I played my first solo show at a porno theater.
It was hella difficult. Not because the venue – the "Fine Arts" Cinema on Congress Street in Portland, the space now occupied by Geno's – showed dirty movies during the day. My friend Shawn booked the show, Trent and Miah shared the bill, Amy was there, so were John and Kate, Josh, Sharon, Jason, it was by far the coolest group of people I'd ever met.
That's a big part of what made it difficult. I've played clubs and festivals packed with hundreds of people but in a way it's harder to play for a small room full of people you know.
But I played it anyway.
Earlier that day I'd totaled my car. Josh and I stepped out of work for lunch, I tried to take a left onto St. John and got t-boned. The wreck got towed, we went and started drinking.
It wasn't a terrible decision. I was shaken up, all nerves, and I needed to calm down. The accident and the drinks combined to make me numb, which helped with the nerves I would have had for the performance, and at the same time made it harder technically. If I'd been worried about curating my image, I would have cancelled. But I played anyway.
Also, I'd found out that week, my grandmother who raised me was having her last days. With airfare way more expensive back then, and where I couldn't see how I'd get the time off work, I played anyway.
Brenda recorded the show. I've played better, but maybe never more honestly. I sound like a wounded animal because that's how I felt. Once I started playing, I didn't care that I was in pain, I played anyway.
I'm sharing it for the first time, not because I think it's good. No one who was there told me I did a good job. But it did make an impression.
I'm sharing because it's a work of art. I perservered and adapted and made something happen.
Art is repetition. Music is repetition. You've gotta do it, over and over again. Even if the gig is weird and getting there drags.
You've gotta play anyway. You've gotta show everybody the truth you've been hiding.
Gotta expose yourself.