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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