I know I live a life of great privilege, not the least important demonstration of which is running in the right social circles.
Take this week’s most thrilling event as an example.
My ultimate groupie friend took me as her +1 (literally - my name was “+1″ on the guest list!) to The Peak FM’s intimate acoustic concert by David Gray, who is in town for two shows at the Orpheum.
If you’re not familiar with David Gray’s music, check out his latest video, for the song “Fugitive“.
Neither of us knew what to expect. My friend received the call a couple days prior to the event and was told to show up at the studio on Thursday afternoon. The message was taken by a family member, so she didn’t have the chance to get any details. Naturally, then, the caller neglected to mention that a) my friend was one of maybe ten contest winners, allowing us unprecedented access to the artist, b) we would have the opportunity to ask David (yes, we are on a first name basis now!) some questions, c) we would be able to take a photo with David, and d) we could ask David for one autograph each.
Say what?!
So our preparations were grossly inadequate. I took a short pause from work to attend, bringing little more than my camera. (I figured that I might be able to sneak a quick photo when his handlers weren’t looking.)
But then I found myself in a room of about 50 people, one of whom was David. Gray.
And he was, maybe 10 feet away from me.
Shocking.
He's so dreamy...
After the usual introductions by the radio station’s DJs, David took to the little stage with his acoustic guitar and another guitarist, performing four songs before engaging the audience in a brief Q&A session. This was my first time seeing him live, and despite the pared down accompaniment and notable absence of any sort of production gimmicks often used by artists of his calibre, I was blown away.
David Gray earned the right to my attention, my awe. His music is art, an incredibly powerful tool to evoke emotion - and David is a true master.
Of course, I hadn’t prepared anything intelligent to ask him, but the rabid fans next to me on the couch (we were seated in couches!) had more than enough questions for the rest of us. Grown women, gushing like giddy little school girls, clutching every one of his albums, crying during the performance, rambling like idiots, offering to do a duet with him… it was almost embarrassing.
Never before have I felt more civilized!
I thought of asking, “Man United or Manchester City?” after learning of David’s birthplace, but decided against it. I was acting civilized today, remember. (Well, that and I didn’t want to look like I hadn’t done my proper Wikipedia research before attending.)
David stuck around after his set to take photos and sign autographs, despite having just done a radio interview and likely needing to rest and prep before the evening’s performance. He took it all in stride, joking with the group and demonstrating that some international superstars are indeed down-to-earth folk. Not a single diva move from David - how refreshing!
For sale: second-hand David Gray hugs. (Note the arm on the shoulder, people!) Also, would this be a good engagement photo?
I'm rich! I'm rich!
But what began as a generous offer by my contest-winning pal became a catalyst for what should be a turning point in my musical endeavours. Someone else in the room (but not Ryan Johnson*, who was also there!) asked David what inspired him.
And his response was something along the lines of,
You can’t wait around for inspiration to show up. You have to make yourself sit down and just write a song.
Time to get off my ass, I see!
So if you don’t like what I’m about to create, you have David Gray to blame.
*Why didn’t I talk to Ryan Johnson? Because I didn’t know what to say, besides inviting him for a round of golf. It’s just too soon for me…
A few months ago, a friend of mine sent me an email about the workshop. The chance to work with a world-renowned vocalist and innovator in the field? I wasted no time in signing up.
I trusted the judgement of my friend and the supposed recognition of the presenter, and didn’t bother exploring the “feral choir” concept any further. The workshop organizer let me in without any screening (hey, I’d consider myself a vocalist so why wouldn’t they?), but for some reason I felt like I was committing highway robbery so I never looked back… until the week before the workshop, when I made more concrete plans for the weekend.
Do you know what “feral” means?
I didn’t either. Turns out Webster’s dictionary defines “feral” as (ha!) “of, relating to, or suggestive of a wild beast“. Oookay… this should be interesting!
I must admit, upon learning more about Minton’s experimental techniques and hearing the performances of previous workshops, I was hesitant. After all, this is what I saw, heard, experienced on YouTube:
Uh oh.
I watched more and more videos, fascinated by the inhibitions of these adults, whose mental state could be considered questionable. And I was about to join them. I had so many questions… What am I, a dog? (I’m not exactly accustomed to barking on command, unless you count workplace and social butt kissing as a related form.) Who’s that making burping noises? And how were they so free and comfortable in completely humiliating themselves on stage?
But I needed to challenge myself. To push the boundaries of my own self-awareness. To see what primal sounds I could create.
The workshop started off with Minton laughing.
He just stood there, in front of the group of about 50 of us (though estimating crowds is not my forte; the Kia vehicle on the other hand…), in semicircles two rows deep, laughing. Pacing across the front of the room.
And so, like monkeys, we followed. Whether out of confusion or obedience or mere contagion, we followed. And it seemed to go on for a good five minutes.
Let me tell you, all those studies claiming how healthy laughter is - maybe there’s really something to them, because I felt alive.
I was amazed by how Minton would orchestrate his unconventional choir of beasts, some of whom were impressively creative with their improvised sounds. He waved his arms like a maniac, eliciting the most outrageous but surprisingly cohesive cacophony of sounds - beginning low and soft, then moving higher and louder - and pointed randomly at singers who were then invited to make short bursts of noise.
Nothing was off limits.
I was probably one of the more tame of the bunch. The group was mixed, with professionals and amateurs, young and old, guarded and free-spirited. It was hard to feel “out of place” when I couldn’t really tell what this “place” was. I belonged in this mishmash just as much as I didn’t. And over the duration of that session, I felt myself letting go progressively more and more, ever so slowly, until I didn’t really care what the $%^& anyone else in the room thought of me.
What I’ve learned from the workshop, as a self-described “vocalist”, is that I have been confining myself to replicating the sounds and music that surround me. Popular music is pleasing because we don’t know any better. Most of what we hear today is the same old thing, over and over again, because we are too afraid to try something different.
I am too afraid.
Have been too afraid, or so I’d like to think.
Now is the time to at least try to mix it up a little. Now is the time to force open those narrow boundaries in which I live, creatively.
Actually, now is the time to make my way over to the last part of the workshop and public performance, so you can experience just what I’m talking about.
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