There weren't a ton of people there, but that's okay. The two "groupies" that are always at trash rock shows were there. Ryan was there. A few of my neighbors from the third floor of the commune came (The Poet had organized a carpool). There were some hipsters from the second floor there. And then there were a couple of strangers. It was the perfect sized crowd - not big enough to be completely intimidating but not small enough to be totally awkward.
Of course, having people I know and love there didn't stop me from being an intense ball of nerves. I kept fiddling with my iPhone and discovering new comments popping up on my last post. Made me grin and feel loved by the blogosphere. So, thanks for that, amigos. :)
Speaking of footage from the show, a couple of you have expressed interest in possibly seeing some. You might regret that. Sheri sat in the front row and grabbed some videos for me on my digital camera. I will post a few on here for your amusement/entertainment. Watch them at your own risk. And keep in mind - this is the first time I've ever really done this by myself.
This is a song I wrote when I was about 19 or so:
This is a song that had never really left my notebook until last night:
This is a song from the rock opera I'm writing. It goes into a song I wrote a couple weeks ago when I couldn't sleep. I thought it was probably the worst song I played but people were telling me it was their favorite.
Last but not least, this is a song I dedicated to all my friends from the commune that were in the audience. It's a song written directly to the hot water in the building we live in (it doesn't always work like it should...).
Anyway, enough with the videos. I think that's enough proof that I really did follow through on doing a solo show.
And you know what? I kinda can't wait to do another one. I really want to, actually. I would love to get into the groove of doing that twice a week like some of my musician friends.
The "after party" was a little bit intense. When I got back home, I discovered The Chef was celebrating his 60th birthday in the kitchen by drinking any and all alcohol he could get his hands on. People of all ages were awake and celebrating with him. When I came in, they were really excited about the fact that I made it through my first solo show.
I found myself hanging out in the kitchen for a really, really long time. Cake and casual conversation slowly evolved into vodka and story time. There was a point where all of us should have gone to bed, but everyone's story was just way too interesting and none of us have traditional employment. So we didn't go to bed. We went around in a circle and talked about our various life experiences. We talked about crappy jobs we've had. We talked about why we feel the need to make art and how it's so easy to feel misunderstood. We talked about love and heartbreak and those who have temporarily destroyed us in the past. We laughed. We cringed. We relived things that once made us cry and realized that they aren't worth crying about anymore.
We all went to bed when the sun was about to come up. I woke up a few short hours later in a zombie-like daze. Though I was groggy and had a headache, I couldn't help but feel content about where my life is at right now. Excited, even. I think I'm finally being that person I want to be.
On a completely unrelated note, I am sitting in the kitchen typing this right now. It's almost midnight and The Chef just wandered in with a slab of raw bacon in his hand. "I just really want bacon!" he whispers to me. "So I'm going to make bacon!"
And now he's frying a single strip of bacon on the stove. I absolutely love living here.
I should really go to bed. Especially before the smell of bacon makes it over to where I'm sitting...
Too late. Now I want bacon. Crap.
Ah well. I shall go to bed baconless. Goodnight, amigos. Sorry if this post has been less coherent than usual. I plan on actually sleeping tonight, so I should be back to my normal level of coherency tomorrow.