2004-07-15 - 1:22 a.m.

Last night's show at O'Brien's was fantabulous.

I took the day off 'cause they wanted me to be there at 8 and I work late, so I took the opportunity to visit the dentist (yes, I'm such a dork, I know), and when I got home I went through the setlist, but this time for the final time before the show, which is actually always where I freak out the most. There's people working on the exterior of my building, and I know they can hear me play, which has made the week of practice prior to the show a quite self-conscious experience.

Of course even though all I had to do in the world that day was wake up, get ready, visit the dentist, practice at home, and get to Allston, I was in a huge rush to get to Allston when I left, so I had to get splashed by passing cars as I tried to hail a cab at rush hour in the rain. But that was okay--it was kinda fun. A Cambridge driver picked me up, letting me in after I told him I was going to Harvard, and I had a moment of difficulity getting my guitar in the cab, which totally freaked him out (you're not supposed to pick people up outside of your city--fun fact).

I met the Roommate in Harvard and we got the 66 allmost immediately, where we headed to Tokyo City. (We had the sush twice on Sunday, no sushi on Monday, the show was Tuesday and sushi, and I had two pieces today, making sushi four times in five days.) Tokyo City was almost empty, and we had the same waiter we had on Sunday, who adores the Roommate. Adores her.

Tokyo City has been Jekyl/Hyde lately--always cheap, and usually excellent service and better quality than the price would suggest, except for when there's nine hundred drunk 19-year-olds bossing the timid waitstaff about, or the day after such buffoonery transpires, when the staff is still trying to recover. This time, an attorney for the restaurant was by explaining to the staff how to check for ID and what to do with the fake ones. Good for them. I mean, it's one thing to try to get into a club with a fake ID, where there's staff that can size you up when you're at the door, and who are prepared to kick you out and then clean up after you, or to try to sneak a Sapporo or two on a young love date with a $40 sushi order, but it's another thing to be out-of-control in a restaurant with 25 of your best acquaintances of the moment, being belligerent. If you have that kind of attitude, where you don't think of the waiter as a person who'se there because they need to work, just as someone who's going to be a dick for not bringing you beer, then you shouldn't be drinking. Good for Tokyo City.

The Roommate�s cousin met up with us and she brought a friend. They were late, so I ended up wolfing down sushi (bad idea, by the way, in case you ever thought of trying), chugging my second Sapporo, rushing to Herrel�s to get an iced coffee, where of course I was stuck behind a mortified BU girl with her mother and little sister, who took forever and commanded the attention of both people behind the counter, and then to O�Brien�s. They told me to be there at 8:00--I knew that meant nothing, especially since I had nothing to load in, but it�s not like I�m in a position where I can forego any potential bonus points, and besides, what I lack in talent, I make up for in punctuality.

The Roommate really did her homework--she got her sister and her boyfriend to show (and they�re far away), as well as the aforementioned cousin and friend (Rhode Island!). Julianne also made it, as did Randy Research (from Maine!) and his buddy, the talented Marty Allen, who is going to write a song for Randy after all, and I�m going after him if he doesn�t. AND, she got Choo Choo La Rouge to take a break from band practice and head down, pay their five bucks each, just to see me! Seriously--they came down, drank a few beers, and sat in a corner and watched me play. I don�t know how I�m supposed to feel about that--I mean awesome of course, but I also kinda felt like a kid in a hospital being visited by his favorite baseball player. I knew Chris but I hadn�t met the other two before--all three of them were really nice guys and when my set was over I think I ended up thanking them forty times and asking them way too many questions about their band.

I ended up getting on a little after 9:00, and played my exactly 27 minute set in probably 28.25 minutes. I mean, I work these things out. I�m a ditz in a ton of areas, but I know what I�m doing when it comes to being the opener for a half hour set in a place where I knew there�d be no clock.

Have you ever played on stage before? I�ve never really read anything where this has been discussed, so this might be interesting if you haven�t but have always wondered--I�m not trying to be peacockish here.

I�ve played maybe 25 or 30 shows (including a bulk of open mics at An Tua Nua that I very fondly remember and that stopped abruptly and perhaps graciously although I�d disagree with that word choice if I were be), where I�ve been miked and with a sound board and sound people of varying degrees of skill and attentiveness.

It�s very different than just playing the guitar and singing. I�m no Cat Power--I play the guitar with a slight degree of intensity, and that�s pretty loud to sing over. Which means that the voice I use when I�m singing is as loud as I can get it, and that takes away some of the nice quiet things I�d like to be able to do.

When I�ve gotten up on stage and plugged in, it�s been a different story. The vocals and the guitar are mixed by the sound person, who in my case gives me tons more volume with the vocals, and good sound people know to give me tons of warmth with them too. I also get to hear exactly what I sound like through stage monitors pointed right at me, so I can make adjustments if the sound guy isn�t, and I also know what�s working for me at that moment, and what�s not, so I can make adjustments there too.

(A good sound person and a good singing person work kind of like a good pitcher with a good catcher.)

So anyway, and I really live for this but get it so infrequently that it�s very difficult to prepare for it, but when I get up on stage, I�m in a quite rare position where I can play guitar like normal, but it sounds better, and I can sing like I might when I�m in the shower or walking down the street where nobody can hear me--I can do tons more with my voice than I can normally if I�m also playing guitar. And with a mike, everything gets picked up so well, to the point where I can hear it in the monitor if I suck in a breath, so of course I can do really (for me) subtle things that I can�t even do if I�m playing guitar quietly.

I dunno. I feel like I�m being show-boaty, but it�s really interesting to me. I have no way, really, to prepare for this before I get on stage, because I play so rarely I forget what it�s like, so all I can do is make sure I can play the songs without fucking them up, and I know I�ll be fine.

The thing I really love about getting up on stage too is that I become a completely different person when I�m up there--after the first song is over and I settle in. It�s very difficult to describe, but it�s kind of, I guess, like being in a fight or some other type of emergency in-the-moment conflict--you think about what you�d do in this or that type of situation, on the bus or waiting for one, or zoning out at work, but when it actually happens, you just do it and you don�t think, at all, about what you�re doing until it�s over.

I�m always prepared for shows, and I�ll program myself to do certain things, and if this tiny thing happens, I�ll handle it this way, unless that tiny thing already happened, you get the point. I mean, I�ll really think about it when I�m planning out what I�m going to do, knowing full well that each time I play a song it�s going to be a little different anyway, but I want to go in playing each song the best way it can possibly be played, even though I know that can�t be done because a good song is just that--a good song--which can be played poorly or awesomely but never the best it can possibly be played.

When I get up and the first song is over and I�m settled in, the part of me that is obsessed with tinkering goes away, and my mind gives in and a completely different person takes over and sings the songs and plays the guitar, and any time I think a thought it�s either quick and efficient or like hey, wow, but I should and that�s when I fuck something up.

When the first song is over and I�m in the zone, I�m another person and anything I thought to do ahead of time is just advice that some other guy told me that I may or may not take into consideration, and each song truly is, for that span of time they best way it can possibly be played. Even if I had one before, I don�t have a stomach ache. Even if I had just chugged a few, I�m not drunk.

I�d like to be that guy more often. I�d like to talk to someone and have it be the best way a conversation could possibly go, and I can�t say that�s never happened, but that�s not very often.

I love getting up on stage and doing it. Even when things have gone badly onstage, it�s still been a great experience, and I can never fault a lack of preparedness.

I had a little problem with vocals for the first song, but the sound guy was really, really, really good for the rest of the show. The sound guy was excellent, and I could tell he really cared about doing a good job. Of course, I�ll never know what it sounded like to the people watching--I mean, stuff sounds so good coming through the monitors and I�m never really paying a ton of attention anyway because I�m the other guy. But you know what sounds great? Applause. Oh, it sounds so great. Always applaud your local musician--they can hear it. They won�t know it�s you unless you�re in the front row. I can never hear talking unless it�s rampant disdain, but I can always hear clapping. It sounds so cheap to say it, but it�s so wonderful to get it, and unlike any other moment of my life where I�m getting praised, with applause, I never, ever, detect a note of sarcasm. It just isn�t there. Sometimes diehard Sox fans hilariously applaud a player when he does something correctly that he�s known to fuck up. If I got nothing but that kind of applause, I�d think it was genuine.

When I was done, I got to meet Choo-Choo, as I said before, and I got offstage as fast as possible to make way for the rest of the bands, and then I got to be the center of attention for the next few minutes, and that was fun because I felt like I earned it, as opposed to a birthday--I had sung for my supper.

Sorry to spend so much time on thirty minutes of stage time, but, as I said, I�ve never read anything about stuff like this. I don�t know if its different for other people, either.

When I was done and the Silver Lining got on, which I guess I should mention in case this diary is the one surviving document of humanity, is the (ex)�s band (she got me the show, and thank you thank you thank you), I hung back and watched them play. And that was great--they sounded excellent--I mean, for a dive, O�Brien�s sounds really fucking good, and I�ve seen this band three times now and this was their best show. Rick Berlin came to see them so I hung out with him for awhile and talked about their set (of course he liked them).

The band that followed them was very loud. I feel like a jerk for saying this, but I was on my fifteenth beer, and I was just the opening act, and I ducked out so I could take the folks that came to see me out of harm�s way. I�m not saying anything bad about the band--they sounded good--they were just loud and I had people who had come from out of state just to see my half-hour, seven song, set, so I had to keep them happy. We went down the street to the Common Ground. (And now i-Tunes is at this very moment punishing me with Quasi�s Mammon, which is a scorching song about selling out, and I�m asking, was it that bad? Was it that bad that I left the bar before the last band played its last note?)

At the Common Ground, I hung out with Randy on their �patio,� which was actually a pretty nice place to hang out, albeit on a Tuesday in an empty bar. Party secure, and I bought two pitchers for six people to keep them there, I rushed back to O�Brien�s and acted like I had been there all along, and stayed as long as I could without being rude to the folks at the CG, and the (ex) (should I still call her that?) mentioned that I might want to cash out, so I inquired at the door and it turned out that I actually made myself 35 bucks!

Back at the Common Ground, things were winding down and when the Roommate�s cousin and her friend left, I was so drunk, I wasn�t asking questions like how are they getting home? how drunk are they?, and the world is not like 90210, I know, but I�m always disappointed in myself for stuff like that.

The thirty-five bucks helped get the Roommate and myself (I was concerned with how Randy was getting home--he had a bed waiting with us but decided to stay at Marty�s, and I knew that he�d make his way there somehow �cause he�s Randy), home, and to bed.