We were nearing the end of our set at an indoor art festival when I felt it. Something in my throat. If I sang the next notes as I always did, the resulting sound would be a hacky train wreck. Even the people who weren't listening would notice.
I routed around whatever was in my throat. The hack-inducing thing went away. The mother of all clams was averted.
Everything before and after that moment went well too. We got a lot more positive attention than I would have expected, given that we were only there to enhance the ambience. Still, the thing I'm most proud of is the thing that didn't happen. Funny how that works.
Showing posts with label atmosphere gigs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label atmosphere gigs. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
On the down-low
Not long ago, we were hired to play at a private conference. Our directive from the event coordinator was clear: We'd be there for atmosphere only. The songs we chose should be low-key. In fact, half the time we'd need to do pieces with no vocals at all.
No problem. Instrumentals aren't part of our usual repertoire, but we could certainly make a few up as we went along. We set up in the reception area, turned way down, and did our thing while guests talked and nibbled on hors d'oeuvres.
After an hour, the guests moved into the main banquet room and we packed up, proclaiming the event a success. We did what we were supposed to, which was lend the reception a touch of class while not making it impossible for people to hear each other. A few people even said they enjoyed the music.
Today I thanked the coordinator who hired us, and she sent a note back saying that we were "a huge hit":
No problem. Instrumentals aren't part of our usual repertoire, but we could certainly make a few up as we went along. We set up in the reception area, turned way down, and did our thing while guests talked and nibbled on hors d'oeuvres.
After an hour, the guests moved into the main banquet room and we packed up, proclaiming the event a success. We did what we were supposed to, which was lend the reception a touch of class while not making it impossible for people to hear each other. A few people even said they enjoyed the music.
Today I thanked the coordinator who hired us, and she sent a note back saying that we were "a huge hit":
Thank you so much for performing ... Since then I've heard MANY MANY MANY nice things from those attending the event.Wow. Even at a pure atmosphere gig, you never know who's listening.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Poisoning the atmosphere
About half an hour into our meal, the music changed.
Chris and I were eating at Applebee's, chosen for its close proximity to our ultimate destination, the movie theater. The restaurant's background music was fairly eclectic, jumping from UB40 to George Thorogood. Every now and again we'd comment on the playlist; largely we ignored it.
All was well until something came on that neither of us quite recognized. Some artist we had never heard before. Someone who ... wasn't very good, actually.
Realization dawned. It was karaoke night.
We did our best to resume the conversation, but we were thwarted at every turn. What the singers lacked in skill, they made up for in volume. Even the ones who weren't half bad managed to be annoying somehow.
We left without ordering dessert.
The uncomfortable part? As we griped about how we could hardly hear each other, I remembered all the people who have asked Cinder Bridge to turn down over the years. The coffeehouse goers who came to talk to each other and didn't care for live music enhancing the atmosphere.
In our defense, we don't go to these places intending to get in the patrons' faces. If somebody hires us to play, we assume they have a pretty good handle on what their customers like—they don't want people leaving before dessert or those last few cups of coffee. And in our defense, a lot of people at our atmosphere gigs have given positive feedback, left tips, bought CDs, or signed up for our mailing list.
That said, consider this an open apology to all those we've annoyed.
Chris and I were eating at Applebee's, chosen for its close proximity to our ultimate destination, the movie theater. The restaurant's background music was fairly eclectic, jumping from UB40 to George Thorogood. Every now and again we'd comment on the playlist; largely we ignored it.
All was well until something came on that neither of us quite recognized. Some artist we had never heard before. Someone who ... wasn't very good, actually.
Realization dawned. It was karaoke night.
We did our best to resume the conversation, but we were thwarted at every turn. What the singers lacked in skill, they made up for in volume. Even the ones who weren't half bad managed to be annoying somehow.
We left without ordering dessert.
* * *
The uncomfortable part? As we griped about how we could hardly hear each other, I remembered all the people who have asked Cinder Bridge to turn down over the years. The coffeehouse goers who came to talk to each other and didn't care for live music enhancing the atmosphere.
In our defense, we don't go to these places intending to get in the patrons' faces. If somebody hires us to play, we assume they have a pretty good handle on what their customers like—they don't want people leaving before dessert or those last few cups of coffee. And in our defense, a lot of people at our atmosphere gigs have given positive feedback, left tips, bought CDs, or signed up for our mailing list.
That said, consider this an open apology to all those we've annoyed.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Atmosphere etiquette, part 2
I couldn't do this kind of gig, confessed Sweet Jane, a musician who had come to hear us play.
I wasn't sure what she meant. We were about halfway through a Cottage Bakery performance, taking a break, and as far as I could tell everything was going swimmingly.
She couldn't play in a coffeehouse or a bar, she explained. Anyplace where all the people were talking to each other instead of listening to the music. It felt so disrespectful.
Ah. Yes. I sympathize with that point of view. Personally, I try to keep the socializing to a minimum when I see other musicians. I know how disheartening it can be when we pour our hearts and souls into the music, and our audience barely notices we're there.
But I don't agree with the "disrespectful" part.
Context is everything. If all the chairs are pointed toward the band, no one is serving drinks or snacks, and the people around you are focusing intently on the music, then you're expected to uphold certain standards of behavior.
Clapping to the beat or singing along is fine. A spontaneous and heartfelt "WOO!" after a particularly good solo will contribute to the overall energy and make the band happy. But you shouldn't engage in extended conversation with the friend sitting next to you, and you need to make damn sure your cell phone is turned off.
An atmosphere gig is another animal.
People in coffeehouses or bars aren't there for the music. They go to have a coffee or beer while hanging out with buddies, doing homework, reading a book, whatever. They might not even have known there would be music until someone started playing. The live band is there to enhance the experience. That's all.
There are gradations of atmosphere-ness, of course. Sometimes people do go to these places to see the band. But not to the exclusion of everything else. Many of them want to spend time with their friends, maybe see if they can meet any attractive men/women, and they want to do that where the good music is.
If you're a musician and you don't want to work under those conditions, that's a perfectly reasonable choice. But if you're in, you're in. You understand that your job is to be part of the atmosphere, period. If any of the patrons or passersby listen or groove along—as they did at last night's Cottage Bakery gig—that's great. That's frosting.
But they're allowed to ignore you. They're allowed to do whatever they came to do. As long as they're not heckling you or throwing things in your direction, they're not being disrespectful.
Because they aren't there for you. You're there for them.
I wasn't sure what she meant. We were about halfway through a Cottage Bakery performance, taking a break, and as far as I could tell everything was going swimmingly.
She couldn't play in a coffeehouse or a bar, she explained. Anyplace where all the people were talking to each other instead of listening to the music. It felt so disrespectful.
Ah. Yes. I sympathize with that point of view. Personally, I try to keep the socializing to a minimum when I see other musicians. I know how disheartening it can be when we pour our hearts and souls into the music, and our audience barely notices we're there.
But I don't agree with the "disrespectful" part.
Context is everything. If all the chairs are pointed toward the band, no one is serving drinks or snacks, and the people around you are focusing intently on the music, then you're expected to uphold certain standards of behavior.
Clapping to the beat or singing along is fine. A spontaneous and heartfelt "WOO!" after a particularly good solo will contribute to the overall energy and make the band happy. But you shouldn't engage in extended conversation with the friend sitting next to you, and you need to make damn sure your cell phone is turned off.
An atmosphere gig is another animal.
People in coffeehouses or bars aren't there for the music. They go to have a coffee or beer while hanging out with buddies, doing homework, reading a book, whatever. They might not even have known there would be music until someone started playing. The live band is there to enhance the experience. That's all.
There are gradations of atmosphere-ness, of course. Sometimes people do go to these places to see the band. But not to the exclusion of everything else. Many of them want to spend time with their friends, maybe see if they can meet any attractive men/women, and they want to do that where the good music is.
If you're a musician and you don't want to work under those conditions, that's a perfectly reasonable choice. But if you're in, you're in. You understand that your job is to be part of the atmosphere, period. If any of the patrons or passersby listen or groove along—as they did at last night's Cottage Bakery gig—that's great. That's frosting.
But they're allowed to ignore you. They're allowed to do whatever they came to do. As long as they're not heckling you or throwing things in your direction, they're not being disrespectful.
Because they aren't there for you. You're there for them.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Atmosphere etiquette
I arrived at the J-Bar about half an hour into Amber Norgaard's set. As her music wafted into the lobby, I told the friendly hostess that I'd like to sit on the patio, where she was playing.
"Oh," she said. "Do you have reservations? There's a half hour wait."
Oops.
The last time I saw Amber perform here was a year or so ago. I came alone, sat at a small table, listened, ate good food, and generally chilled. Without thinking about it, I had assumed tonight would go pretty much the same, except that Ron the Drummer would be there too. I hadn't expected a crowd.
Fortunately, Ron had arrived far ahead of me. Also fortunately, a large table of Amber's friends and admirers had invited Ron to sit with them as he waited for a table. They graciously scootched over and made room for me too.
And then came the inevitable dilemma: I never know how to behave at atmosphere gigs when I'm with other people.
See, I know how it feels to perform at these things. You understand that your audience won't be paying much attention to the music. You accept that. But you also rejoice when people come to see you and listen to you. So when I'm the one in the audience, I like to focus on the artist or band I came to hear.
On the other hand, if I'm part of a group, I feel like I'm expected to socialize. Everyone else is. I don't want to be rude.
I ended up spending half the time listening to Amber and the other half attempting to be social. "Being social" in this case mostly meant directing my gaze at my tablemates and trying to follow the conversations -- somewhat difficult, as I couldn't hear anyone except Ron and the woman to my left, and then only when they spoke directly to me. Still, I hoped I was being sufficiently attentive to everyone involved.
Not until I came home did it occur to me that I was way overthinking this. Nobody else was paying attention to what I was paying attention to. Maybe I should've just done whatever I wanted.
Am I the only person who gives two seconds of thought to this kind of thing?
"Oh," she said. "Do you have reservations? There's a half hour wait."
Oops.
The last time I saw Amber perform here was a year or so ago. I came alone, sat at a small table, listened, ate good food, and generally chilled. Without thinking about it, I had assumed tonight would go pretty much the same, except that Ron the Drummer would be there too. I hadn't expected a crowd.
Fortunately, Ron had arrived far ahead of me. Also fortunately, a large table of Amber's friends and admirers had invited Ron to sit with them as he waited for a table. They graciously scootched over and made room for me too.
And then came the inevitable dilemma: I never know how to behave at atmosphere gigs when I'm with other people.
See, I know how it feels to perform at these things. You understand that your audience won't be paying much attention to the music. You accept that. But you also rejoice when people come to see you and listen to you. So when I'm the one in the audience, I like to focus on the artist or band I came to hear.
On the other hand, if I'm part of a group, I feel like I'm expected to socialize. Everyone else is. I don't want to be rude.
I ended up spending half the time listening to Amber and the other half attempting to be social. "Being social" in this case mostly meant directing my gaze at my tablemates and trying to follow the conversations -- somewhat difficult, as I couldn't hear anyone except Ron and the woman to my left, and then only when they spoke directly to me. Still, I hoped I was being sufficiently attentive to everyone involved.
Not until I came home did it occur to me that I was way overthinking this. Nobody else was paying attention to what I was paying attention to. Maybe I should've just done whatever I wanted.
Am I the only person who gives two seconds of thought to this kind of thing?
Monday, July 13, 2009
Delayed response
A few people came to see us at Old Town Artisans on Saturday, including one of the musicians from the previous Z Mansion gig. I considered that an excellent turnout given that we had very little time to promote. But the last of our crowd left in the middle of our second set. That left the people who were there for a going-away party.
We kicked into atmosphere gig mode. That is, we continued to put as much energy into the songs as we could, but otherwise left our audience alone, keeping the talk-up to a minimum. Following each song came a slight pause, followed by brief, polite applause. The kind that acknowledges that the song has ended, and that's about it. I had no idea if they liked us, hated us, or even noticed us.
As we were packing up, though, a few people approached and thanked us for being there. They said the music had added something to their little gathering.
They'll never know how much we appreciated that. It's easy to tell if a listening audience digs you. When you're playing for people who came to socialize, it's harder to figure out if you're successfully enhancing the atmosphere.
We kicked into atmosphere gig mode. That is, we continued to put as much energy into the songs as we could, but otherwise left our audience alone, keeping the talk-up to a minimum. Following each song came a slight pause, followed by brief, polite applause. The kind that acknowledges that the song has ended, and that's about it. I had no idea if they liked us, hated us, or even noticed us.
As we were packing up, though, a few people approached and thanked us for being there. They said the music had added something to their little gathering.
They'll never know how much we appreciated that. It's easy to tell if a listening audience digs you. When you're playing for people who came to socialize, it's harder to figure out if you're successfully enhancing the atmosphere.
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