I have spent the better part of my adult life playing in breweries, bars, clubs, venues, etc., and I have worked with a diverse cast of characters and encountered various perspectives on this craft. For rhetorical purposes, I am going to oversimplify these perspectives into a spectrum, which is defined by two extremes:
“ARTIST” ← → “ENTERTAINER”
On the artist side, the musician resents the typical “bar band” repertoire (Mary Jane’s Last Dance, Sweet Home Alabama, Wagon Wheel, Wonderwall, Angel From Montgomery, etc.), and insists on performing their own original music alongside a general catalog of songs curated to their own tastes, but not necessarily their audiences’, in whatever situation they are playing. They maintain their role as artist. The performer who represents this perspective considers themself an craftsman, approaches the work with passion, and holds to the belief that remaining true to their craft in all settings in which they might perform is a pathway to better opportunities, which they will achieve by carving out an audience for their original music, eventually, from the people who see them perform.
On the entertainer side, the musician fills their sets with only songs that they consider to be the most likely to be known and appreciated — and successful in generating tips and other revenues to themself — by their audiences, even if that means playing mostly music that they don’t consider to be especially good. They prioritize the role of entertainer, and consider themselves as such. The people I have worked with who have this perspective are highly skilled musicians, and are likewise deeply passionate about music, including their own original music and other music that inspires them. But, they don’t perform any of that repertoire in bars, breweries, clubs, etc. Instead, they consider this type of gig something that functions to fill in space on their calendar between the more “serious” shows at venues, where they are showcasing their original material.
Both of these perspectives miss the mark. They miss the mark because neither takes seriously the format of the bar gig. Each considers, in his own perverse way, the “wallpaper gig,” as I’ve heard it derisively called, to be beneath him as an artist.
The first accepts these opportunities reluctantly, as a placeholder to future opportunities in which he will perform for that audience that he has created for his own original works. For now, he will maintain his status as artist until such time as he is able to perform in an altogether different format: between one and two hours, on stage before an audience whose attention he commands; rather than three hours in the corner of a bar full of people talking over him.
The second understands the assignment a little better. He’ll play the songs that people know and expect. He will carry this out even to the point of pandering. He may play Take Me Home Country Roads, because he knows that this will compel people to get up from their chairs and belt the lyrics along with him (and tip. He doesn’t consider this work to be high art, or even reflective of his artistry. In this format, he is strictly an entertainer. He performs this role well, and to reasonable success, yet he keeps his his "true" artistry in reserve.
As I have previously said, these two perspectives describe real people that I have worked with and otherwise encountered in the context of their own performance, but, I have also been both of these myself. I have clung too strongly to my artistry, as I saw it, and scoffed at performing songs that I considered too basic or overdone. Instead, I insisted, for the sake of my own integrity as an artist, on performing the songs most hallowed to me — presenting works which, having experienced these in the proper context, had stirred in me the most profound sensations of joy, passion, love, awe, sorrow, melancholy, etc. that art can provide — but, in a setting wholly incompatible with experiencing these sensations, these works were received not at all. And then, becoming disillusioned with this approach, I cast aside those aspects of my artistry which I had found most cumbersome in performing that role that was given me when I booked the gig in the first place: that of entertainer.
So, I embraced the role. I began to select songs for my sets on grounds that they would provide the best chance of positive audience engagement and most forthcoming tips, rather than that they would produce the best performances — in criteria I would use to evaluate other performers, were I in their audience. Yet, I once again found that I was forcing songs into places where they didn’t quite belong. Where before I felt naked and exposed performing music that was deeply important to me, here I found a new and dreadful feeling: that I could perform these songs that I had conscientiously selected without regard to my own artistic consideration, and that, these songs, lacking the proper context, could be met with that same reception, previously described, that was sometimes provoked by the music I considered fundamental to my artistry.
Confronted with this “worst of both worlds” outcome, I became jaded, burnt out, I stopped booking gigs, and focused on other things for a time. I performed little in 2022. Instead, I did other types of work, I traveled some, kept up various hobbies.
My reentry into the profession came when I accepted a spot in the band Urban Soil, which was well-established, already with over ten years of touring experience behind them, with extensive contacts, efficient booking apparatus, and regional draw. It was a significant improvement from the work I had been doing previously, and I accepted and began the work eagerly. Unfortunately, it was very soon after I joined the band that group announced an imminent breakup, and so, though I had joined a band with eleven years of success to speak of, there was not to be a twelfth.
Disappointing as it was, this news was not such a terrible blow, because by the time it came, a change had come over me. I had spent the preceding years, from 2017 on, trying to construct a professional identity within this field. During this time I had encountered these perspectives previously described, I had adopted them each in turn as my own, to varying degrees and at different times. Then, I had repeated the process in reverse, rejecting each in turn in the same fashion. Doing this, I discovered truths and falsehoods, and completed the process of “cutting my teeth” — or come as close to achieving that as a person is able to confidently say of any contemporary moment.
At the very least, I can say with certainty that I ultimately settled on a new perspective, one that is distinct from those which I have encountered and from those that I have previously held myself. I will attempt to articulate that here. The fundamental principle, or rather the fundamental aspiration of my artistry is this:
to perform just the right song at the right moment, in the right space.
The principle of “right song / right moment / right space” doesn’t obscure the two roles, artist and entertainer, nor does it favor one for the other. Rather, it compels a heightened awareness of the two, together with a full understanding of the setting where a performance will take place, and an absolute mastery of the material to be performed. Let’s consider the following example:
Performing the song “The Star Spangled Banner” at the moment just before the start of a football game, with all athletes and spectators standing in silent reverence, accompanied by fighter jets passing overhead, would be a much more appropriate choice than “Don’t Stop Believin’,” by Journey. This performance would also have a greater effect at this moment than it would be if it occurred a few minutes later, when the game was already underway and everyone just wanted to get on with it. Finally, “The Star Spangled Banner” achieves its proper effect in the football stadium under the conditions previously described. It would not, however, achieve the same effect in, say, the waiting room of a dental clinic. In order to fulfill the principle of “right song / right moment / right space,” therefore, we must answer: which song, when, and where.
In this example, there is only one appropriate song to perform, based on the very specific conditions of the moment. In the case of my performance, I select from many possible choices, and I do so with consideration, as in the case of the football game, for the conditions of the moment in which each song is to be performed. “Right song” answers, not just the question of which song is to be performed, but also how it is to be performed. This includes all questions related to arrangement and all other details for the performance of that individual song. Answering all these requires a strong creative vision (see section “What is a creative vision?”) for the performance of the song in question.
“Right moment” engages with the full set or performance on a broader level. Answering this supposes that there is a particular moment in time in which a song will have the greatest effect. The crucial difference in my case, compared with the “Star Spangled Banner” example, is that the conditions I must consider are internal as well as external, meaning that the conditions of a moment, which will render a particular song most effective, are subject, in part, to my own manipulation.
I create the conditions under which each part of a set are best able to convey my creative vision. I order the songs within a set to give each song its proper context, to introduce certain musical ideas in order that others be understood or accepted, to present songs which prime the audience to be receptive of others. One song may serve as an introduction to another.
In other cases, what is needed is direct verbal communication with the audience. Talk sets can provide context, add intrigue, strengthen the narrative elements of a song, and otherwise act as a powerful performance tool to generally increase interest and engagement. This tool also illustrates the distinction between internal and external conditions, because my ability to use this tool in a performance requires, either, that I have the attention of my audience as a result of some preeminent natural condition of them, or of a condition of the setting which encourages the audience to grant me their attention, or, if no such condition is available, then I must capture their attention somehow in the course of my performance, and thus establish the line of communication needed for effective talk sets. In the former scenario I am responding to an external condition; internal in the latter.
“Right space” is chief among these external conditions. Space, as I am understanding it and intending to express, is not just physical space, but also communal space, ceremonial space, temporal space, and so on. Once again, though, the performer can create spaces, just as they can create moments. This is possible by evoking a collective memory, or possibly by a reference to a distinct community to which all or some of the audience belongs, or possibly, by delivering performances so compelling that they forge new connections among people — new communities, united by a shared appreciation of the performer’s music. This is the marriage of the artist and the entertainer. The artist reflects the artist’s inner self, while the entertainer reflects that of the audience. Truly effective performance reveals both, together, in a space where the two can meet, feel the presence of the other, and be changed by it.
Thus, the fundamental principle of “right song / right moment / right space” is also the fundamental aspiration of my artistry, because in fulfilling these, I may take into my own hands the conditions of my performance, such that I may no longer be subject to all the same external conditions, which are not of my own control, and instead favor internal conditions, such as I can control. To fulfill this principle is to create spaces, to create moments, in which I can express my art at my own discretion, to perform the right song — whichever one I choose.
