Performance Anxiety

Performing: When I started I had to practice playing by myself for fifteen minutes before I could play with two other people at lunchtime in an isolated room in our place of work. I couldn't finish a song for my Alzheimer's mother over the phone without screwing up. This is what I wanted. So you start out in the back, afraid of getting too close to the microphone, then you slowly move forward. I went to a new group of folks last night, totally screwed up the first song, did a little better on the second and a little better on the third. However, now I can sit with a band and play for two hours in front of fifty people coming and going and get applause and hear it and enjoy it.  Most of the folks I've met all have the same problem- it has nothing to do with talent, or ability or exuberance, it has to do with level of comfort. There are folks that will never leave their garage or porch. There are people that will never leave their jam with 10 or 20 people. There are people who have enough ego to stand up in front of 50 people and perform, but don't feel important enough to stay there. The real advantage I've got, I think, is that deep down inside, I don't give a fuck. I don't really care what most of everybody thinks. I want that little one pair of hands clapping back there somewhere in the crowd. That is more important than everything else.
What I want to hear. Ellen, a odd little lady that hosts a open mike in Venice, came out from the dining room in this house last night, sat down beside me and and said she had heard me from the dining room, and thought the song was wonderful.  My dead baby song. It invokes a response. I played it at a jam in Orange county and a sweet guy, Doug, came and said I had a lot of guts to sing it. I said, well that's the idea. I enjoyed that night in particular, because my best buddy, Wayne, who hates all my original stuff, was shaken, noticing the reaction in room. This is a dead baby song. If I can get it out there, it will be noticed. That's the frigging idea.