Folk Alliance and Opportunity

Last weekend I went to the Folk Alliance Convention in Memphis,TN. I’ve not been to a Folk Alliance gathering in over a decade, but I found the conference extremely helpful early on in my music career. I got booked at my first Folk Festival, met my first booking agent, my first manager, and landed my first record deal all as a result of attending the International Folk Alliance conference.

I showed up that first year with with a black double pick guard Gibson J200 Everly Brother guitar, a handful of songs, a heart full of hope, and a head full of fear. The conference felt huge to me, everyone seemed to know each other and I knew no one, and  the obstacles to my songs being heard seemed insurmountable. I was still in the restaurant business at the time, with a closet full of well-worn chef coats, 25 employees (and their families) still depending on my restaurants for their income, and a dream of getting out. I had not yet toured as a musician. I was just getting started as a songwriter, and was as the very beginning of trying to figure out how the music business worked. I showcased my songs in nearly empty hotel rooms, felt overwhelmed and unseen, and ended my first timid attempt at a music conference unsure and a little shaky. But I left feeling determined, the little bits of encouragement I received did help, and I spent the next year working on my songs and playing open mics three our four nights a week.

I felt a little less intimidated by the time I went to my second Folk Alliance, and managed to land a publicist who was to become my first manager. By the third year I attended the conference I’d self released my second CD Drag Queens In Limousines,  I knew why I was there, and set some goals for myself. I was accompanied by my wonderful first manager Marlene Baker, and we were pro-active in getting people in the music business to come see me play. We landed an agent ( the legendary Sean LaRoche who held court at the bar),  a record deal was discussed (it took a while longer, but we eventually got one on the fantastic indy lable Signature Sounds), and I was on my way. I sold the restaurants, moved to Nashville, and I didn’t look back. Put Folk Alliance behind me, and almost forgot about it.

Fast forward 13 years.

I  returned to the conference this year because I wanted to see the old friends I’ve traveled with on my musical journey over the last decade, and renew other relati0nships that I had started and hoped to deepen. I also wanted to try to find a way to give back, sit on a few panels, try to repay some of the gifts I’d been given as a result of the wonderful group of folkies who converge every year for this event. Also, I wanted to play front of people who’d not seen me in a while, or who’d not seen me perform with Tania Elizabeth.We were offered several showcase opportunities this year, and enjoyed all of them. The biggest showcase was the “official” showcase, set up by the conference itself. A showcase I would have LOVED to have been offered all those years ago when I first started coming to the conference, but was not selected for back then. In the old days, I thought those official slots were only offered to stars.

Folk Alliance 2011

The showcase was on Friday Night, in a room  room packed with a couple hundred people. My friend Eliza Gilkyson was on right before me, and some of the people she brought into the room stayed for Tania and I and were joined by others who pushed in as seats opened when Eliza was done . Eliza left the stage, and we took the stage at nearly the same time. Eliza unplugged and we plugged in…there was literally no time for a sound check of any kind; the schedule did not allow for one. It was one two three go…you are on. I strummed a few chords, said hello into the mic, and that was it, showtime. The stage lights were bright in my eyes, I couldn’t see the people’s faces in the room but I could feel them, and I felt my heart begin to beat hard. I was nervous. Not so long ago, being up here, doing this official showcase at this conference would have been a big, big deal to me. Tonight I jumped up here without a second thought, the way I’ve been jumping on stages all over the world for years now; just get up and do it, don’t think about it. Just plug in and play your best, don’t worry about anything but delivering the song from an honest place and connecting with people’s hearts. It occurred to me that I’ve been so busy working hard over the last decade that I’d not taken time to look back and see how far I’d come. Pushing hard for progress, I didn’t take the time to measure it when it came. Moments like this were the measure for me, moments when I am made aware of the miles I have travelled over the last ten years. It’s been an amazing journey. I had to smile. I’d come full circle. My nerves were telling me to stop and smell the roses, to let myself enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Halfway into our second song the line to the fiddle went dead, and Tania’s playing was no longer amplified. The sound man tried to fix it to no avail, and I didn’t want to waste time on it given that we only had a 30 minute showcase. He jiggled the wires for about 2 minutes, nothing happened, and I knew I had to do something. I instinctively jumped off the stage and went into the audience to play the next song – Tania followed, and we played Last of the Hobo Kings as a sort of impromptu house concert. Standing on the floor  in the audience with the stage lights no longer in my eyes, I looked out into the packed overflowing room and saw friends from so many places–Betsy Siggins from my old days in Harvard Square at Club Passim, Barbara Manners who has booked me every year in her music series in Connecticut as far back as I can remember, Geoffrey Himes, the wonderful music writer who has written about me for many publications including the Washington Post and No Depression Magazine, Kim Jameson who took such good care of us at the 30A songwriters festival down in Rosemary Beach Florida a few weeks ago, students that I have worked with in many of my song schools and trips to Costa Rica, and dozens of other dear friends I’ve collected over the years. Without amplification, standing in the aisle between the seats,  I felt and SAW people lean into us. I felt and SAW love and support in the room, felt the energy in the room come together in that moment, united in song. I felt the power of unity, the power of people holding me up, of people joined in a spontaneous moment of oneness, of togetherness. It is a feeling money cannot buy, the feeling of being one in a room packed with people. I think it’s one of the things that drives musicians down the endless highways, the desire to experience this feeling over and over again, no matter the cost.

Not too long ago, I was afraid to look into the audience’s eyes. I’d close my eyes as I played my songs, I’d look over their heads. I couldn’t look into their eyes for very long. I’ve had to work on this, this fear being vulnerable, and fear of the power of looking into the face of the audience while singing to them. But here, in this place, surrounded by these people, it came naturally. I looked into their eyes one by one, and took it in. I let myself feel the power of it. It’s both a humbling and poignant feeling. What to with it, I don’t yet know.  All I really know is that yes, I have come a long way in short time, and the true treasures of my journey are the many relationships that I have formed. I couldn’t have planned this night any better. The power failure was a blessing, a gift, an opportunity. An opportunity to look into the eyes of love, and slowly take it in.