When I played at ATP in LA years ago I was accompanied by a cellist and violinist. It was the anniversary of a family member's passing so I made a dedication. I didn't care about being morbid, I've never fancied myself an entertainer.
It's always been about the moment, not some pre-meditated stage show.
It was a heavy, plodding set in a large seated theater. I wallowed in the dirge, I allowed myself to indulge in his honor. The strings improvised effortlessly around my simple chord progressions.
As I walked offstage Paz was there to give me a long hug. She said all the girls in the bathroom were clucking over me.
She says those things to make me smile.
I walked backstage looking for my guitar case. I was in some other time zone. It was a circus back there, all fake mustaches and tutus.
Someone shook my hand and told me they loved the set. I recognized him as Jeff Tweedy only because he'd just recorded with my pal Jim O' Rourke. I didn't know anything about Wilco and I still don't.
If I'm a poser it's because I act like I'm not terrified.
Over the years I have honed the act. There are imperceptible clues but who cares about a twitch of the eye? Or a long bathroom break? There is no part of me that likes all those lights on me, all those eyes on me.
I stand before you to scrutinize, not because I enjoy it but because someone wants to see me. I do it for them.
And for money.
Posts
1 comment:
I was at that show and had never heard of you. I bought Whatever Mortal and was very satisfied. All I remember of the show was feeling this impending sense of doom....
Post a Comment