Old Man

I finally listened to the recording of the Hamfist Harvest show at Stillwater. I've been afraid to hear it because we had so many technical issues that night. There are some moments that are really, really sweet and some moments that make me sad. The constant feedback seemed to get worse, not better as we progressed. You can hear it throw us off for a second and then we pull it back together until the next squeal. It makes me a little crazy because you can hear the potential of what we were creating that night. I missed some notes, I was a little flat in places, but in other places, we sound quite beautiful. Even though Jon and Jimmy were sick, it was coming together except for the freaking sound system. I can't complain about that shit because I can't do anything about it; I don't have the skills. But I know enough to know when it's bad. Nothing makes me tense up faster than a high pitched electrical scream when I'm performing. It's hard enough up there.

Here's what I'm learning onstage: I can't let my failures discourage me, I can't let imperfection deter me. When a recording reveals that I missed notes and my voice was flat during passages, I feel this remarkable sense of embarassment, shame even. Shame is not a useful emotion, it doesn't move me forward.

So I pick myself up and put myself out there, seeking opportunities, working on technique, improving my skills, getting better. There are physical limits at this age; I'll never see the D above high C again, but that's OK. There are some beautiful notes that are still within my range.