Premiere Afterglow

A few weeks ago, Hiatus officially played its first gig.  I was a little nervous the week before.  I thought about it every day with jitters stemming from lots of different sources, most notably two recurring thoughts:

1. It’s been three years; we need to perform.
2. Will people even like our music?

The day before our premiere was actually pretty hectic and crazy, including a three-hour drive up and down 101 going to and coming from San Louis Obispo to lead worship for an event co-sponsored by InterVarsity’s Black and Latino small group and the university’s Multicultural Center.  (Note to self: Don’t ever drive back from SLO to LA at 10pm in pouring rain.)

Happy to be alive, I woke up Saturday morning ready to take on this strange beast called an audience.  Before a few weeks ago, I hadn’t performed in a really long time, so I spent moments out of the day being reminded that I needed to remember how to make the audience mine.  I pictured myself in front of a crowd of between 50-200 people, smiling at them, relating to them, making them feel comfortable, and guiding them through thoughts and emotions and worlds through which they may or may not have been expecting to travel.  It was helpful preparation.  When the evening came, I was ready.

The performance was fun.  I remember feeling nothing particularly profound or remarkable about how we played; we didn’t make any big mistakes, and all the songs were relatively fun to play and to engage with.  I remember being eternally grateful for all the friends and family that came out to see us and that I got to have beer with after the show.  I loved that people that have been significant to the development of my musical philosophy were there to see and hear that I actually do intend to apply all the yapping that I have done for the past 8 years.  I hated the venue; there wasn’t enough energy.  And I hated that some very important people weren’t there (L and E and E, to be perfectly cryptic, yet grateful for their contributions to our success).

And now that it’s over, the real work begins.  We’ve received a ton of input from a lot of people about the direction of our sound and image, and, for some reason, it hasn’t felt good or satisfying.  Nobody has said anything derisive or insulting, and plenty of people have said complimentary things.  But as we have considered the input and dialogued about it over and over again, I have felt less and less like I am an artist, and more and more like…something else.  New and frightening thoughts have surfaced:

Is this what I signed up for?
Am I selling out?
Why am I not having fun anymore?

And so even though I am assured by plenty that our music is good, my soul is still in wont.  And when our band gathers to talk about our music and sound, I can’t help but feel like I was too idealistic to have thought that I could be a part of something new.  For what an honor it would be, to host rock’s fanciful homecoming to its rhythm and blues roots; to be the usher that leads friends and strangers into the delicate dance of two worlds that have been unnaturally separated for far too long by culture, subculture, ethnicity, and the music industry.

Don’t get me wrong; I have not given up on my dream, on our band or our imagination.  But I am reminded that new infrastructure is never built quickly or without a sometimes obscene amount of “red tape” and “budget revisions,” not to mention sweat and strength and overtime.  And I am reminded that the plans only multiply in complication when that road turns out to be a bridge.