After months of Facebook lurking on the Catawba Coffee Songwriters Series, I made it to one as a performer. This coffeeshop is nestled in downtown Mount Holly NC, a small town on the west side of the Catawba River. A great cat named Douglass Thompson organizes these events every Friday and Saturday. Pretty much all of the NC songwriters have passed though these doors at some point over the last couple of years. The shop is tiny for such an event and performers play completely unplugged, a style that takes me back to the early/mid-nineties when I didn't own a PA and coffee houses didn't let you use one.
I arrived an hour early due to my expedient exit from Charlotte in hopes of avoiding rush hour traffic, which I mostly did until I passed 485 and neared the river. I ordered a soy cappuccino and kicked back as a light rain pattered on the sidewalk outside. Eventually one of the performers and an old acquaintance Don Eidman showed up. We commenced talking about music stuff and set the room up for the performance by moving a few pieces of furniture to make the stage area against the storefront window facing Main Street. Next the other performer Jay Coriher showed up and we fit in with Don and me right away, making jokes and pulling out his harp rack. Wow, three dudes with harp racks! Rare in these times.
As I had noticed in previous pics and videos of this series, the other players freely jam along with your songs, usually playing tasteful leads or even comping chords if the are good. This show was no different, and the guys played leads and harp licks along with my songs so I jumped in doing the same. Thankfully, these cats were tasteful players who knew when to lay in and when to let you sing. We made some really great music for the people who came to the show or those who were just stopping by for coffee. I see why this has become such a popular stop on the local songwriter circuit.
After and hour, we took a break and Louis Beeler, a long time acoustic guy that actually has used the monkey The Acoustic Guy for years in addition to being the founder and operator of the Tiny Stage video series, played a few songs using my guitar. Then we resumed the songwriters swap and played for another hour. The jams intensified to the point it seemed like we were a trio. Fist bumps abounded and we retired the guitars and all went our own ways. What a great night! I can't wait to return.
Sunday, June 9, 2019
5/14/19 Tommy's Second Tuesday Songwriter Night
Two weeks ago I answered a Facebook post from Mark, the booking guy at Tommy's Pub, which sought singer-songwriters to play the Second Tuesday Songwriter Night. Mark gave me a choice of slots and I took the earliest one at 8:00. I knew this meant some of the other players and their friends wouldn't all be there at the beginning, but I like playing early and I tried to get the word out to people I thought would come. I had 6 friends come out, and when they joined the people already parked on barstools, Tommy's seemed crowded, although more people showed up after I played.
I experimented by bringing a typical acoustic electric guitar rather than one of my "fine" guitars that have after-market pickups installed in them. I also used a reverb pedal. The sound was at least as good as my nicer guitars and the concert body was easy going for performing. It was also nice to have a guitar that was not as expensive in case anything undesirable occured. That said, I really like my Martin dreadnought guitar. At this point I felt unsure about my future choices in performing with various acoustic guitars, but at least I had confirmed that the sound will be pretty good no matter what guitar I use. Interestingly, 3 other songwriters used concert bodied Martins of different degrees of quality, the worst being the woman whose battery was failing in her preamp.
I played the songs that I felt were right for the barroom venue, which included Drinking a Beer, Get My Kicks, Wooden Porch, Briar Creek Blues, and Sitting on My Back Porch. People clapped, a couple of songwriters paid careful attention, and my friends enjoyed the set. I screwed up a few chord changes but rolled with it as if they were correct. I even uploaded my videos from the show, mistakes and all, because I thought the ice was good enough to justify posting them despite the irregularities.
I stuck around for the whole show, watching the different approaches to song craft and performing. One guy, a well-known Charlotte luthier played an acoustic electric lap steel guitar, another performer played songs he write 30 years ago in high school with newly minted lyrics, and a well-known former venue owner played as a humble performer after years of denying my friends the opportunity to play her club. I met a cool dude who was the final performer and avid open mic'er in town. He gave me the skinny about various songwriter events and acoustic open mics.
I had fun and managed to complete my 3 week stretch of 3 shows while suffering from severe laryngitis. None of the shows featured my best singing, but the fact that I could sing at all seemed a miracle. I left satisfied and ready for some serious vocal rest before the June shows.
I experimented by bringing a typical acoustic electric guitar rather than one of my "fine" guitars that have after-market pickups installed in them. I also used a reverb pedal. The sound was at least as good as my nicer guitars and the concert body was easy going for performing. It was also nice to have a guitar that was not as expensive in case anything undesirable occured. That said, I really like my Martin dreadnought guitar. At this point I felt unsure about my future choices in performing with various acoustic guitars, but at least I had confirmed that the sound will be pretty good no matter what guitar I use. Interestingly, 3 other songwriters used concert bodied Martins of different degrees of quality, the worst being the woman whose battery was failing in her preamp.
I played the songs that I felt were right for the barroom venue, which included Drinking a Beer, Get My Kicks, Wooden Porch, Briar Creek Blues, and Sitting on My Back Porch. People clapped, a couple of songwriters paid careful attention, and my friends enjoyed the set. I screwed up a few chord changes but rolled with it as if they were correct. I even uploaded my videos from the show, mistakes and all, because I thought the ice was good enough to justify posting them despite the irregularities.
I stuck around for the whole show, watching the different approaches to song craft and performing. One guy, a well-known Charlotte luthier played an acoustic electric lap steel guitar, another performer played songs he write 30 years ago in high school with newly minted lyrics, and a well-known former venue owner played as a humble performer after years of denying my friends the opportunity to play her club. I met a cool dude who was the final performer and avid open mic'er in town. He gave me the skinny about various songwriter events and acoustic open mics.
I had fun and managed to complete my 3 week stretch of 3 shows while suffering from severe laryngitis. None of the shows featured my best singing, but the fact that I could sing at all seemed a miracle. I left satisfied and ready for some serious vocal rest before the June shows.
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
5/9/19 Summit Songwriter Showcase
Man, it was really cool to return to the Summit after all these years to play Rob McHale's Summit Songwriters Showcase. I met Rob at this venue back in 2006 when the Summit held an open mic. At the time it was the best open mic in the area and the coffee house was on its way to becoming a great alternative yet mainstay venue in downtown Davidson. Fast forward to tonight and Rob is ten years into hosting a songwriters showcase at a now classic cafe and venue in the college town. The old outdoor stage has been improved into a top quality covered stage worthy of an arts center or town bandshell. The upstairs listening room now has a professional stage. Tonight we were were inside due to an early rain shower.
The bill was Rob, myself, and a local singer songwriter named Adam Reid Wilson. I sat in the middle and was thus bookended by two powerful pickers and singers. All three of us played in different styles, all deliberately crafted for acoustic presentation. It has been awhile since I played with dedicated folk singers and it was inspiring. I had not forgotten Rob's powerful delivery with his de tuned hybrid picking and baritone voice. Adam's music impressed me on this first listen. He sang his heartfelt and spiritual songs that were spiritual insights based on personal reflection and experience. I took the opportunity to tell stories about the songs, and this really helped me open up to the audience and they responded with attention. I thought I told really good introductions about the songs and liked my easy going narration. I didn't realize how my 15 years of college teaching had improved my public speaking. I've always told stories well, but now I feel like I can control the focus and tease out the parts that matter to specific audiences. I happened to play several hometown themed songs which allowed me to share my thoughts on living in my own hometown, including actual tales of people I knew and accounts of my own experiences. I played more upbeat songs than the other two writers who were more like each other than me. Their resonant finger picking and polished vocals contrasted with my country strumming and rock-country-blues singing. Despite the variance, my songs belonged on the stage because we all drew from the same tradition of American songwriting, just in different ways. I pitched Cds for myself and Rob and while I didn't succeed in selling any, I did get folks to contribute to the collective tip jar.
In terms of gear and sound, the other two performers had a better guitar sound than me. Rob has a finer guitar than me but my guitar was at least as good as Adam's. The difference was in their pickups and preamps. I've struggled to have a good sound with my pickup for awhile. I seem to be able to get it right when I do my own sound, but apparently it needs more tweaking than other systems because I never achieved the deep, natural tone of the other two, thought by the end of the show I'd dialed it in pretty good. My low output pickup cause me to crank the preamp gain and then I have to be careful about the bass to avoid monitor feedback. During the soundcheck, I had a good sound through the mains but the monitors continued to sound shallow and brittle. The combination of the two split the difference, leaving me with a thinner sound than I like. I don't know what Shure mics were onstage, but the had a different directionality than most Shure mics. At first, I had the mic placed below my lips to allow me to lean in on it from above, but I eventually noticed I was getting a thing sound. I watched Adam singing straight into his so I moved mine so it was directly facing my mouth and it projected my voice more dramatically. The sound man may have changed the tone as the show went on. Somehow, my vocal mic got better in the second half.
Before I knew it, the show was over, we were packing up and shaking hands. I stuck around to help Rob load out. Then it was time to walk back to my car and drive back to Charlotte. Rob and I chatted out front for a few and then I kicked it down I 77 to the big city.
Thursday, May 9, 2019
5/3/19 Oasis Fresh Market
Back at Oasis, which has become a staple gig for me regardless of the kind of music I play there. I first played Oasis with Bert Wray Blues (band). We did 5 shows over the course of a year. Then in March I played a solo acoustic show inside the market. This time I was back for a Friday night on the patio with my PA.
On arrival I expected to find a bluegrass jam that was happening between 5-6 before I was to go on at 6:30 with my show. The jam never happened an older cat with a washtub bass and a big hat was sitting on a chair outside the market. My preternatural senses told me that he was the only person to show up for the jam and that he was hoping to jam with me. Onside, Jackie confirmed that this was the case, so I asked her if he was any good to which she confirmed that he was pretty skilled at playing the homemade instrument. SO with a sigh I went out and arranged for him to sit in with me, and I even used a Sure 57 mic to amplify his playing a bit. It turned our that he was pretty good and could tune the notes with a lever. Just by ear he played 1-4-5 type blues and rags pretty sweet. ON the slower more melodic songs it was a bit weird sounding. Eventually he got bored after about 12 songs and split. I took the opportunity to switch to my 12 string Guild which I'd brought along for nostalgia and simply because it had been so long since it had seen a gig. It really takes me back to the Frederick MD coffeeshop days when I would play it around Maryland, PA, and West Virginia.
My guitar playing was good, especially the strumming. I ran the sound real low and created a nice tone for the guitar. I put a touch of reverb on the vocals and set the mic volume to where I could sing a bit away from the screen--the EV mic does this well. I remembered 95% of the lyrics to the 24 songs on the list. A couple of songs featured mashed up choruses or mangled lines in the versus. I captured some good videos of the music by setting the tripod up low in the performing area and using the selfie camera so I could monitor the view.
The audience was small but a few appreciative people were watching through every some. There was a nice outside vibe with the sky a mix of blue and puffy clouds, the shopfronts of Chatham Street and the cool murals on the walls of Oasis. A humid breeze blew across the market grounds. One older couple who were traveling around watched 3/4 of the show, funding bottle of ice cold water from the market. They even gave me one. At one point the man, a big, long-bearded dude, thanked me for doing all my own songs. he said it allows the artist to get into it more and he digs it. I needed to hear that as it gets hard playing the same catalog of original songs when many people just don't want to take the chance on your songs. Writing my own music begins with making it for myself, but there is always an audience in mind, and without some positive connections it can tax the artistic spirit. So thank you bearded-one for your kind comments. A few people drifted in and out alone as they had some food or drink form Oasis. Another couple settled in and watched the second set. It was a quiet night for Oasis and Siler City except for the music that I played. The recent artistic movement in downtown Siler City is inspirational and I always wish it and its purveyors the best.
On arrival I expected to find a bluegrass jam that was happening between 5-6 before I was to go on at 6:30 with my show. The jam never happened an older cat with a washtub bass and a big hat was sitting on a chair outside the market. My preternatural senses told me that he was the only person to show up for the jam and that he was hoping to jam with me. Onside, Jackie confirmed that this was the case, so I asked her if he was any good to which she confirmed that he was pretty skilled at playing the homemade instrument. SO with a sigh I went out and arranged for him to sit in with me, and I even used a Sure 57 mic to amplify his playing a bit. It turned our that he was pretty good and could tune the notes with a lever. Just by ear he played 1-4-5 type blues and rags pretty sweet. ON the slower more melodic songs it was a bit weird sounding. Eventually he got bored after about 12 songs and split. I took the opportunity to switch to my 12 string Guild which I'd brought along for nostalgia and simply because it had been so long since it had seen a gig. It really takes me back to the Frederick MD coffeeshop days when I would play it around Maryland, PA, and West Virginia.
My guitar playing was good, especially the strumming. I ran the sound real low and created a nice tone for the guitar. I put a touch of reverb on the vocals and set the mic volume to where I could sing a bit away from the screen--the EV mic does this well. I remembered 95% of the lyrics to the 24 songs on the list. A couple of songs featured mashed up choruses or mangled lines in the versus. I captured some good videos of the music by setting the tripod up low in the performing area and using the selfie camera so I could monitor the view.
The audience was small but a few appreciative people were watching through every some. There was a nice outside vibe with the sky a mix of blue and puffy clouds, the shopfronts of Chatham Street and the cool murals on the walls of Oasis. A humid breeze blew across the market grounds. One older couple who were traveling around watched 3/4 of the show, funding bottle of ice cold water from the market. They even gave me one. At one point the man, a big, long-bearded dude, thanked me for doing all my own songs. he said it allows the artist to get into it more and he digs it. I needed to hear that as it gets hard playing the same catalog of original songs when many people just don't want to take the chance on your songs. Writing my own music begins with making it for myself, but there is always an audience in mind, and without some positive connections it can tax the artistic spirit. So thank you bearded-one for your kind comments. A few people drifted in and out alone as they had some food or drink form Oasis. Another couple settled in and watched the second set. It was a quiet night for Oasis and Siler City except for the music that I played. The recent artistic movement in downtown Siler City is inspirational and I always wish it and its purveyors the best.
Sunday, March 3, 2019
3/1/19 Oasis Fresh Market
Bert Wray
Oasis Fresh Market
Siler City NC
Warning folks, this is an especially long journal entry due to the fact that this was my first folk show in quite a few years and represents a special evening for me as I have decided to revive this important aspect of my musical endeavors.
Tonight I returned to playing solo acoustic. There was no better place to do this than the Oasis Fresh Market in Siler City NC. Downtown Siler City is being revitalized as an arts district, and the epicenter is the Oasis. Jackie Adams has created an outdoor event space and art vendor's market as well as an indoor deli, restaurant, and food market. She hosts live music in both spaces. I first played the Oasis with Bert Wray Blues (blues band) in the outdoor market area. This time I brought my solo acoustic folk music show to the inside market for an intimate sit-down performance to some very kind and receptive locals.
Just like a coffee shop show, I set up up against a wall. At shows like this, an artist is sandwiched between a rack of mugs and a bookshelf, or in this case, between an entrance and a shelf of natural food. I liked the corrugated steel flashing that covered the wall behind me, giving a farm/industrial character to the performance "stage." So I set up my guitar stand, my new Fender concert-body cutaway acoustic guitar, and put my top jar on the floor. Jackie wanted me to play totally acoustic without amplification so I didn't set up a mic or anything. More about the gear later in this journal entry.
Also like a coffeeshop show, this performance only had a few spectators at the start. They were not necessarily there to see me sing and strum, but they were gracious and polite as I eased into a long set that would last from 4:30-7:00. When a band starts up in a sparsely filled room, at least you have the bandmates. When a solo artists does so, it can be daunting even for the most seasoned artist. In this situation, without any microphone and the patrons chatting away about their day and local topics, I felt imposing by even striking a chord on my guitar much less telling them a story or introducing a song. While this wasn't stage fright, I was timid about interrupting the daily flow of a local gathering space. So with a deep breath, I finally launched into the first song "Coming Down to See You."
My setlist featured only original songs that I have written on and for acoustic guitar. As I strummed through verses, I found my self consciously reaching into my memory to get the lyrics right, mostly because some of these songs date back to the 80s and 90s. While I have played them hundreds, possibly even 1000 times, it had been awhile since I had played a solo acoustic folk music show. I'd played solo acoustic "blues sets" quite a few times over the last 4 years, but it had been since 2007 since I'd played a true folk set. So in more than a few ways, this show was a presentation of "Bert Wray remembering his folk song catalog." Of course I practiced before the show, but sometimes old songs can be very tricky to remember.
When I finished the first tune, I could hear the local conversations chugging along. At shows like this there is sometimes no applause or recognition that you are even playing. You are background music. Usually at some point the focus turns to the performer, but it can take some time for the room to orient towards the artistry. In fact my first true spectator was a little girl who skipped in with her older brother, sister, and mother. She had a T-shirt with some saying about magic. . . "We make magic together". . . or something like that. She couldn't stop watching me play the music and even started swaying ad raising her arms during certain moments of the songs. Over the first 30 minutes the room filled up with people there to get a quick dinner or an after-work glass of wine. I began to think that I needed to connect with these people by offering a story. I also began to think that I need to get to direct their attention to the tip jar before they left. Out of practice at these two intimate but important moments of a folk show, I hesitated on both counts. Finally I saw my opening when, in-between songs, I heard someone praising the health qualities of tree nuts. That was my chance to pipe in about how many almonds I eat as a strict vegetarian. This turned out to be the perfect moment to remind them that I was there to interact with the audience even as I provided background music for their local gathering spot.
The very next song received a round of applause. I told a story about the next song. Things were getting back to folk-normal. While this would have been a good chance to "pass thee hat" (bring attention to the tip jar) I felt like their attention was payment enough and I humbly kept playing and did not go commercial on them. Haha. Songs kept rolling on and some got applause and some were truly background music. After a gentle version of "Jordan River," a song I wrote in 1999 while living in Frederick MD and playing folk music with Keith Jones in central MD and eastern WV, the owner of the Oasis listened carefully and offered a compliment. While I was smiling and appreciating the connection, some of the diners were standing up to leave. I saw the last chance to get a tip from them but I didn't say anything out of a sheepish reluctance to beg for money. Luckily I saw people parallel parking in several spots on the street and heading towards the front door of the Oasis. The second wave of people were there.
Through the ancient storefront window I could see the sky darkening as nighttime took over. Jackie dimmed the market's lights, creating a more pleasant vibe. One of the new visitors had a banjo case in his hand, and I realized that there was going to be a moment in which he asked to play with me at some point. Let me say this about impromptu accompaniment at folk shows: it happens, it can be wonderful, but it is often a derailing of the careful art that the performer has prepared. On one hand I don't like it and on the other hand I realize that it is yet another intimate way you can connect with an audience member. Folk music shows at coffeehouses, markets, open mics, and street corners depend on simple, special moments of individual connections between two people at a time. So I resolved to face the impending collaboration with a positive attitude. In fact I was already imagining which song I might play with this guy.
After playing a few more songs I was getting a round of applause after each tune from the 15 people in the room. This was my moment to pass the hat, or in my case, the coffee can. I stood up with my guitar in one hand and my tip jar in the other and bellowed to the audience, "I am gonna go total New York City on y'all and pass my tip jar around the room, any coins you can drop in will go a long way towards gas, guitar stings, harmonicas, and coffee!" A man took it from my hand and pulled out his wallet and the Folgers can made its way around the room. When it landed before me on a table I could see some bills including a $20 sticking up out of the top. Sweet.
Funny thing is that the tip jar moment was the tipping point in capturing the audience's complete attention. It was also the time in which the banjo guy, a tall gentleman with a curled (possibly waxed) mustache, came up and let me know he only wanted to play one song with me after he had a little wine first. He mentioned that he hoped we would play "Wagon Wheel" by the Old Crow Medicine Show. I quickly admitted I didn't know the lyrics or music well enough to play it, and he countered by telling me he had the chords and lyrics printed on paper. I then had to explain that I did not generally play cover songs. He relented and said, well let's just play one of yours. Man, that song "Wagon Wheel" presents a real conundrum for folk players. It is easily the "Freebird" of folk music, causing the performer to decide between pleasing the audience with one of their favorite songs and sticking to your artistry and playing the one's you wrote. Add the fact that Bob Dylan wrote part of it and the pressure builds. I was proud about sticking to my resolve to play only my own tunes and avoiding a sloppy and uninspired version of me learning a cover in front of an audience. I am sure they can stream "Wagon Wheel" from their vehicles on the way home anyway.
The audience listened carefully and I told stories to introduce the songs. I mentioned the different locales I'd lived in, the places where I'd written or played the songs over the years, and someone eventually yelled, "Are you wanted in any of these states?" I retorted, "Only in North Carolina because that is where my family is!" I heard a lady respond, "Good answer!" OK, this is what an intimate folk music performance is all about. After about 30 songs had been played and 12 minutes were left in my show time, I invited the banjo guy, named David, up for a jam. I replayed "Coming Down to See You," which is perfectly suited for the banjo, and David plucked along clawhammer-style and added that mountain stream sound to the song. It was a nice moment and I let him play along for an countrified version of "Mean Maryland Blues," and a reprise of "Blue Ridge Girl."
When the performance ended, I chatted with David the banjo man, packed up my gear, thanked Jackie, discussed a future date, and then loaded my gear into the car as the rain poured down on me. The drive home on 64/49 was a dark and flooded path, and I had to drive slower than the speed limit to be safe much of the way. I reflected on the music, the gear, and the experience. Overall, I feel that I did a good job remembering the lyrics, generally hit the right chords, and certainly faked it when neither were accomplished. My fingertips were sore from 2/12 hours of non-stop playing on the acoustic guitar. I felt recharged from breaking my drought of acoustic folk playing.
I thought a lot about the gear, especially my use of a new guitar and the unplugged performance. The new guitar was purchased because it is an acoustic-electric model with a nice preamp build into the top of the body. Yet at this show I had to play unamplified. Honestly, this was probably a job for a bigger dreadnought guitar like my Martin which would have filled the room with a more bassy sound than the tight but projecting concert body of the Fender that I played. That said, the smaller guitar did a great job of playing to the room and I am sure people heard all of the notes. I had brought my small busking amp with a microphone jack and and an instrument jack in case I could use it, but that wasn't what the owner wanted. My only complaint about the totally unplugged performance was having to sing and strum at the top of my volume level in order to play over people's conversations. When a performer has to do this type of playing it is not only exhausting, but the vocal cords feel the pain. I push my sound from the diaphragm and have fairly effective breathing techniques, and anyone that knows me thinks I am loud even in conversation, but I still felt the limits of my ability to project thought the room. The other thing about a fully unplugged show in front of a chatty crowd is that the performer loses any sense of dynamics because softer moments or gentle tunes cannot be presented effectively. That is all OK, though, because we rarely see something as homespun as a folk singer playing guitar unplugged anymore.
Man what a great night at the Oasis. This seemingly random spot in Siler City has become an important venue for me, previously in the outdoor space with the blues band, and now inside the market with my folk songs. I am grateful to Jackie for always being so welcoming and generous, and to Siler City for lending me your ear. Can't wait to do it again.
Oasis Fresh Market
Siler City NC
Tonight I returned to playing solo acoustic. There was no better place to do this than the Oasis Fresh Market in Siler City NC. Downtown Siler City is being revitalized as an arts district, and the epicenter is the Oasis. Jackie Adams has created an outdoor event space and art vendor's market as well as an indoor deli, restaurant, and food market. She hosts live music in both spaces. I first played the Oasis with Bert Wray Blues (blues band) in the outdoor market area. This time I brought my solo acoustic folk music show to the inside market for an intimate sit-down performance to some very kind and receptive locals.
Just like a coffee shop show, I set up up against a wall. At shows like this, an artist is sandwiched between a rack of mugs and a bookshelf, or in this case, between an entrance and a shelf of natural food. I liked the corrugated steel flashing that covered the wall behind me, giving a farm/industrial character to the performance "stage." So I set up my guitar stand, my new Fender concert-body cutaway acoustic guitar, and put my top jar on the floor. Jackie wanted me to play totally acoustic without amplification so I didn't set up a mic or anything. More about the gear later in this journal entry.
Also like a coffeeshop show, this performance only had a few spectators at the start. They were not necessarily there to see me sing and strum, but they were gracious and polite as I eased into a long set that would last from 4:30-7:00. When a band starts up in a sparsely filled room, at least you have the bandmates. When a solo artists does so, it can be daunting even for the most seasoned artist. In this situation, without any microphone and the patrons chatting away about their day and local topics, I felt imposing by even striking a chord on my guitar much less telling them a story or introducing a song. While this wasn't stage fright, I was timid about interrupting the daily flow of a local gathering space. So with a deep breath, I finally launched into the first song "Coming Down to See You."
My setlist featured only original songs that I have written on and for acoustic guitar. As I strummed through verses, I found my self consciously reaching into my memory to get the lyrics right, mostly because some of these songs date back to the 80s and 90s. While I have played them hundreds, possibly even 1000 times, it had been awhile since I had played a solo acoustic folk music show. I'd played solo acoustic "blues sets" quite a few times over the last 4 years, but it had been since 2007 since I'd played a true folk set. So in more than a few ways, this show was a presentation of "Bert Wray remembering his folk song catalog." Of course I practiced before the show, but sometimes old songs can be very tricky to remember.
When I finished the first tune, I could hear the local conversations chugging along. At shows like this there is sometimes no applause or recognition that you are even playing. You are background music. Usually at some point the focus turns to the performer, but it can take some time for the room to orient towards the artistry. In fact my first true spectator was a little girl who skipped in with her older brother, sister, and mother. She had a T-shirt with some saying about magic. . . "We make magic together". . . or something like that. She couldn't stop watching me play the music and even started swaying ad raising her arms during certain moments of the songs. Over the first 30 minutes the room filled up with people there to get a quick dinner or an after-work glass of wine. I began to think that I needed to connect with these people by offering a story. I also began to think that I need to get to direct their attention to the tip jar before they left. Out of practice at these two intimate but important moments of a folk show, I hesitated on both counts. Finally I saw my opening when, in-between songs, I heard someone praising the health qualities of tree nuts. That was my chance to pipe in about how many almonds I eat as a strict vegetarian. This turned out to be the perfect moment to remind them that I was there to interact with the audience even as I provided background music for their local gathering spot.
The very next song received a round of applause. I told a story about the next song. Things were getting back to folk-normal. While this would have been a good chance to "pass thee hat" (bring attention to the tip jar) I felt like their attention was payment enough and I humbly kept playing and did not go commercial on them. Haha. Songs kept rolling on and some got applause and some were truly background music. After a gentle version of "Jordan River," a song I wrote in 1999 while living in Frederick MD and playing folk music with Keith Jones in central MD and eastern WV, the owner of the Oasis listened carefully and offered a compliment. While I was smiling and appreciating the connection, some of the diners were standing up to leave. I saw the last chance to get a tip from them but I didn't say anything out of a sheepish reluctance to beg for money. Luckily I saw people parallel parking in several spots on the street and heading towards the front door of the Oasis. The second wave of people were there.
Through the ancient storefront window I could see the sky darkening as nighttime took over. Jackie dimmed the market's lights, creating a more pleasant vibe. One of the new visitors had a banjo case in his hand, and I realized that there was going to be a moment in which he asked to play with me at some point. Let me say this about impromptu accompaniment at folk shows: it happens, it can be wonderful, but it is often a derailing of the careful art that the performer has prepared. On one hand I don't like it and on the other hand I realize that it is yet another intimate way you can connect with an audience member. Folk music shows at coffeehouses, markets, open mics, and street corners depend on simple, special moments of individual connections between two people at a time. So I resolved to face the impending collaboration with a positive attitude. In fact I was already imagining which song I might play with this guy.
After playing a few more songs I was getting a round of applause after each tune from the 15 people in the room. This was my moment to pass the hat, or in my case, the coffee can. I stood up with my guitar in one hand and my tip jar in the other and bellowed to the audience, "I am gonna go total New York City on y'all and pass my tip jar around the room, any coins you can drop in will go a long way towards gas, guitar stings, harmonicas, and coffee!" A man took it from my hand and pulled out his wallet and the Folgers can made its way around the room. When it landed before me on a table I could see some bills including a $20 sticking up out of the top. Sweet.
Funny thing is that the tip jar moment was the tipping point in capturing the audience's complete attention. It was also the time in which the banjo guy, a tall gentleman with a curled (possibly waxed) mustache, came up and let me know he only wanted to play one song with me after he had a little wine first. He mentioned that he hoped we would play "Wagon Wheel" by the Old Crow Medicine Show. I quickly admitted I didn't know the lyrics or music well enough to play it, and he countered by telling me he had the chords and lyrics printed on paper. I then had to explain that I did not generally play cover songs. He relented and said, well let's just play one of yours. Man, that song "Wagon Wheel" presents a real conundrum for folk players. It is easily the "Freebird" of folk music, causing the performer to decide between pleasing the audience with one of their favorite songs and sticking to your artistry and playing the one's you wrote. Add the fact that Bob Dylan wrote part of it and the pressure builds. I was proud about sticking to my resolve to play only my own tunes and avoiding a sloppy and uninspired version of me learning a cover in front of an audience. I am sure they can stream "Wagon Wheel" from their vehicles on the way home anyway.
The audience listened carefully and I told stories to introduce the songs. I mentioned the different locales I'd lived in, the places where I'd written or played the songs over the years, and someone eventually yelled, "Are you wanted in any of these states?" I retorted, "Only in North Carolina because that is where my family is!" I heard a lady respond, "Good answer!" OK, this is what an intimate folk music performance is all about. After about 30 songs had been played and 12 minutes were left in my show time, I invited the banjo guy, named David, up for a jam. I replayed "Coming Down to See You," which is perfectly suited for the banjo, and David plucked along clawhammer-style and added that mountain stream sound to the song. It was a nice moment and I let him play along for an countrified version of "Mean Maryland Blues," and a reprise of "Blue Ridge Girl."
When the performance ended, I chatted with David the banjo man, packed up my gear, thanked Jackie, discussed a future date, and then loaded my gear into the car as the rain poured down on me. The drive home on 64/49 was a dark and flooded path, and I had to drive slower than the speed limit to be safe much of the way. I reflected on the music, the gear, and the experience. Overall, I feel that I did a good job remembering the lyrics, generally hit the right chords, and certainly faked it when neither were accomplished. My fingertips were sore from 2/12 hours of non-stop playing on the acoustic guitar. I felt recharged from breaking my drought of acoustic folk playing.
I thought a lot about the gear, especially my use of a new guitar and the unplugged performance. The new guitar was purchased because it is an acoustic-electric model with a nice preamp build into the top of the body. Yet at this show I had to play unamplified. Honestly, this was probably a job for a bigger dreadnought guitar like my Martin which would have filled the room with a more bassy sound than the tight but projecting concert body of the Fender that I played. That said, the smaller guitar did a great job of playing to the room and I am sure people heard all of the notes. I had brought my small busking amp with a microphone jack and and an instrument jack in case I could use it, but that wasn't what the owner wanted. My only complaint about the totally unplugged performance was having to sing and strum at the top of my volume level in order to play over people's conversations. When a performer has to do this type of playing it is not only exhausting, but the vocal cords feel the pain. I push my sound from the diaphragm and have fairly effective breathing techniques, and anyone that knows me thinks I am loud even in conversation, but I still felt the limits of my ability to project thought the room. The other thing about a fully unplugged show in front of a chatty crowd is that the performer loses any sense of dynamics because softer moments or gentle tunes cannot be presented effectively. That is all OK, though, because we rarely see something as homespun as a folk singer playing guitar unplugged anymore.
Man what a great night at the Oasis. This seemingly random spot in Siler City has become an important venue for me, previously in the outdoor space with the blues band, and now inside the market with my folk songs. I am grateful to Jackie for always being so welcoming and generous, and to Siler City for lending me your ear. Can't wait to do it again.
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