I’m a Small Concert Kind of Guy
I’m in Marshall, TX at the moment where I have respectfully, but mercilessly, kicked a 4-year old boy out of his own dinosaur-blanketed bunk bed for the night in order that I might sleep *hopefully* like a child myself in it. Is this worse than stealing candy from a baby?
My old friend from Nashville, Brad, who recently relocated here, was kind enough to host me at his church, Trinity Episcopal, here tonight, and there were no more than 20 humans in attendance. Though I am quite used to such low numbers (not by choice), I almost enjoy these tiny shows more than I would if there were 200 (keep dreaming, buddy boy) in the room. I guess my definition of a successful show depends – for me, at least – on the crowd, however small or large, where the enjoyment is visible on their faces as plain as day. If it’s a group of 20-ish people who are intently listening AND responding (favorably), then I promise you it is far more enjoyable an experience than causing 100+ clearly bored and unanimated concert-goers to go all apathetic on me.
Now, after 10+ years of doing this touring bit, I full well know that I am not the most entertaining nor enlightening guy you’ll see on stage, but I also know that I don’t suck as a singer and a performer. It’s the between-the-songs banter that I’ve never been able to fully master. I can state all of this with some degree of confidence without sounding arrogant, I should hope. But back to my point…
Give me a small crowd of active listeners any day and I’ll play for you as long as you’ll allow. Songs are not meant to be islands in the middle of a listless sea. They are to be vessels of a sort, taking and guiding us to necessary lands where the language spoken, though not always in our own familiar tongue, is as refreshing as it is poignant and observant. I do what I do because I want to connect with people. I want to communicate with you the same way some of my favorite songwriters have reached me. I want my music to be more than just a breeze across your brow; I want the songs to awaken in you some grain of hope, life, majesty or memory that may have long-ago been buried or forgotten or abandoned. These are the hopes I have for my songs and even for the brief and mostly empty rooms – to which I am well acquainted – whenever I have the opportunity and the privilege to play the little darlings for such an audience.
By now, at my age, I realize my concerts will probably never grow larger or ever take on any of the dreams or aspirations I once had for it all. I don’t know if I have another ten years or ten days ahead of me left in this career, but many thanks to you if you’re either new to my music or have hung around since the beginning. If ever the writing is plainly upon the wall, please pray that I might have eyes to see it.









