Solo singer-songwriters find themselves caught between two very different worlds.
Half of the songster’s job takes place in quiet rooms over an open notebook: crossing out lines, feeling out chords, looking up rhymes, and puzzling over what the hell might work for a second verse. This part of the job calls for experimentation, problem-solving, and discovery. It’s a solitary kind of adventure.
The other half of the job is full of bright lights, sound checks, performance jitters, and (hopefully) roaring applause. Having written these personal, handcrafted songs, the songster’s next task is to spill that music into the air for whoever’s listening. Singing for a crowd is an incredibly exhilarating feeling.
Most likely you’re more comfortable with one of these worlds than the other–some of us write songs just to have a reason to climb onstage; others climb onstage just because they need to get their songs heard. Priorities differ. But either way, all singer-songwriters walk the line between introverted creation and extraverted performance.
The nice thing is, the halves don’t have to crowd each other out. A kind word from an audience member after a performance can motivate you for months of songwriting sessions–and in turn, writing something you believe in can fuel the most passionate performances you’ve ever delivered. So in the right balance, both halves of the job can actually feed each other (hell, jazz artists do both at the same time).
The tricky part is managing a balance between reflection and adrenaline that draws great work out of you.
Been slaving away at new songs for too long? Go find a live audience to play for–maybe there’s a nearby open mic you can crash.
Been gigging relentlessly? See if you can steal even just one quiet hour to yourself so you can play around with some new ideas.
Sometimes switching modes is exactly the splash of cold water you needed…
great post – and very timely for me – thanks