During my many years as a musician, I’ve performed in a variety of contexts. In 6th grade, for example, I sang a solo in Hebrew as part of The Chitchester Psalms, a piece for chorus and organ, written by Leonard Bernstein. In rehearsals, the feeling of singing with so many voices was thrilling and euphoric. I felt myself open up in a way I’d never experienced before.
The night of the performance, I was filled with confidence. I remember walking out onto the stage in my new electric blue wide-wale corduroy pants, feeling the enthusiasm and support of the musicians behind me. The choir director remembered that the translated words were in the program and asked that the house lights be brought up so the audience could read along.
All of a sudden, hundreds of people emerged from the darkness and, much to my surprise, they were staring at me. In an instant, all that joy and confidence evaporated and, in its place, arose a new feeling: Terror. The music began, and I felt a bit heartened but, as my moment to sing approached, my body felt like it was going to split in two.
I began to sing and, although I got the notes right, and my tone wasn’t terrible, there was a discernable wobble to my voice. (Imagine singing a note, grabbing the skin above your larynx, and pulling it back and forth.) Every fiber of my being screamed “RUN AWAY,” but I persisted.
The strange and wondrous thing about this experience is that it did not deter me from performing in public. In fact, I think it helped me to realize that part of being an artist is taking risks and, occasionally, failing. Since then, I’ve performed in theatrical contexts, in a variety of bands, and as a solo artist.
On Monday, February 18th, I will once again venture into uncharted territory. I will be performing live with my friend Carl F. Off. We’ve worked together on studio collaborations, and I sat in on a performance of his group, The Drum Jester Devotional, but we’ve never performed live together as a duo. Not only that, we’ve intentionally left it completely open as to what we’re going to do or even what instruments we’re going to use, and we’ve not rehearsed together at all. It will be instantaneous creation, a dialog, an adventure of sonic discovery.
Our performance, which starts promptly at
The performance, presented by The Long Beach Musician’s League, is taking place at the Puka Bar, located at
I hope to see you there.