Positively Miserable

Last night I played a show with a group of guys that makes up something like a band, though not enough of a band to have a name (we went by Delta Dawn, the name my boyfriend and I have used with the last few assortments of people we have played with), and not enough of a band to have played all of our songs together before the show.

Our bass player had missed the last three of the four practices we had planned to do as a group for the show. Even before he missed the practices he was the weak link in my mind, and had an injured thumb to boot, so he didn’t even play much at the one practice he did make. But he had set up the gig, and despite being invisible when we practiced, he is a persistent dude when it comes to getting in on a music group.

When he slid into the house at the end of the last practice, the night before the show, I wished that he hadn’t shown up at all. I didn’t want him to play with us at the show, and I didn’t know how to tell him that. Not only because I’m generally averse to hurting people’s feelings, but also because he is also a part of the environmental group I coordinate and cleans my office at work, so I know it’s going to come back and bite me if we don’t get along.

So I beat around the bush. I invited him into the living room and offered him some tea and freshly baked cookies (courtesy of the roommate). He didn’t seem eager to join the guys practicing, so I took the opportunity to tell him that it was a concern that he hadn’t been there for the practices. He replied that he knew the songs and I shouldn’t worry about him. He looked tired, as usual. His eyes were only half open and his toque hid only some of his tangled, matted curls. But he smiled and passed off my concerns as unwarranted. He licked his fingers and sat back in the couch telling me that he had really needed a break this weekend and while relaxing had found a position that he could play his bass in that didn’t hurt his thumb.

I admitted that that was cool, but brought up the fact that at the practices he had missed the rest of us had changed and practiced things like how many verses to do, and how to finish the songs. He looked at me with a straight face and said, “you think I’m going to mess up.” Exactly! But I didn’t admit it so clearly. Instead I said, “I just don’t think you know how we’re going to play the songs.” Yes. Yes, I think you’re going to mess up.

Well he smiled and stood up and told me again not to worry, and went to say hi to the guys who were packing up for the night. The next day as we’re warming I go through the list of songs to make the order for the set list. I talk it over with the guys and we agree that we should play our strongest songs after we are introduced by the MC, but one of the ones we generally agree upon as our best, the bass player hasn’t played before. He has the chords written out on a sheet of paper at his feet, and I tell him that he’ll just have to turn down his volume for that song.
Warming up, our guitar player tells him that his bass line sounded really good, and he responds with, “thanks, my ego really needs that right now.” I was sitting a few metres away copying out the set list for everyone and pretended not to hear. But I made the mental note that I had been running down his confidence, and knew that that wasn’t going to have a positive effect on him, the show, or myself.

The show ran as expected, or even worse. I sang a full song not knowing my mike was turned off, the sound was that bad. The bass player might have played some good sounding notes in the quiet song that he hadn’t played before, but if he did, I missed them. Fortunately the crowd could have fit in my living room. After the mayor got up to do his thing, the room emptied except for three people who continued to chat, and when we played another song they stepped outside so they could hear one another.


In Poznan, every time Ben and I walked out to do a show we were un-rehearsed, and I was the weak link. Ben could pull a comedy act from up his sleeve no matter how sleep deprived he was. I spent a full day writing funny lyrics for a song that nobody laughed at. But no matter how last minute our routine was, how many people were missing at the start of the show, or how poorly received our jokes were, Ben was eternally positive and optimistic, with a “this is going to be great!” as we emerged from our stairwell changing room, and a “great job!” for everyone at the end. He would start out all suggestions for improvement with a big smile and a, “The last show was awesome. People loved it! For this next one…” Ben made everyone involved with the show feel good about the show and good about themselves. And I know that I was a better performer those weeks because of it.

I did the opposite this past week with the bass player – telling him that I didn’t think he would be able to play the songs, never giving a word of encouragement or offering a helpful suggestion. I affected the whole feeling of our group ad of our show by not believing in him or supporting him. Knowing that we were going to play the show together, I could have talked him and the show up, and suggested that he take a break during the quiet song, to bring some variety to the set, and because it’s tricky for someone who hasn’t played it before. I could have brought a positive feeling to the group and to the show, which would have made it a more enjoyable experience for us and our audience, regardless of what the bass player was playing.