Since I wrote my December post, “How to Get Gigs”, I’ve had occasion to think some more about
Speaking with the Programming Coordinator for a library recently, I was suprised to note the finest thread of anxiety in her voice as she discussed an event she is planning. Not panic, mind you – but questions about logistics, audiences, interest, and whether her initial idea was a good one. She wanted to be sure she is using her library’s resources in the best way she can.
About the same time, I re-read an e-mail from another programming coordinator who had invited me to play at a coffeehouse. Our e-mail exchange was curiously stiff, and I felt ever so slightly rebuffed and rebuked, like an unruly circus animal that should know its routine by now. She seemed testy, and a little self-important. I didn’t respond to that level of the exchange, but it had rankled a bit and remained in my mind.
What I learned from the library programmer was that she was just as nervous about ensuring a successful evening as I am. This is her events series, her work, her reputation, her community, her professional life. My part in that is a supporting one – not a starring one. If she’s good at her work (and this one is), she treats me and anyone else she books with respect and kindness. But her thoughts center mainly on her own concerns and hopes.
This realization helped me to re-read the coffeehouse programmer’s e-mail from a different slant. Yes, she is a little self-important, but her brusqueness is not in the least personal. She has an important job, she thinks, and many people to contact. To her, the coffeehouse itself and the organization that runs it are of primary importance, and the performers who fill it with music come second. And when you think about it, that’s really as it should be. I will spend one evening in her space, but she will spend the next few years filling that space with musicians. Understanding that took the sting out of those stiff exchanges.
I am not saying that we performers should accept bad treatment or disprespect. But I do think that when you stand in the middle of the crowd with every eye upon you, you might come away with the mistaken idea that you are the most important person in the room, the star, the center of gravity.
You are – to yourself.
The truth is, we are all suns in our own galaxies, and moons in other people’s. From the booking agent to the people who set up the refreshments to that lady in the third row, every one else is thinking about how this performance affects his or her individual life. In your finest moments, you will facilitate someone taking her next step, someone else having a brilliant idea, someone else feeling confident about trying something new. You will be a sun that helps other people shine, as other suns have helped you to shine.
How wonderful to think of a roomful of suns!
What does that mean in practical terms? It is simply another call to courtesy, modesty, and proportion. This is a habit of mind which makes you easier to work with, easier to book, and easier to recommend to other bookers. And that, my friends, means the chance to shine and be shone upon. Is there anything better?
