So on my way home from the video store last night, I decide on a whim to stop into this place I've played a couple of times, to check out who's on tonight. In part this is because I've got seven dollars in my pocket from Friday's efforts, and karma demands that I put some of it in someone else's bucket; in part it's because I'm curious as to what kinds of acts the owner's booking when he's not booking me.
Mostly, though, it's because (as noted before) I'm looking for perspective on how I'm doing at this gig business, and the best way to get that perspective is by comparison. So while I'm watching and enjoying the gig on one level, I'm very much taking my own measure, as well.
There's a Brazilian fellow on tonight, playing guitar and singing. "Have you seen this guy? This guy's fantastic," the owner tells me as he hands me a decaf latte. Certainly the crowd seems to dig him; there's a raucous little cluster near him as he whomps his way through "Just Like Heaven," a couple of Beatles tunes, "Garota de Ipanema," and a few songs em Portuguese.
And, you know, he's not bad—but he's far from great. He makes his way through the jazzy changes of the Jobim okay, but is clearly flummoxed by the waltz rhythm of "Hide Your Love Away." Mostly, though, he sounds—well, kinda like me. Me with a Brazilian accent.
Except that, frankly, I think I put on a better show. For one thing, I have a better sound mix; he's using a single mic, aimed roughly at his sternum, to capture both guitar and vocals. It works close-up, but it doesn't fill the room—it's thin and trebly towards the back. (For the record, I mix my CC67's horrible tinny pickup signal with a mic close to the soundhole, which gives me a serviceable balance of warmth and punch.)
Also, he sits throughout. I suppose he has to—he's playing a nylon-string classical on some numbers, and, as is traditional, there's no strap—but it robs the show of energy. I've tried sitting for gigs, and I just end up tired and depressed: I need to be up and bopping. Personal preference, I guess.
And the pauses between songs are interminable. When I don't actually segue song-into-song—and I'm doing a lot more of that these days, crafting my set lists as a series of mini-medleys—I'm always engaging the audience with jokes and stories. Some nights it's hard for me, but I make myself do it. Why? Because I can't afford to lose them.
My Brazilian compatriot just stops dead, takes a while to change instruments or tune up (insight: the appeal of my electronic tuner is not primarily its greater accuracy, but the way it speeds up my tuning process), squirming in his seat, sipping his drink, staring into the middle distance. The seconds drip by. Five seconds is an eternity in stage time; the gaucho lets a full minute elapse before unleashing another three-minute pop blast. And so it goes.
In a typical hour, I'll play twelve or fourteen songs. This guy averages, I'd say, ten. Bang for your buck? Advantage = Fear. ( All right, so no one pays to get in. Still.)
Two peculiarities: the Brazilian pins me instantly as a fellow player when he sees me staring at his technique—he's a lefty but plays a standard right-handed guitar upside-down, brushing the bass strings with his fingertips and the treble strings with his thumb, Libba Cotton-style.
Secondly: his girlfriend (or wife) sits stone-faced in the armchair closest to him throughout the performance, reading a magazine in Portuguese and studiously ignoring him as he plays. Occasionally he murmurs to her in the long pauses between songs. God only knows why she's there: her impassive presence is strange and uncomfortable.
D rarely comes to my gigs: it's not her duty, she says, to gaze at me adoringly all night. This once distressed me, but dammit, she's got a point. And her absence, if anything, forces me to extend myself more fully to the audience, instead of retreating into a hermetic solitude à deux. A lesson, there? Maybe.
In the end, I have a good time. I enjoy the show for what it is, have a few useful insights, and come away with a set of new questions to chew on: Am I trying too hard to engage the crowd? Is eclecticism a viable strategy after all (let's face it, Brazilian pop in Portuguese is as obscure to the wholly-Anglo audience as anything I'd ever play)? Where's the proper balance between the familiar and the exotic? Et bleedin' cetera.
Overanalyzing? What else is new?
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