carvngintowater (carvngintowater) wrote,


Performing was a strange mixture of ecstacy and...defeat. I froze on stage when I couldn't get through my new song. It began nicely enough, with the audience composed mainly of friends. They were expectant not of my talent, but that I be myself and gain experience by going through this little performance. I dressed nicely, and my boots made me so tall. Still, my friends considered me doll-like and endearing. That word seems to pop up a lot now. So I went on and played the first song with little emotion. The jitters of being under the spot light were enough to squelch all passion. Next, however, came the ripeness and excitement of the new song, too fresh yet to be over done. I wanted to nail it, I wanted them to feel what i felt when I first heard it. So I began, and was feeling rather good about the direction of things. But my eyes kept wandering, and my mind couldn't collect the words of the chorus. So I paused and cursed, smiled bashfully and announced that I would start it again. So I did, and found myself in the same predicament, only far more frustrated. I paused, my hand on my forehead, talking myself through the awkwardness. I felt like a parent admonishing a child in public, only I was the only one on stage. Then I just stood and walked out. I tossed my guitar on a couch and slammed the door of a bathroom. Any dark quiet place would do; I was looking to crumple, and crumple fully in the only way I knew how: by myself. The bathroom smelled like shit. I focused on stiffling the sobs until they were sharp inward gasps, and nothing more. I kept saying how much I had wanted this, how much I wanted to play and to show case my song and to impress everyone out there. But my professional facade fell to pieces in front of them. How could they respect me? And how could I respect myself? I felt like a parent neglecting the needs of her child, only I was the only one in the bathroom. Two women who had come from my work to see me were standing outside the door. I didn't want to see them. But then this random guy opened the door and walked in. He was cute in the face and smiled easily. I looked up from the floor, crumpled as I was. I must have looked pathetic, but somehow I felt beautiful...fragile. Still, I was a wretched wretched joke of a musician for leaving the stage. He just knelt down and told me that everyone has these moments. He told me how much everyone wanted me to be up there, how they loved hearing me. I felt like a little child, but at the same time I felt like a child who was learning from pain. I stood up and decided to go back on. My mascara was all over my face, and my guitar looked deflated and abused, lying hap-hazardly on the couch. I picked it up with remorse and tenderness and walked back out there.
The song went off without a hitch finally. My voice could not withold passion now, for it was brimming inside of me and bubbling over onto the audience. It was so quiet and my voice was so clear. I only played two more songs after that, but they went well, and were sung with so much feeling. I will not soon forget that night.
Then I went to Andrew's and recorded 'The Tide'. he says he will get KEXP to play it. I'm not getting my hopes up at all. I just want a copy to send to my mom.
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