Those of you who are regular readers of the Low Notes (and I know that we all have busy lives, etc., etc., but, really, what could be more important?) have noticed that I’ve recently grown fond of the Songwriter Shuffle at Giuseppe’s in Gloucester. It’s a Thursday night event, with seven songwriters, good food, and a friendly, attentive crowd. Plus we get paid. I’ve been wondering what they’ve been smoking, but as long as they keep smoking it, and keep inviting me, I’ll keep going back, because, like I said, it’s 20 minutes in front of an attentive crowd, and that’s kind of hard to find nowadays.
The other thing I love about the event is that while I’m usually one of the best people on the bill (I like that), I’m usually not the best (and I like that too). And this past Thursday was no exception, because – much to my astonishment – Cosy Sheridan was one of the performers. If you don’t know about Cosy Sheridan, you should, and the chances are that you do, if you’ve been a folk music fan for a while. She’s been touring and performing for more than two decades. I knew her name, but I’d never heard her, until Thursday night, and here’s what I learned: she’s a talented singer, an astonishingly clever and funny lyricist (and I like to think I should know), a marvelous, percussive, crisp guitarist, and about as self-assured a performer as I’ve ever seen. I was very, very impressed – and yes, that sounds awfully condescending, since she’s a national touring act and I’m, well, me, but I do not lack for confidence, as many of you have learned (as regular readers, but we’ve covered that already).
So what was Cosy Sheridan doing at this tiny venue? Well, it turns out that she’s recently moved back home to New Hampshire from Moab, Utah, with her husband/bass player, and she’s just trying to get a feel for the area. She even asked me about various open mikes around Boston, which, of course, I was more than happy to hold forth about. She couldn’t have been nicer. And at the end of our little chat, after her set and mine, she gave me one of her albums (!) and told me, “You’re very good at this.”
Well, then.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Like I said a few moments ago, I do not lack for confidence. It would be impossible, at this point, for someone to convince me that I’m not very good at this. But to have a national touring act – one who writes funny material, no less – tell me that, I’ve gotta say, it made my night.
Of course, my ego kicked in almost immediately, and I thought, “Not great? Very good? What about great?” But really, “great” is what fans say (keep that in mind, for the next time you come to see me). “Very good”, well, that sounds to me more clinical, more of an evaluation – not so much encouragement as feedback. And coming from a national touring act, I’m gonna go with that being more valuable than “great”. Egotist that I am.
It’s a long schlep, this performance thing. Some nights it works, some nights it doesn’t. You need a thick skin, for those moments when a precious and usually reliable joke sinks like a stone. There’s not a lot of room for ego. But I’d be lying if I said I was immune. I love the laughter and the applause, and I love earning it, and I love it when someone tells me that they loved my set, or that I’m fabulous (and yes, that’s an acceptable alternative to “great”, for the next time you come to see me). But it’s a rare moment when you get validation from someone who’s been doing it for 20 years.
The next time I go back to the Songwriter Shuffle – and there will be a next time – I’ll be looking for what I always look for: attention, laughter, applause. I doubt that I’ll end up sharing the bill with John Forster or Christine Lavin, and it’s even less like that they’ll bother to tell me that I’m very good at this. Once is about all anybody could hope for. Even someone with an ego the size of mine.