The two things I’m probably most irrationally frightened of are heights and doing improv. The fear of heights is a pretty easily explainable one: I envision someone throwing me off the side of something high. With improv, it’s the same way. It’s like being thrown over the side of something high. You’re completely out of control and there are no guarantees how you’ll land. And you’re just flapping in the wind. In improv, like say tennis, it’s easy to see who is messing up as well. You can’t ‘blend into the background’ and let the other person pick up all your slack. You can’t ‘fake it.’ And everyone sees this. It’s terrifying.
So I had an offer to do some improv (or ‘prov as I’m sure some douche bag somewhere calls it) next week so I figured I’d scout it out this week. I think the last improv I’d done was October of last year. It’s been a minute and I wasn’t all that good at it then. However, some folks weren’t able to do last night’s show and I was asked to jump in. So I did. It all happened so quickly, like being thrown over the side of a rail.
Well, it went about like you’d expect. I wasn’t very good. And that’s OK, because even if I had a week to prepare myself anyway, it probably would have been the same result. But watching those folks on stage, doing their thing, it made me realize a couple of things:
-Just because your tall doesn’t mean you should play basketball.
People always want tall people to play basketball. Heck, they’re closer to the basket which is half the battle. But it isn’t ALL the battle. See, you need coordination. You need to know the drills. And you need to be able to pass the ball and know when to shoot. Otherwise you’re just some tall asshole on the court. For me, not being afraid on stage is my ‘tall’. Well not being afraid in the sense that I don’t freeze up and gawk at the audience when I’m scared. But that’s not enough. And if you want to see Harlem Globetrotter-esque improv/ball play, go to Dad’s and watch them do the games. It’s awe-inspiring. I was awed to the point where, during both the ‘improv-games’, I completely froze. No response. This leads me to…
-The guys in Billy Bob Thornton’s band hate him.
Why would Billy Bob’s bandmates hate him? I mean, he’s Billy Bob, isn’t he? He’s the meal ticket, for goodness sake. But make no mistake, they fucking hate that dude. And why? Because he’s passing through. He’s ‘dabbling’. He’s dabbling at something that they have dedicated their lives to, and to me, that’s a bit degrading. It’s like saying “That thing you do? That thing you’ve worked so hard to get better at and sacrificed for and studied? Yeah, I just wal
ked through the door and did it.” But the thing is he didn’t ‘do it’. He stumbled his way through it. He faked it. He plays guitar on the weekends while sitting in bed or on the porch while drinking a few beers, but he doesn’t play 80’s metal covers at The Doc or do a set at Smithe’s on open mic night to buy a PA or pay for gas money for the van. He’s just some guy who dreamed of rocking out and doesn’t pay the dues and walks to the front of the class on a sellout tour. And that’s sort of my take on getting up there and doing stuff with real improvisers. It looks and feels uneven and disrespectful. Like that squirrel on water skis.
-This is why musicians smash guitars.
I’ve never heard a musician asked why they smashed their prized guitar. I guess it’s a thing we all assume because they’re ‘rock gods’ and that’s what rock gods do. They were soooo caught up in the moment that they were overcome by emotion and had to smash the guitar. I bet if they were honest, though, they’d say that they were having an off night and tried to fix it, couldn’t, got pissed, and took it out on their guitar. This is the gayest thing you’ll hear me say all day but: As a performer (on stage, in film, on the street corner, etc), you have one instrument. It’s broken into three parts: mind, body, voice, but it’s all stocked in the practice garage we call our bodies. Your mind let’s you think on your feet and envision and create. Your body executes the plans and half-plans. Your voice is an extension of the creation and helps support. Artists are notoriously cruel to their instrument. I’m no exception. I eat like crap, making my body not perform to its peek. I drink, which kills brain cells and makes me dumber, and I very rarely do anything with my voice but sing in the car and order Combo meal #1 at Krystals (with cheese, yum).
In short, I have no guitar to smash when I get frustrated. But I do have my body. So I smashed my metaphysical guitar and wrecked my voice by shouting on stage. Totally didn’t protect my voice. And hey, shouting equals good acting, right? Well, not really. At least not for me. Pointless and reckless.
So will I do it again? Maybe. Probably. I dunno. Once my courage gets up again, maybe. My mutant power is the ability to forget getting humbled and looking foolish, so once that kicks in, who knows, but for the moment, color my ass ‘Soundly Kicked Red’ and I’ll crawl back into my hole for a bit. Until I get cocky again…
I’m totally not a ‘l
eave it to the pros’ kind of guy. I think you should be free to fail and be innovative and explore new stuff. But there should be a respect for what you’re doing and an appreciation for the folks who have worked hard to be in the spot they’re in and be as good as they are.
(Addendum: Daniel Johnston smashed his guitar once because he thought the devil was playing through his hands and fingers. OK, that’s a good reason to smash your guitar. Paul Simonon, what was your excuse?)
So I had an offer to do some improv (or ‘prov as I’m sure some douche bag somewhere calls it) next week so I figured I’d scout it out this week. I think the last improv I’d done was October of last year. It’s been a minute and I wasn’t all that good at it then. However, some folks weren’t able to do last night’s show and I was asked to jump in. So I did. It all happened so quickly, like being thrown over the side of a rail.
Well, it went about like you’d expect. I wasn’t very good. And that’s OK, because even if I had a week to prepare myself anyway, it probably would have been the same result. But watching those folks on stage, doing their thing, it made me realize a couple of things:
-Just because your tall doesn’t mean you should play basketball.
People always want tall people to play basketball. Heck, they’re closer to the basket which is half the battle. But it isn’t ALL the battle. See, you need coordination. You need to know the drills. And you need to be able to pass the ball and know when to shoot. Otherwise you’re just some tall asshole on the court. For me, not being afraid on stage is my ‘tall’. Well not being afraid in the sense that I don’t freeze up and gawk at the audience when I’m scared. But that’s not enough. And if you want to see Harlem Globetrotter-esque improv/ball play, go to Dad’s and watch them do the games. It’s awe-inspiring. I was awed to the point where, during both the ‘improv-games’, I completely froze. No response. This leads me to…
-The guys in Billy Bob Thornton’s band hate him.
Why would Billy Bob’s bandmates hate him? I mean, he’s Billy Bob, isn’t he? He’s the meal ticket, for goodness sake. But make no mistake, they fucking hate that dude. And why? Because he’s passing through. He’s ‘dabbling’. He’s dabbling at something that they have dedicated their lives to, and to me, that’s a bit degrading. It’s like saying “That thing you do? That thing you’ve worked so hard to get better at and sacrificed for and studied? Yeah, I just wal
ked through the door and did it.” But the thing is he didn’t ‘do it’. He stumbled his way through it. He faked it. He plays guitar on the weekends while sitting in bed or on the porch while drinking a few beers, but he doesn’t play 80’s metal covers at The Doc or do a set at Smithe’s on open mic night to buy a PA or pay for gas money for the van. He’s just some guy who dreamed of rocking out and doesn’t pay the dues and walks to the front of the class on a sellout tour. And that’s sort of my take on getting up there and doing stuff with real improvisers. It looks and feels uneven and disrespectful. Like that squirrel on water skis.-This is why musicians smash guitars.
I’ve never heard a musician asked why they smashed their prized guitar. I guess it’s a thing we all assume because they’re ‘rock gods’ and that’s what rock gods do. They were soooo caught up in the moment that they were overcome by emotion and had to smash the guitar. I bet if they were honest, though, they’d say that they were having an off night and tried to fix it, couldn’t, got pissed, and took it out on their guitar. This is the gayest thing you’ll hear me say all day but: As a performer (on stage, in film, on the street corner, etc), you have one instrument. It’s broken into three parts: mind, body, voice, but it’s all stocked in the practice garage we call our bodies. Your mind let’s you think on your feet and envision and create. Your body executes the plans and half-plans. Your voice is an extension of the creation and helps support. Artists are notoriously cruel to their instrument. I’m no exception. I eat like crap, making my body not perform to its peek. I drink, which kills brain cells and makes me dumber, and I very rarely do anything with my voice but sing in the car and order Combo meal #1 at Krystals (with cheese, yum).
In short, I have no guitar to smash when I get frustrated. But I do have my body. So I smashed my metaphysical guitar and wrecked my voice by shouting on stage. Totally didn’t protect my voice. And hey, shouting equals good acting, right? Well, not really. At least not for me. Pointless and reckless.
So will I do it again? Maybe. Probably. I dunno. Once my courage gets up again, maybe. My mutant power is the ability to forget getting humbled and looking foolish, so once that kicks in, who knows, but for the moment, color my ass ‘Soundly Kicked Red’ and I’ll crawl back into my hole for a bit. Until I get cocky again…
I’m totally not a ‘l
eave it to the pros’ kind of guy. I think you should be free to fail and be innovative and explore new stuff. But there should be a respect for what you’re doing and an appreciation for the folks who have worked hard to be in the spot they’re in and be as good as they are.(Addendum: Daniel Johnston smashed his guitar once because he thought the devil was playing through his hands and fingers. OK, that’s a good reason to smash your guitar. Paul Simonon, what was your excuse?)
3 comments:
HEY! i was in that show, and i surely kicked no one's ass. but you shouldn't feel like the show handed your ass to you, either. it didn't.
you get asked to play at dad's because you're good. and you feel gawkward (new word) about it because you don't do it often. but you don't disappoint. there's never been a time where you've been asked to make shit up and the people around you have had a problem with it. because they know you do well. sometimes, fantastically, brilliantly a-number-one well. i've seen this happen many times, sir.
and if it really makes you feel better that show last night was not how micetro should've gone. no one played like they were on a unified stage, no one supported anyone else, and it was kind of rough. there were beautiful moments, but man, no one was around to help people out of the less than pretty times (that includes our directors).
i know you get angst-ridden after experiences such as this, but really there's no reason for it. you know what to do and you do it.
I'll be glad whenever you hop back up on stage with us. It was a rough Micetro overall, like Eve said. And trust me, what you put up there was pretty decent. You're a wicked actor and you carry the shared skills over into improv and once you get the little idiosyncrasies down, particularly those unique to Dad's improv, you'll feel just fine up there.
It's fun and exciting when you're up there with us, so when the opportunity comes again I hope you take it.
Thanks dudes. I'll be back, eventually. And I'll be asking questions and giving weak offers. Or something. ;)
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