Africa
Keyboard on guitar
Sometimes I have to do that
Educational
The always amazing Brian Villalobos started the #sitcomonologuechallenge by posting 4 great videos of dramatic readings of sitcom theme songs. Here is my contribution. Channeling my best Quint from Jaws to tell a tale of woe from the seas.
“Fear is the mind killer.”
– Frank Herbert, Dune
“On second thought , let’s not go to Camelot. ‘Tis a silly place.”
– King Arthur, Monty Python And The Holy Grail
A friend gave my name to someone who was looking for a musician to play acoustic and sing in the courtyard of the condo complex she managed. She contacted me about it, and I told her that I’d love to do it, but it might have to be a little later as allergies have been wrecking my voice.
Now this is absolutely true. But it was also a convenient excuse. An excuse because the truth is that somewhere in me I was scared of doing this gig. Now, if you know me at all, then you are probably thinking the same thing that I was thinking at myself: “That’s ridiculous. This is not only one of your careers, but also one of the things you feel is your reason for existing. One of the things that makes you feel completely in your element, fulfilled and like your truest, brightest self. Why would you possibly be scared?”
Because fear is stupid but almost ever-present. It is the root of almost all negativity in one form or another. Yes I am a professional musician and I love it, but my usual element is playing with bands or recording. I haven’t done much solo playing in a long, long time. I love working with others and being a part of a team. When it’s just me I feel so much more exposed and vulnerable. I feared because I hadn’t been honing my solo act, that I wouldn’t have enough good material to play 90 minutes. That my real voice problems would make me perform at unacceptable (to me) levels. That people in this complex would not want music foisted upon them. That they would not like my song selection. one would be too obscure and no one would know it. The next would be too cliche and played out. There were infinite reasons to not do this gig. All of them, ridiculous for the most part.
Just picking songs that I do with bands and could do solo would be far more than enough material. Yes my voice isn’t 100% but it’s probably not noticeable to anyone other than me. Every song will be loved by some and hated by others, it’s the nature of art which is totally subjective. In this time of being quarantined at home, most people would probably love a little music in their lives. Were my fears completely unfounded? No, they were within the realm of possibility mostly, but pretty far fetched and unlikely.
I had referred her a couple of friends’ names as possibilities as well (she had someone who was supposed to play tomorrow flake out on her at the last minute). In the end, I messaged her and said that if she needed me tomorrow, I could do it. It still scares me. I still find that ludicrous as well. But most importantly, I don’t want to live and make decisions based on fear. Especially when it keeps me from doing something I’ve meant to do and wanted to do for as long as I can remember, which is actually get my solo act going.
And this is how we arrive at my Dune/Monty Python quote mashup: “Fear is the mind killer. Tis a silly place.”
So here’s something extremely silly I did. I used to work with the Paramount Story Wranglers which is an AWESOME group that goes to elementary schools and teaches kids about writing stories, then takes the CRAZY stories they writes and turns them into skits and songs for a show that the Story Wranglers perform at their school.
For one of the shows, I took one group’s story about Salvador Dali and turned it into a song. Tonight while looking for something else, I found the demo I had made of the song so we could learn it for the show, and decided that it needed the full production treatment to be a finished song. I wish I knew the elementary kids to credit for writing this story.
I am Salvador Dali, that is my name
I practice and I practice for my art
I want to be a painter of extraordinary fame
But my art room is a mess and I guess that makes it hardIt makes me oh so mad, that I can’t paint
I feel I’m not the person for this craft
Maybe mom and dad can help with my complaint
And help with brainstorming ideas and maybe painting a first draftSo we drove to a museum filled with other people’s art
Just so I could see ’em, get ideas of where to start
That’s when I saw a flyer and I found myself obsessed
It said “Want to become famous? Join the Art Museum Contest!”I went back to my art room and I painted and I painted
I sent it to the contest, it was done
And when I told my parents the good news, they nearly fainted
My painting didn’t win 1st place, but 2nd place I won!I told myself no matter how my painting looks
There’s one thing more important than the rest
Regardless if my name ends up in history books
At least I’ll know that I tried my best!
I previously wrote about how sometimes I want to express something and yet simultaneously don’t necessarily want a lot of attention on it and so this rarely (if ever) visited website is a perfect medium in some ways.
Sometimes, a little snippet of poetry (though for some reason, I hesitate to call it that) comes to my mind. It always feels a bit strange writing poetry or lyrics about modern things like texts or social media. I’m not sure why. I guess, art feels so ancient and powerful and it feels strange or somehow shallow or dumb to write about that stuff, though I know that’s ridiculous. We live in a modern age and art can express anything we want it to, so why should modern subject be any less valid or meaningful?
Anyway, if this is about you, I apologize. I checked my analytics and I’m fairly positive the subject that inspired this mental snippet on my walk tonight never comes to this site, so I don’t think there’s any risk of guilt or poking sore places.
Do you ever secretly hope it’s me?
Do you feel a phantom vibration and reach for it, somewhere deep in the electricity of your brain, the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs, hoping to see my name?
A faint, strongly denied and resisted flicker of desire to see the combination of letters representing my being on one of your digital avenues?
Or have you really so thoroughly deleted me from your neurons that not a single synapse fires on my behalf any longer?
Null.