It's not gonna be like in romantic comedies...

Almost any performer will tell you that getting on stage requires a lot of confidence.  Unfortunately, I'm probably the least confident musician I know.  I don't feel like I underestimate (or overestimate) my abilities but every time we do any kind of a show, whether it's for a huge crowd or a practically empty room, I feel like everyone is going to have a horrible time.  After particularly good shows I think I get even more down on myself because the feeling I get from a warm reception makes me feel guilty.  I always think that no one, no matter how great or nice or talented, deserves to feel as good as I do when a crowd really likes us.  Basically, I always either feel like I did a poor job or I feel guilty for doing a good job.  Then I contemplate quitting.  Then I start calling around, desperately trying to book more gigs than I have time for.

As we play more and more, I've been working on the self esteem thing.  I know I'm probably never going to have the swagger that a lot of guys have on stage.  I can fake it here and there for a song or two in each set, but I can't imagine ever really becoming that guy.  I think it helps us sometimes because I know that people at a lot of venues don't like to book the singer that thinks he's God's gift to everyone.  Then again, my friends make fun of me when, in response to thunderous applause, I tend to look at my feet and say very quietly, "Thank you for coming to my show."  (Their subsequent impressions of this tend to involve a lisp or Eeyore-like voice.)  I'm friendly with crowds, but no one can ever accuse me of being smooth.  It's strange, because some of my most popular covers are just modern crooner-style ballads.

Then I develop and constantly redevelop my identity crisis, because all of the songs I tend to write are either really pretty and sad or really rough and spiteful.  All the covers seem to fall somewhere in between, so at least I bridge the gap.  But I think sometimes it's strange trying to reconcile the songs I write with the person I am.  While my closest friends know me as this squeaky-clean guy, I worry that my songwriting belies that maybe I've been around the block one too many times, if only emotionally.  It reminds me of a line from the Wallflowers' "Sleepwalker" that says, "They think I'm a whore.  I'm an educated virgin."

I don't know why my songwriting leans toward the rough and unpolished, but I'm learning that it's really okay.  I know that it's a product of all my experiences and I'm okay with it as long as I'm telling the truth.  So I'm probably never going to be that guy who plays all the songs that the girls want to hear.  Even if I'm not singing songs that directly tell stories, I want to tell the stories of who I am with my music, both original and covers, warts and all.  The older I get, the more beauty I find in that style.

I wanted to share a couple of videos tonight of performances of songs that I think are great because of (and not in spite of) their portrayals of flawed people and flawed situations that really turn out okay.  The first one is a stripped-down performance of "Ain't So Lonely" by the band Lucero.  I started playing percussion and singing backup vocals on this song for Walker Waggonner, and eventually I started adding my own version into shows every once in a while.  To me there's something very existential, and therefore very rock and roll, about this song:



The other video is from the Hold Steady.  It's a live version of "The Weekenders", a song that, when I hear it, makes me think of any number of events in my life, one in particular being a botched weekend in Saratoga Springs in my early twenties that ended with me just laying around in a hotel room listening to Springsteen.  It's hard to explain, but the song reminds me that sometimes I can look back with fondness on the things that never even happened at all, but only threatened to happen.  I think that's something everyone can relate to.  Well, that and how, "in the end, only the girls know the whole truth."



Rock and roll may be about swagger but, even if we've tried to make it that way, it'll never truly be about smooth edges.  I don't know if my music will ever take that turn, but for right now I'm happy with the roughness, the open-endedness, and the questions.  If I had that much of a plan for it I wouldn't be making music - I'd just be manufacturing it.  Despite the frustrations, I appreciate that unknown.  Like the song says, "It's not always a positive thing to see a few seconds into the future."

Everything we've grown...

It's always nice to be able to play the random song that the person in the front row requests, even if you're completely unprepared to do it.  We were having an awesome night Friday at Sadler's Kitchen in Jacksonville for a great audience when a couple of guys randomly asked if we could do any Simon and Garfunkel.  Because they'd given us such a great response so far it really pained me to have to say no.  As much as I like Simon and Garfunkel, I just don't know how to do any of their songs.  It was close to the end of the set, and we played a Rolling Stones cover to finish it out.  But when I thanked everyone and set my guitar down to take a break, my dad came to the rescue and started picking out a melody I remembered so well from my childhood.

While I made my way to the back of the restaurant to listen, my dad started in with the familiar lyrics to Simon and Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence."  It took a few lines into the first verse, but my mom finally got up and joined him, and they harmonized through the entire song.  It was really beautiful and a very special performance to see for anyone who was there.  I play the Ray Charles song "Seven Spanish Angels" today because I loved watching my parents perform it in their shows when I was younger, but "The Sound of Silence" was by far my favorite out of all of the songs that they played.

As a kid, I didn't always like my parents' choice of songs that they played in their gigs, but that's something to be expected.  Older now, I understand music a lot more, and I appreciate things now that I didn't when I was so young.  I realize that I wouldn't be performing today and I probably wouldn't even have my love for music if it weren't for them.  That's why Friday night was very special for me.  I play with my dad all the time, and my mom does join us on a song from time to time, but it sure was nice to just get to watch them like I used to.  I know that not many people are as blessed as I am to still have their folks around, much less to be able to share something like this with them.  It's a reminder to me to not take so many things for granted.

I'm not good at writing "nice" songs.  And most songs I hear about family are either bitter or so artificially sweet that I can barely stand to listen to them.  The ones I hear on the radio, especially by young country stars, just sound to me like pandering to get a certain demographic to buy records because of the perceived wholesomeness of the artist.  And half of them aren't even written by the performer.  I just don't "get" that.

But a few years ago I was lucky enough to catch a show on the debut album-supporting tour of a band called fun.  The lead singer, Nate Ruess (formerly of the Format), performed a song that he wrote for his parents and it brought me to tears the first time I heard it.  Of course, I bought the record that night and have listened to the song many times since then, and it has not failed a single time to make me cry.  There's not a hint of self-indulgence, pandering, or sarcasm.  It's just an ode to the two people that made him who he is, and a testament to their love for each other.  I wish I could write songs like that, but I'm not good at it.

More than that, even, I wish there was more pure and unadulterated sincerity in songs like this in the music industry as a whole.  Unfortunately, that might not be what sells these days.  But I hope you like the song.  It really is one of the most beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard.  Here's a nice live version:

Setlist 3-2-12

Here's our March 2nd setlist from Sadler's Kitchen!

Everybody Learns from Disaster (Dashboard Confessional)
Texas and Tennessee
You Ain't Going Nowhere (Bob Dylan)
La Cienega Just Smiled (Ryan Adams)
Rocketman (Elton John)
Cumbersome (Seven Mary Three)
Dead Flowers (The Rolling Stones)
Knockin' On Heaven's Door (Bob Dylan)
Forget You (Cee Lo Green)
Mr. Jones (Counting Crows)
30
Set Fire to the Rain (Adele)
You Can't Always Get What You Want (The Rolling Stones)

The Sounds of Silence (Simon and Garfunkel) - Special Performance by Cindy and Eric Moseley

Vindicated (Dashboard Confessional)
The Cave (Mumford and Sons)
Stand In the Same Room
Oh My Sweet Carolina (Ryan Adams)
Brown-Eyed Girl (Van Morrison)
Wagon Wheel (Old Crow Medicine Show) - with Walker Waggonner
Airport in Amsterdam - with Eamond McAuley
Kid Things (Counting Crows)
A Taste for Blood
Runnin' Down a Dream (Tom Petty)
Wales

The Neighborhood Is Bleeding (Manchester Orchestra)
Suffer
Steal Your Heart (Augustana)
Drops of Jupiter (Train)
Calling You (Blue October)
Stand By Me (Ben E. King)
Seven Spanish Angels (Ray Charles)
1973 (James Blunt)
Let It Be (The Beatles)
Space (Something Corporate)
Rain King (Counting Crows)

Setlist 3-1-12

Here's our setlist from the March 1st show at KE Cellars:

Stand In the Same Room
Calling You (Blue October)
Summer Never Came
Vindicated (Dashboard Confessional)
Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash)
Oh My Sweet Carolina (Ryan Adams)
The Neighborhood Is Bleeding (Manchester Orchestra)
We're All Stuck Out in the Desert (Johnathan Rice)
Airport in Amsterdam
Ain't So Lonely (Lucero)
Kid Things (Counting Crows)
A Taste for Blood

Rocketman (Elton John)
You Ain't Going Nowhere (Bob Dylan)
La Cienega Just Smiled (Ryan Adams)
Cumbersome (Seven Mary Three)
Forget You (Cee Lo Green)
A Long December (Counting Crows)
Heartbreak World (Matt Nathanson)
Space (Something Corporate)
Poison
Life On a Chain (Pete Yorn)
Runnin' Down a Dream (Tom Petty)
Let It Be (The Beatles)
1973 (James Blunt)

Mr. Jones (Counting Crows)
Set Fire to the Rain (Adele)
You Can't Always Get What You Want (The Rolling Stones)
Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen)
The Cave (Mumford and Sons)
Lucky Now (Ryan Adams)
Stand By Me (Ben E. King)
Babylon (David Gray)
Drops of Jupiter (Train)
Wales