There's not much like the post-gig feeling of elation. I didn't exactly feel it when our performance was over in the church tonight; but once I put the car into gear and headed out of the parking lot, it hit me. There's a great light feeling of having the weight, pressure, and anxiety of the performance is lifted. I feel something like this after finishing an issue of HM Magazine, driving home after having sent the last PDF file over the net to the printer's server. But this is different. This is kinda like the high felt after a high school football game. It's part satisfaction and part relief. I sure dig that feeling. Right after a performance, like this one, for instance, you have that self-analysis -- going over mistakes or ways in which you might've ad-libbed or improvise in the midst of a song. You can't really stop a song when you make a mistake -- you've got to just plow through the song and try your best to keep it going as if there was no mistake. Unless the audience knows a song better than you, they don't notice a mistake.
Tonight was that way. It was fun to rehearse for a single run-through in a small room that'll be future church office digs. Right as the performer before us (a young girl wailing on some Aretha and Maria Carey) started her last song, we had the sound manager going over stuff with us. And there was a dog. This black labrador was back there, walking around, wagging his tail, smelling us and getting petted. Very funny yet strange. It was fun to experience the whole pre-concert jitters with my friend Allen. Two guys he met at Starbucks were fun to be around, too. As things got close, it was a building anticipation of what was about to begin. Performance anxiety set in. I prayed under my breath as I took the stage, setting out my camera (which would be aprop during the second song, situating my man-bag and making sure my 9-year old daughter had a place to sit. She wanted to be with me before I went on and watch the show from the side/back. I sat her down on the keyboardist's stool. I was excited to start the song, but part of me wanted to hold it back and not begin. It was too late to back and we went went right into it. All the rehearsing (which, for me, was one rehearsal and listening to a CD recording of the rehearsal in my car yesterday and today to and from work) had to do its work and let the song either be familiar or strange. As best I could, I let it go and relied on the training I gave to my memory -- remembering the words and when to come in.
I had the Tony Romo arm going on. I had the lyrics printed on a piece of paper that was taped together like a cone or giant armband. It was my cheatsheet; and even though I didn't want to, I had to rely on it tonight during each song. I felt a tad behind the first song, and was guessing on when to come back into the chorus after the guitar solo. I was kinda lost, but I think I guessed right and flew through that one. I gave a brief intro to the second song ("Very, Very Christian," which had a memorable vocal hook), and that felt kinda weird, too. It was almost like I was aware of myself to an nth degree -- 'This isn't practice anymore, you've got to fly.' Again, I kept the meter and tempo of the song, though I had to make up lyrics on the spot when they weren't there for the next line. No one but me, apparently, knew that. Even our guitar player didn't know. The recording of the show, though, is not something I'm looking forward to hearing.
Part of me is embarrassed, but the stronger part doesn't really care. It was fun. And it's over. I'm glad. The high is over now, but it's still nice to have this thing I've been preparing for to be done.
Posted by Doug Van Pelt at February 29, 2008 09:51 PM