baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ego Boy I will not judge you by the way you play your instrument. No, that's true as fiction, sometimes I do �Lisa Loeb Stage-eye view is one of my favorite vantage points. It fulfills my voyeuristic inclinations in many ways. I can stare at you and most of the time, you smile back. I can observe you in a way you would most likely find offensive and rude if I were simply sitting one table to your left. It is the ultimate place to indulge my people watching addiction. I often wonder about the folks I watch. I wonder about the drunk woman who seems to wait when the dance floor is empty before she begins to fuck the air around her-disrobing as the song progresses. Sometimes, I keep a mental scorecard based upon what I perceive to be her drunkenness. *She'll have that shirt off before the first chorus," I think to myself. And sure enough, right before I walk up to the mike to sing that major or minor third-the disrobing has usually begun. I wonder about the couples too. Usually, the female-half, after gyrating in place for about three songs, will stand up and drag her anvil-footed male half out onto the floor-the music sweeping her up in one big groove and setting her feet into motion. The poor male will then indulge his date by moving his body to whatever beat he finds- looking embarrassed, and, sometimes, looking pretty bad. It's a shame that he's not having as good of a time as her. But, by far the easiest to spot in any crowd is the fella (usually it's a fella) who stands fairly close to the stage-but not right up against it. He's usually motionless, his arms crossed, his gaze deliberate and focused-his head moving only when somebody blocks his vision. This, people, is the musician. He's checking us out. Putting the band up against his own mental measuring stick. Looking at the chords, the execution, the harmonies-checking to see if *we're better than he is.* This is where my prejudices come in. Because, as much as I claim to be an open minded fella-one free from the strings of racial judgements and the traps of the ego-I know that my playing will begin to change to prove a point-the point being that-yes. I am better than you. I play circles around you, you judgemental prick. I can play shit that you only dream about *Mr. Too Cool To Dance And Have A Good Time*-you who has nothing better to do than stare me down and wait for me to fuck up-I Am Tons Better Than You Are. This is not the right way to approach music. This is not the right way to approach performing. But, this diary serves as a confessional of sorts so I throw out this little piece of grime. Honestly, I have serious, serious doubts about my own playing. I take singing and guitar lessons. I struggle with improvising guitar leads over certain chord progressions. I have trouble hearing the harmony-specifically if the melody calls for a fifth instead of the more typical third. There are so many holes in my technique that it's a wonder people can't see right through me. But all this goes away when I see that *I dare you to play that solo* look that comes over the guitarists in the audience when the band breaks into a cover of say *Ride The Lightning* or *The Attitude Song.* My ego, sadly enough, gets the best of me. What so many musicians fail to realize that taking another guitar player's solo, regardless of how difficult it is, and learning it note for note is more a matter of technique than creativity. Creating a wonderful piece of original music requires a talent that extends far beyond technique. Some of the most wonderful pieces of music ever written are beautiful in their simplicity. No accidentals, no key changes, no insanely technical tendonitis-inducing solo breaks-just a sweet, wonderful melody that picks you up, injects your heart and carries you away. Off course, sometimes I'm wrong. Sometimes, after a show, when I'm putting Emily back in her case, that musician that I noticed during the set will come up and compliment the band. Sometimes, if I'm real lucky-he'll compliment one of the original songs. Somehow, through all the bombast and volume, one of our melodies made an impression on their ears-and I'm humbled. I realize that my ego has made a fool of me yet again. 10:26 p.m. - 2001-03-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||