Getting ready for our show on Thursday, I thought you might enjoy an insight into a normal day. So, here is my Sunday.
SUN JUNE 15
I woke up depressed and angry about only 11 reservations. I complained to Jim, "I’ll be so glad when this next week is over." I ate the last of my keto breakfast muffins.
Then I stuffed my blue Sgt. Pepper's jacket into my bag. Got on the train and went to the L station at Union Square. I was feeling kind of down, of course, and Gavin was also a little bit down, because we were bemoaning our previous night at Strawberry Fields, which got kind of rainy and dark. So it was a short gig and there was nobody there.
So now we’re standing on the platform of the L train. There are two trains between us. No, we are between two trains. One goes to eighth Avenue and the other goes to Brooklyn so the people getting off the train on the right are going up the staircase, and the people that get off on the left are also going up the staircase.
But when they come down the staircase, they run right to us and the majority of them are wearing earbuds or talking or engaged in some kind of avoidance activity, we do get people who smile and start to dance, or, not dance, their body starts to move. And the knees of the feet or the upper body.
The trains come at about three minute intervals if that long.
Half the crowd leaves with every train. Sometimes both trains arrive at the same time. And, poof! We’re alone.
This morning it was slow. Single bills trickling in. Maybe one every other song. Our backs were hurting, my neck had a knot from me turning toward him for harmonies.
Starting about 9:30. Going to noon. It was miserable hard work, especially since I have to do it with a smile and a playful camp counselor attitude.
But then, ten minutes to noon, a group of women saw us and started dancing. Singing along. That got the passengers going and we had about a 5 or 6 minute Beatles party.
Suddenly, all my aches were gone. It felt like I could do this for four more hours.
One older lady came up to us from behind and said I have been riding this train for 15 years and this is the best thing I have ever heard underground. And she threw down a $10 bill.
Two trains went by. And we were alone.
It was time to go. But I needed to pee. Gavin said there was one in the station so the balancing for me was do I try to find it or do I hold it out long enough until we get to Brooklyn to rehearse with Jake, which was our next stop?
I decided to go find the bathroom. First, I went up some steps and it was another train platform so I thought it was the wrong place so I went down and I went back to Gavin and then he said no, it’s on the platform up higher, so then I went back up to steps and then got more steps and then I found on the other side of the gate or there is a booth and there was a service worker in there so I asked him where there was a bathroom and he pointed me down the hallway.
I went all the way to the end of the station and I didn’t see a bathroom so I made my way back and it found the same guy but this time he was unloading a trash can. So I asked him again where the bathroom was and he said no, you go down this hallway and stay completely to the right. Just stay completely to the right.
So I went down that hallway and sure enough there were these two open doors that I could tell were bathrooms, male and female.
All good, we got on the train to eighth Avenue to catch the C train down to Brooklyn. Jake's apartment is this tiny little bedroom with a kitchen area and all of his musical gears on the walls. I love this guy so much.
The challenge of writing a show — I hate the word “show” — is that to do it right, you have to figure out who you are. Which means a lot of novel gazing, the kind you don’t do in public because it’s boring to other people.
I mean, some people may enjoy it, but for the most part, it’s the boring personal stuff that you have to figure out. Who am I? Why am I here? Who am I speaking to? What is my message? Do I have a message? Why do I do the things that I do? What is it that has put me in New York City at Strawberry Fields? And is that even significant?
And how is that related to who I am? I can tell the story of having played on John Lennon’s Piano, but what does that got to do with the small town Baptist boy whose first exposure to the outside world was the music of the Beatles? Well actually, it was the Monkees. Because of TV.
Timelines are confusing in my mind because in the world of Steve, they are my peers, meaning I think of them as my pals. Like distant friends who I know intimately and they know my songs just as well as I know theirs.
Every single time I meet a Beatles fan and they know some intimate piece of information about them, I feel almost personally violated. It’s totally stupid. Those are my friends. How dare you know as much about them as I do?
But what I have discovered is by singing three times a week for one to 2 to 3 hours at a time my voice is becoming very strong. I have the advantage of not needing to project. So I sing sometimes so softly I sing as softly as I possibly can, and I’m learning new techniques.
ADDENDUM: Our reservations, thanks to friends and Jim shaking the trees, have been climbing rapidly, so now I know Thursday is going to be awesome. I'm so relieved. But remind me to never do this again.
Until the next time.
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