photo by Winkerwithoneeye
Have you ever been at a concert and felt like the person on stage was singing directly to you?
Have you ever felt like they were telling your story, speaking to your experience, and sharing your tribulations and triumphs? Ever realized you and the whole audience are singing along with the band/artist and the connection—and I use that word deliberately—makes you feel like one entity?
If the answer is yes, I would love to let you in on a secret that I have learned from 40 years in the business. From the first time I sang solo as a boy soprano in the First Congregational Church (very middle class ‘whitebread,’ but good people all in all), to the nights I get to “rock out” in front of thousands at festivals, what I want you to know is that feeling you have, when time stops, when all your troubles drift away and you really are in the moment—is quite nearly the exact same way the performer feels.
I started singing in my church choir when I was seven. A bit of a freak of nature, I could sing very high, (comfortably to a C6 for the singers) and apparently very in tune. Living in a newly single-parent home, this gave me a chance to receive real adoration. Whether or not that was a healthy thing or not, well, you can ask my old therapist.
After shuffling through any instrument the band directors needed when someone moved or a chair became empty, I picked up guitar when my voice began to change. It was a good move for someone who tried desperately to be good at sports (and I really tried them all) but was terminally mediocre at best. It was a lifeline. I was honored by adults for my singing, but I was cool when I played guitar.
In college at The University of Michigan it was leading a 12-piece funk band that opened for Maceo Parker and even Parliament in Detroit and starting a “Newgrass” band that was equally successful. Anything I could get my fingers on or voice wrapped around, felt good. And it felt good making people feel good. There is no feeling like that of being on stage and a dance floor is literally rising and falling to your music.
In each of these cases, I would lose myself (sorry Eminem). When I was in the moment, it was as if I finally knew who I was and what I should do. My best, was when I or my ego or consciousness or whatever you want to call it, checked out completely. When we have lost all ego, and truly feel that cosmic instinct, that satori as it is known in Japan, it’s undistinguishable; it’s the same feeling.
I chose a life of music, quite deliberately. Most days I know it was the best move for me. Sadly, it is not unique or interesting these days as it was when I was growing up. With the advent of Garageband, to the rise of TikTok, I’m not in a select club of like-minded artists anymore. I used to say, “I wish everyone was a musician” because it makes you feel so good and everyone can sing or clap their hands or play something. I should have added that they shouldn’t all try to do it for a living. We can save that for another essay…
Here’s the thing that no one seems to know, talk about, or maybe I’m just batshit crazy and dead wrong, but when I see and hear a show, and I love or respect or “get” who is performing, it’s almost exactly the same sensation as when I’m playing one. The lost time, the cosmic fabric (sorry Bruce Hughes), the oneness feels the same. Identical really.
What does that tell me? Something very, very big. It tells me that it is NOT about me. At all. It is about us. Maybe it’s my words, voice or instrument, but it’s our song. Why is the state of being when I hear someone with something beautiful to say for the first time at an open mic, the same feeling I get when I am on a stage in front of hundreds and a solo gets screams that drown out the beginning of the next verse?
I was ecstatic when my wife surprised me with tickets to Stevie Wonder (my hero) and the show was transcendent. But why was that damn near the same sensation I get when I hear a song of mine on the radio (never gets old, for me anyways)? Why is it the same feeling I get when I’m writing a song or playing guitar and realize it’s 8:30PM and I’m still at the studio and have been here since 10AM completely missing dinner (sorry Donyne)?
And what does that mean for the listener, the fan, the supporter? It means we are nothing without each other. The fact that, for me, the feeling of performing (when I am at my best; I can’t stress that enough) is the mirror image of the feeling I get when listening (when the music is best) means we are inseparable.
Now it’s not all roses and chocolates my friends. There are times when I “phone it in.” And I am super sorry to burst any proverbial bubbles here—but we all do. It’s hard to tell if you don’t do it for a living. Sadly, the bigger the show, and the bigger the artist, the more it’s bullshit for the most part.
The songs, solos, choreography, jokes, and banter are ALL workshoped and rehearsed. I know that the Stevie Wonder show had 30 people on stage who had played those 25 songs night after night to thousands of people, most likely feigning spontaneity.
Good news is, who cares? I remember seeing The Wood Brothers a few years back at The Parish, before they got big enough to play The Paramount. My wife and I were in awe. They took some chances you just can’t do on a big stage and their audience was what I love to see most at my shows: every type of person imaginable. Man, what night that was. Even if they played that exact same show for 30 nights in a row, they had us. Maybe Stevie phoned it in that night? I know I have had to. Sometimes we have a shit day, because we’re all human, but you can’t let the people down dammit!
If the only bit of knowledge to take away from this little rant of mine, let it be this: for the devotees and would be artists alike, when you get that feeling in the crowd, or when you get that feeling on stage, stop and think for a moment that your companion in this journey is feeling almost the same feeling. The fan in seat 14G could possibly be feeling the exact same sensation as the drummer at ACL. How crazy is that? How beautiful is that? We’re in this together, whether we admit it or not.
In actual performing news, I’m hitting the road with my dear friend, the incredible Michael O’Connor in March!
3/3 Southside Preservation Hall - Fort Worth
3/4 Redbird Listening Room - New Braunfels
3/5 The Bugle Boy - La Grange
3/8 Peggy’s Porch Party - Austin
3/9 Inspirations Gallery - Rockport
3/10 Burlinghall House Concert - Houston
tickets available at my website
The plan is to send out the newsletter twice a month. Can’t wait to share more stories, reviews, and lessons learned from a life of work.
Still Working On It, indeed.
Yours truly,
Plank