Not the apocalypse. Although I did see someone riding a full elliptical bike down the Danforth. No seat; just standing and riding. But this judgement day to which I refer is not the end of the world.
In fact it is an affirmation that the (my) world is going to keep turning. We have another month of the open mic!
This means a number of things to me. First off, it means that I have more time to prove that this little engine that could, CAN. There is a market for us, and the people who are coming to play are slotting Sunday nights into their schedules to keep playing for us. All of a sudden I'm starting to bridge the gap between the two things I want to do in this life. Make music and provide others with the ability to make music.
I recently learned some more valuable shit about myself in the process. Not only am I slightly qualified and horrifyingly passionate about musicians, but I am also decent at seeing this entire situation from the business angle. That said, I'M SELLING OUT!
Bullshit. Selling out is not about money. If the show, or any band, or your mom with her customized knitting outfit, if these entities earn money from their craft, GOOD FOR THEM. Its not about money, or sponsors, its about keeping the vision you have. If I rake in the dough playing small gigs in indie clubs and getting Now Magazine critics drooling at my feet, but all I ever wanted was to don a glittery tube top and shoot fire from a crown while I belt out candy pop, I'm a sell out.
The vision is the thing. The mission comes first. And if we start to grow, and it becomes a real destination for some folks and we get some stickers from some music peeps who represent the man, then bring it. This is about success by the standards we set for ourselves. This is not a contest of restraint or a battle of who has the better starving artist story. However, I did sneak into the movies today for the first time ever because I spent my last dime on bug traps for the hole I call an apartment. (I'm not proud of having cheated the filmmakers or the industry, and I love Joss Whedon but I own every bit of film and television he's ever touched, so the man can do without my ticket price for now. By the way, everyone go see The Cabin in the Woods. And pay. I plan to go again. AND PAY.) Point is, it's about measuring success as to the individual.
Trivial details of my still poverty-stricken existence aside, this weekly gig I put together still holds so much meaning in so many interesting ways that I can't dwell too much on all the things it says about me and what I'm doing with my life. It's such a ride that I just have to not stop to reflect just yet, not too much anyway. For now I think the course of action is to keep going, keep building.
Its an odd thing to consider, defining yourself. I have always been a lot of things, but host is a very different role from performer, from marketing chick and roadie and back-up guitarist and harmonizer and that girl who works at second cup and is inevitably also creative in some way. All of these labels excite and inspire me to live up to them. I'm still a little foggy about the version of me that made this happen, because now I'm her sometimes, and other times I'm also a fumbling fop who plugs some things in and makes a night of music happen for a bunch of people who then say that they enjoyed themselves. Still got to wrap my head around these things. But in the mean time somebody smart decided I have more time to keep doing this. Maybe before it's all over I'll figure it out at least a little bit. Doubtful though. And I wonder, does it really matter if I ever completely 'get' it?
Thursday 19 April 2012
Friday 6 April 2012
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Shameless Advertising
The other night I spoke with the owner of the Fox and Fiddle where the open mic is held (and by this I mean he let me do one, he's letting me do another, I suppose this is how things start). He gave me a stack of amazing posters and some advice: "Take these everywhere. Go to Timothy's and Starbucks (I daylight as a barista- at Second Cup) and tell everybody." As if I haven't called my own mother 3 times to make sure I tell her that I'm doing this. Then he says "get birthdays and suggest parties on the night of the open mic." I suspect that most birthday parties would be best enjoyed at wild kareoke or live bands, but perhaps a certain group really wants to hear some nice soft unplugged stuff to celebrate a year gone by. So I considered this.
He is an ad man. He runs two other very successful restaurants among other ventures, so I trust his advice. I also take it with a grain of salt. (After all, the artist must do all in her power to fight 'the man' and bite the hand that feeds.)
Also, my ignorance about strategic selling has me in a spin. I know how to tell friends and regulars at work about my project, but I estimate half of that is small talk white noise to them. I hope more of them come to support, but it's akin to tossing a bag of denim cutoffs off the roof of a downtown office building onto a hundred pedestrians. Maybe 10 of them take a pair home. The real gold is in the other 25 or 30 who tell of the miraculous heaven-sent shorts. They tell their unfashionable friends who then show up the next day in wait. What I need is to find some really unfashionable people who want my demin shorts.
So I went out on the town. I really went to town on the town. I plastered my posters anywhere that would have them. It's actually starting to excite me to consider where else I can take my campaign. Where do musicians go? Hopefully to my open mic night. But the question is, where are they now? Do I know how to sell them on this? What kind of suit is somewhere between the effortless charisma of Janis Joplin and he smoky charm of Don Draper?
He is an ad man. He runs two other very successful restaurants among other ventures, so I trust his advice. I also take it with a grain of salt. (After all, the artist must do all in her power to fight 'the man' and bite the hand that feeds.)
Also, my ignorance about strategic selling has me in a spin. I know how to tell friends and regulars at work about my project, but I estimate half of that is small talk white noise to them. I hope more of them come to support, but it's akin to tossing a bag of denim cutoffs off the roof of a downtown office building onto a hundred pedestrians. Maybe 10 of them take a pair home. The real gold is in the other 25 or 30 who tell of the miraculous heaven-sent shorts. They tell their unfashionable friends who then show up the next day in wait. What I need is to find some really unfashionable people who want my demin shorts.
So I went out on the town. I really went to town on the town. I plastered my posters anywhere that would have them. It's actually starting to excite me to consider where else I can take my campaign. Where do musicians go? Hopefully to my open mic night. But the question is, where are they now? Do I know how to sell them on this? What kind of suit is somewhere between the effortless charisma of Janis Joplin and he smoky charm of Don Draper?
Monday 2 April 2012
Its All Happening
The first open mic ended a mere 3 hours ago. Am I on top of the world with giddiness and joy?
Sure. But more so than this, I feel exactly the same as I did yesterday. This I am counting as a massive success.
It means that this didn't factor in fear. It means that I felt safe on that stage. I felt at home up there. This is almost a more terrifying thought than the notion of being so engulfed with nerves that I came off this night in a fit of glee at the surprise of my accomplishment.
Hands down, the ultimate figure to count tonight was the feeling I had walking down from that stage during breaks to chat with friends and family, with musicians who might sign up, with myself about where to take it next. It felt as if I were completely in my element.
It was raw and rough in a lot of ways. The crowd was receptive, nobody left as a result of me, and in fact a few people stayed late to hear.
The total sign ups (not including me) was 3 people. I played for most of that time. And there were a million tunes I didn't play that I am now sitting here excited to play next week.
There was talk tonight of how to end the show. The beginning is easy, its all energy and lights and the first stuff of the night. The last few have to be very specific. They need to follow an arc that reels the crowd back in and makes them hostage until next week.
Tonight my most memorable moment came right after my dad, who killed it by the way, was about to leave. We were unpacking, stowin away all the equipment, and the love of my life and I started tearing down. My father, the reason this became an idea in my mind way back as a child. My boyfriend, my partner who made this come to fruition tonight. We untied the cords and loosened all the mics from their holsters, and I said "you know the song my dad sang to his girlfriend on their first date?" And he smiled because he and I designated this particular tune to ourselves a long time ago as the reigning champion of any kind of musical challenge. The ultimate send-off tune.
The seats are all empty, let the roadies take the stage.
Oh won't you stay just a little bit longer. I am no where close to done. No where close.
Sure. But more so than this, I feel exactly the same as I did yesterday. This I am counting as a massive success.
It means that this didn't factor in fear. It means that I felt safe on that stage. I felt at home up there. This is almost a more terrifying thought than the notion of being so engulfed with nerves that I came off this night in a fit of glee at the surprise of my accomplishment.
Hands down, the ultimate figure to count tonight was the feeling I had walking down from that stage during breaks to chat with friends and family, with musicians who might sign up, with myself about where to take it next. It felt as if I were completely in my element.
It was raw and rough in a lot of ways. The crowd was receptive, nobody left as a result of me, and in fact a few people stayed late to hear.
The total sign ups (not including me) was 3 people. I played for most of that time. And there were a million tunes I didn't play that I am now sitting here excited to play next week.
There was talk tonight of how to end the show. The beginning is easy, its all energy and lights and the first stuff of the night. The last few have to be very specific. They need to follow an arc that reels the crowd back in and makes them hostage until next week.
Tonight my most memorable moment came right after my dad, who killed it by the way, was about to leave. We were unpacking, stowin away all the equipment, and the love of my life and I started tearing down. My father, the reason this became an idea in my mind way back as a child. My boyfriend, my partner who made this come to fruition tonight. We untied the cords and loosened all the mics from their holsters, and I said "you know the song my dad sang to his girlfriend on their first date?" And he smiled because he and I designated this particular tune to ourselves a long time ago as the reigning champion of any kind of musical challenge. The ultimate send-off tune.
The seats are all empty, let the roadies take the stage.
Oh won't you stay just a little bit longer. I am no where close to done. No where close.
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