous musician. I know what he responded to. Despite all the problems I ran into during the performance, I just went for it and cranked up the intensity and shouted out my funny little song accompanied by my shambolic playing. I woke everyone up, made them laugh, and got my first show under my belt.

      Does this mean that I am good or about to be discovered? Not at all. But it does mean that for one moment in time I was able to touch some other people and let them have a good time. I’m going to be chasing that feeling now but I also understand that I am going to have to get a lot better.

 

Podcast Old and New Poems

A link to my podcast Old and New. I read a famous poem, then one of my own.

A Long Hearing (Dedicated to Mark Lipinski)

A LONG HEARING

If you head to Court in Bradenton

Across the street you'll see

An old brick building marked 1922

The Law office of Mark Lipinski

Mark brought me on board to help defend

A very serious situation

His client was facing years in prison

Accused of a violation of probation.

Gary the client looked like Elvis

If Elvis had reached his declining years

He was used to talking himself out of anything

But this time it looked bleak I feared.

I went early to the office,

to help organize the files

so that Mark would have the tools

to defend Gary all the while.

We looked for justice to the judge,

a prim and proper sort.

She cast a withering glance upon us

 as we entered into her court

The hearing began at nine am

and had a promising legal beginning

And even though there was no chance in hell

I thought we might be winning.

Gary was not allowed to work

 at any job or avocation.

We were saying he had not

 And thus no violation of probation.

A lunch break came and the lunch break went

 but Mark he did not eat

He sat in a room with stacks of files

to scrawl upon and read.

In the afternoon the case went bad

 as soon as the first witness was called

She testified and almost cried.

The judge began to bawl

But then Mark had some questions,

maybe just one or two.

He went on for more than an hour

and still he was not through.

At three thirty pm on Friday

Conflicts with the Judge arose

Mark moved to disqualify her

“Overruled” she snapped, “Let’s go.”

When the clock struck five, the State rested

Saying “Judge, that’s all there is.”

We applied for a continuance.

The judge said: “Call your next witness!”

At seven o’clock the air conditioning shut off

making a loud and lonely bang

 As I sat there, with sweat down my face,

the judge said “cross-examine?”

No real breaks were taken

 to relieve the prostates of old men

There was no time to eat, no time to call

before we were at it again.

The water had run out long ago,

while the bailiffs softly laughed

But Mark, mighty Mark, kept talking

 There were still more questions to ask.

Around about nine pm, he leaned over

And asked “How we doing Pal?”

”Going down like the Titanic” I replied

And all he did was smile.

The hearing didn’t end until eleven pm,

as Gary was hauled off to jail in tears.

But damn it Mark was still arguing for him,

even as the courtroom cleared.

Walking to the office I heard Mark exclaim,

“Break out the booze, I’ve got some I think.”

But though there was water, water everywhere

There was not a drop to drink.

At the end of this long hearing

We were tired, hot and hungry

“We will fight another day,”
said lawyer Mark Lipinski. 

The Golden Age

                                            

The Golden Age

It was the golden age of music.

We streamed jazz and sang the blues.

Sang in a somber tone

we couldn’t stand the goddamn news.

It was the golden age of beer,

crafted, stout and pale.

While we drank they locked us up,

two million more in jail.

It was the golden age of knowledge

that kept us riveted to our phones.

We had a thousand friends on Facebook

and never felt more alone.

It was the golden age of the U.S.A.

You had to stand for the Red, White and Blue.

Though “none dare call it treason”

We all knew, oh yes we knew.

Some earlier efforts

We Smoked

13AUG

Even in the new office we smoked
Marlboros long and strong
Until tobacco smells covered
The odor of fear and sweat
That was always present.

Even in the jail we smoked
With clients whom we had little to offer
Except a real cigarette as opposed to
The rolled Drum that was their only
Source of nicotine and comfort.

Even in the courthouse we smoked
In the stairwells and hallways
In the jury rooms and holding cells
And the smoke lingered in the rooms
Where the judges stood guard.

Even in your last room we smoked
While you gasped for air and said goodbye.
I took you to the parlor across the street
They burned your body and I watched
The smoke rise from the chimney out my office window.27

DEC

Encased in Glass (1978)

Worthless oaks, encased in glass

withered roots still holding fast.

A memory of a changing time

broken bones and endless rhymes.

Caring through the long lost years

shedding bits of broken tears

all through tiime and endless space

just to catch one glimpse–a face.

Traveling onward, ever caring

ever conscious of the load I’m bearing

Moving cross the desolate lands

over barren hills and endless sands

just to bring my hopes to you

of love that never will be through.

Shattered bits of broken trees

tells of a love never given to me. 

CHECK OUT TIME

When it’s time to check out

When it’s time to go

Will you hear me complaining

About fate? No.

But don’t let me leave life

From a room full of flowers

With family and friends

Coming round every hour.

Please don’t make me hear

Hollow words of sympathy

Or refuse to disclose

Intimate details of the disease

I don’t want to see fear

In my loved one’s eyes

Or watch them make plans contingent

On when I might die.

Will there be pain?

Will there be sorrow?

Will I be missed?

Or remembered tomorrow?

Tried healing bitter wounds

Not wanting to hear

 The anguished old cries

Of those I hold dear.

Their life will go on

My pain will soon cease

Once urged to fight

I now seek release.

Some will be glad they outlived me

But others will soon realize

While they must continue the struggle

All I had to do was die.

(1999)

The Ides of March (1996)

19DEC

There’s a buzz in the kitchen   There’s a buzz on the porch

There’s a baby in the oven      There’s a baby born in March

Shrimp on the table    Fishes in the sea

Market in the morning     Dinner on the Key

Hope to have us a future

Already got us a past

Hope to have us a future

Gonna make this one last

This Florida lifestyle      Is making me sweat

Wanna make something happen    Hasn’t happened yet

Scandals in the paper   Nonsense in the air

Talk all around    Lies everywhere

Used to look forward

Now we look back

Used to make plans

Now we just laugh

There’s some new folk a coming    Some new folk here soon

Some old folk a leaving      Done all they can do

Houses all built    Streets all paved

Water’s all gone    What’s left to save?

I remember a time 

 Our own special place

Now and then there’s a smile

Coming over our face