Last Friday night lightning struck a tree about forty feet away from me. It hit amidst preparations for an outdoor wedding on the grounds of an old house in a sleepy Georgia town. A thunderstorm was blowing through, and I was walking back to my van from a small tent in the yard, wondering how on earth I was going to set up a sound system in the middle of a windy rainstorm. I knew the lightning strike was close: the delta between flash and boom was darn near zero. After it hit, I just kept walking; I couldn’t think of anything better to do. I passed the caterer’s truck, and saw a pair of white eyeballs, which turned out to belong to a rather startled man sitting in the truck. He pointed right beside where I was standing and said, “It hit that tree! I saw it come out right there,” pointing to the base of a huge oak. I didn’t feel a thing, electrically speaking, but I confess that the boom was a little frightening. What could have been very serious turned out to be a non-event for me, at least physically.
Mentally? Well, it did have some effect. The storm blew over fairly quickly, and the rest of the band showed up on schedule. The afternoon progressed into evening, and hence into night, as it so often does. We set up the sound system and the lighting gear, played the gig, and the happy couple danced their first dance. We packed and loaded our instruments and equipment, illuminated by the headlights of the truck, and then we all made the long drive home. But all night and into the next morning I was musing on a question stuck in the back of my mind. Why do I choose to make music in public? There are certainly other ways to enjoy musical endeavors that involve less work, and less chance of becoming an unintentional electrical conductor. There’s a lot I could have thought and written about related to music and my involvement with it, but the proximity of the lightning mostly just led me to ask “Why?”
To correct a common misconception the non-musician may have, it is definitely not about money. There is certainly the pure line of thought which separates art from finance, but there is also the rather more mundane aspect, that it is usually a lot of work for relatively little compensation. While there are skilled musicians who make a decent living (or at least a reasonable supplementary income) from their craft, I am not one of them. I did make enough a few years back to report my music income to the IRS, but that was mostly because I didn’t keep a good record of expenses. It had never mattered before. Even though I do get paid occasionally, it doesn’t offset mileage and expenses (strings, straps, cords, and the like), not to mention the value of time that I could be spending in other ways. Fortunately, I’m a pretty low-maintenance picker. I’ve generally managed to escape the Curse of the Guitar Player (How many guitars does a picker need? Just one more.) Thanks to the kindness and generosity of family and friends, I have acquired a decent collection of instruments that meet my picking needs.
So if it’s not for money, then why? Herewith is an Ordered List of some my best answers, from worst to best (probably).
- It’s better to do something than nothing – I don’t watch much television, I’m not a professional sports fan, and most of the diversions other people spend their time and resources on, though interesting, just do not draw me. Although I did whine a little earlier about other ways to spend my time, those are mostly domestic activities that suffer when I play – grass cutting, garage cleaning, that sort of stuff. I feel like music is a way for me to stay active, to keep from “vegging out.” Sometimes it even feels like a workout.
- Pleasing people – This reason includes two sorts of people, as shown in this Unordered List (see previous link):
- The people I pick with
I like to support my family and friends who ask me to pick with them. I’m fortunate enough to get to play with a variety of folk, from serious bands to more casual configurations. I like interacting with them, accomplishing something with them. I don’t take lightly the invitation to play, and I like to think I contribute positively to their efforts. If the band doesn’t show up, the organizer looks pretty lame, and I don’t want that to happen to any of my fellow pickers. So I show up and play to please my peers. - The audience
Regardless of the venue, even if it’s someone’s living room, the people sitting in the chairs went to some trouble to get there. I feel like, as a performer, I owe it to them to provide them a positive experience for their trouble. They are the “public” part of playing in public, and thus their need for music is a critical element.
- The people I pick with
- Receiving praise – I must confess that I really enjoy positive reactions from the audience. The reactions don’t need to be significant, profound, or even verbal. Last Sunday, one guy in the crowd sat there with his eyes closed during most of the gig. But his body language and movements made it clear he was not sleeping – he was soaking it all in. In one of my favorite songs (“The Load-Out”) from one of my favorite albums (“Running On Empty”), Jackson Browne sings to the audience, “…the only time that seems too short / Is the time that we get to play / People you’ve got the power over what we do / You can sit there and wait or you can pull us through….” I know what he means.
- The pleasure of music – Even though I am not a particularly adept player, even a blind hog occasionally finds an acorn. There are times when things come together to produce real music. Maybe a vocal harmony, maybe a tight rhythm, maybe an ad-libbed note that works even better then I expected, whatever it is, it is really a pleasure, and it almost always cancels out any negative feelings I may be carrying around at the time. This gets to the part where music is a form of art. Musically speaking, I’m probably more of a Howard Finster than a Monet, but I do sometimes feel like there is an artistic aspect to what I try to do.
You may be thinking that I’ve left something out. Do I feel no obligation to share my gift (humble though it may be) with others? After considerable thought, I’ve concluded that I am not special in that respect – we all bear that obligation. I believe that each of us has a gift, art or skill that we can, and should, share in some way. You may be good at drawing, or building, or coaching, or organizing, or balancing books, or just “showing up.” I like to say, only partly in jest, that my real spiritual gift is moving heavy objects. And whether you believe the Source of your skill is a Supernatural Creator, a Caring Community, Darwinian Selection, or (more likely) your own personal blend of all of these, you will feel better if you share your skill. There’s a related philosophy, referred to as “paying it forward,” which dates at least back to a Greek philosopher (probably even farther back), and to Benjamin Franklin, who gets credit for “rediscovering” the notion. While I don’t pretend it covers all of the spiritual and humanistic aspects of our need and desire to share our gifts and skills, I think it makes an excellent start.
Meanwhile, I think I’ll keep on picking. And wearing non-conductive footwear, especially during thunderstorms.
Format note: The nested unordered list above is erroneously displaying numbers in my browser. I think it’s a WordPress theme problem, but I don’t have time to try to fix it right now. Apologies to those of you who are bugged by it. I am in your ranks. To the rest of you, please ignore this note.