Those of you who are faithful readers will recall that earlier this month, I participated in the Linden Tree Coffeehouse Winter Potpourri, which is sort of like the Hunger Games, except with guitars. I kid, I kid – although it is a competition, where the audience votes on the performers, not one of the acts was terminated with extreme prejudice, at least not while I was around. The winner was Mike Laureanno, from Fall River, and the runners-up were Mark Zelermyer and – drum roll – me! To be fair, it was a “virtual” tie for second, where I came in almost second and the Linden Tree folks weren’t about to split hairs, but I’m not complaining – I never win anything (I mean, I never enter anything, either, but that’s not the point, or, well, maybe it is the point, but don’t interrupt my train of thought). The almost-second-place prize was a pretty good one, too – I’ll be opening for Joe Jencks in June.
So I’m not complaining. But I will tell you a secret: I forgot to vote.
You might say, well, you can’t vote – you’re one of the performers. But while I was on stage for part of the evening, I was also part of the audience for the vast majority of the night, and nobody told us not to vote, and I’m betting that some of the other performers voted. And I’m also betting that some of them (shhhhh) voted for themselves.
How dare they! How dare they? Well, what’s wrong with it, exactly, I ask you? After all, my wife, She Who Must Be Taunted, came along to cheer me on, and I’m pretty sure she voted for me (I don’t dare ask, because there are questions in the world whose answers I don’t want to know, but let’s just assume this, for the sake of argument). And each of us were encouraged to bring our fans, and I’m pretty sure that those fans were inclined to vote for “their” performer (although, to be fair, I didn’t have the foresight to encourage that, either – I believe, in fact, that my comment in my last newsletter was “For me, against me, don’t care, democracy is great.”). So it’s not like we’re talking about a jury of one’s peers.
So I didn’t vote for myself, and maybe if I had, I would have gotten an even better prize than opening for Joe Jencks. But that’s not really the point. The point is that you should vote for yourself. If you believe in what you do – if you’re a performer and you think you give the audience their time and money’s worth; if you’re a visual artist and you think people appreciate your art; hell, if you’re a damn good Realtor and you have a chance to vote for yourself for Realtor of the Year – who else is going to be your biggest fan and promoter?
There’s a new year coming. It’s probably going to suck, in a lot of ways. The chances are that at least half of us – doesn’t matter which half, as far as I can tell – will end up with leaders we despise. The planet is roasting; groceries require a mortgage; the Red Sox are convinced that Joe the stockroom boy can give them five innings. I can’t solve any of these problems; I can barely make a dent in them, and most of the time I’m not even trying to. Like most of us, I’m working on making it to the next sunrise, intact and sane. My music, regardless of the myriad intolerable ways the pandemic has changed it, is a big part of that sanity, and each of us – each of us – needs to believe in the value of the art they bring.
Be proud. Vote for yourself. Happy new year, such as it is.