When I was 18, my friend Dave and I started performing as a duo around the college coffeehouse circuit in Montreal. In high-school, I had played in bands, but it was always cover songs like “Sweet Home Alabama” and “Stuck In The Middle With You”, and I was too shy to sing in front of anyone. So I was known as the piano player. With Dave, I was finally gaining some confidence in being a singer/songwriter.
After playing a handful of shows, we decided to join a Battle of the Bands that was being held at this (now-defunct) huge venue in town, The Spectrum, where I had seen The Wallflowers and Elliott Smith play. Deciding that we needed a band to back us up (Dave played guitar and I played piano and guitar), we recruited my 15 year old brother Mark to play drums, a banjo player named Terry Joe who Dave had met in the metro, and a charismatic bass player, Kevin, who we had met at the weekly old-timey country night at The Wheel Club. Together we called ourselves The Bandwagon, and we played poppy country rock. The Spectrum Battle of the Bands was going to be our first show, and my first time singing with a band.
For three weeks we practiced at Kevin’s jam space near the Molson brewery, slowly finding our sound. It was a lot of fun. When the night arrived, we were all excited and more than a little nervous. My most vivid memory of the night is looking over at my brother during one of the piano songs and seeing this fixed look of awe on his face. Total adrenalin. It all happened so fast. We played 5 or 6 songs and I got a good vibe from the audience.
I wish I had left it at that and accepted the night as a giant learning experience and one more notch under my belt. But I was so young and very insecure. I was affected by the competitive nature of the Battle of the Bands, and when we didn’t place in the Top 3 at the end of the night, I was very bruised. Instead of getting back on that horse, I went to find a hole to hide in. The Bandwagon played one more show after that, but personality differences led to us breaking up. Dave and I kept playing together for a while, but I soon ended that too. I remember telling my brother that I wasn’t interested in writing and performing songs anymore, that the form was too limiting for me. I invented a new kind of music in my mind – Roll. No fixed arrangements, mostly improvised, unconventional instruments like the “mbira” (thumb piano from Zimbabwe). Basically a 360 turn from what I was doing with The Bandwagon.
I didn’t write a song for about 2 years. While I did discover a lot of cool music during this period and the experimentation probably brought some new depth to my own music, I now believe this was the first in a series of “slow downs” I initiated while pursuing music. For me it goes like this: I begin to put effort into a certain creative endeavor, I get excited, I start to expose my efforts publicly, I experience what I believe to be resistance or indifference, I become insecure and self-doubtful, I stop the creative endeavor and begin to explore other avenues for a while. And when I come back to being creative, the cycle starts again.
I think there’s a certain degree of healthiness in creative restlessness, but not to the point of abandoning projects before they’re finished – just because you’ve met some resistance. Like any relationship, creativity requires commitment, even through the hard times. That’s the only way to grow. The trick is staying connected and motivated while staying on track. I find the best way to do that is to forget about the ‘big picture’ for a while and focus in on the nuances, the details – to basically enjoy the process from day to day. Nothing happens over night.
I look back on that Battle of the Bands 15 years ago and think about how lucky I was to perform in front of that many people at that age. Since then I’ve performed countless times in front of empty houses, and they’ve been just as much a learning experience. Though I probably felt just as discouraged at the time as I did after the Battle of the Bands. As time marches on, I’m leaving less and less of the gaps in between these creative hurdles and the music is taking on a momentum all on its own. I guess what I’m saying is I’ve realized there are no shortcuts – we all have to put in our time at becoming good at whatever it is we’re passionate about. The hard part for me, funny enough, is trusting in that sacred time spent between me and my music – trusting that it will lead me to good places. I’m in good hands. But everything that’s good takes time. And I’ll probably never feel like I’ve arrived anywhere. So the best I can do is to enjoy the ‘doing’. These days, anytime I’m in a music moment, if I’m lucky, I can see nothing before me or after me – this is it. Give it yer all.
In a couple of days I’ll write about my childhood piano. See you then!
