Expanding on my assessment

Have you ever played to an audience before? Have you ever tried to recreate a song for tens, hundreds, or thousands of individuals sitting in the dark room in front of you?



It is terrifying. It is not like recorded music; you cannot make it perfect and consider yourself done, because live music is not that simple. Live music is a beast of its own; you can drill and drill and drill and yet it well never reach the level of perfection you want it to be at. It will never sound like the recording you are attempting to embody, and it will never leave you one-hundred percent satisfied. You will always nervously scan the audience after the performance is finished, searching their eyes for judgement and dissatisfaction. The feeling is as if you have just plummeted through the floor yet your stomach has remained in your chair, left to fend for itself. It's not pleasant.



Sure, you experience that rush of excitement when you hit all the right notes in a sixteenth-note run; when you nail the syncopation; when you and your partner play in unison and in tune; and then you fudge one accidental, which ruins the whole night for you.



Is it crazy that performers are so hard on themselves? Surely it would be more crazy if they weren't; how can anybody be pleased after the ordeal that is a live show? The night is a tight knot of stress, anxiety, frustration, and sweat that remains with you for those thirty to forty-five minutes. The only thing to look forward to is the surprise that someone actually enjoyed the show; that somebody actually connected and applauded and smiled at you. Somebody actually came up and shook your hand, congratulated you and left pleased. And yet performers are at home the next day, drilling and drilling and drilling.

I don't know how music could ever get recorded, what with musicians being such perfectionists. I guess that's why it takes years for a new album to become complete. All that fine-tuning must be agony. But it would also be quite satisfying, to achieve exactly what you are envisioning. It's entirely different from that dark world where pairs of eyeballs stare at you across a dimly lit room. It's just you- your band mates- your producer- and your equipment. Don't worry, nobody's watching. We're here all day. You can have as many takes as you want. Don't sweat it if it's not perfect just yet. We can fine tune it until it sounds TOO good.

Recorded music is a completely separate being from the world of live music. It's perfection in 10 to 14 tracks. It's a beautiful story told from beginning to end through an album. So why do we still insist on seeing our favorite musicians perform live? We have all we need. We have all the songs they will play for us at the show on our CDs, our vinyl, our iPods, our computers, our internet... what more are they going to give us?

I must say, I simply believe us consumers are a cruel brand of individuals. I know that whenever I see a show, the biggest criteria I judge is if they put on a good live performance. Does it sound like the record? Is the band in sync as well as in tune? Can they pull off the solo note for note, beat for beat? Will they add in anything that wows me? Will they blow me away? Will I still love them after this?

We put a lot of stock into our favorite musicians, artists, performers and bands. We want them to succeed, but not for them: for us. If they fail, our taste has failed. We will no longer see them in the same light. We will be disappointed. While this can turn unfortunate, it does serve the purpose of adding the element of sheer excitement to a show. If the artists CAN wow us, if they CAN pull off anything and more, well, then we're screaming at the top of our lungs. We're going hysterical. We can't believe it. It's extraordinary; out of this world; an impossible feat. This intensity is what we go to see. We want to be exhilarated in a way that only live shows can exhilarate us.

The consumer needs this excitement to keep pulling them to a concert. The musician needs the consumers to keep buying their recordings so they can continue to escape to the world of musical perfection. The concerts need to happen to convince the consumer that this is an artist worthy of their support. The circle goes 'round and 'round, leaving the consumer the judge and the musician beggar. Each night, the lights go off and the spotlight appears-- the musician takes his or her place, looks into the darkness, and prays that they hit each cruel sharp that was added in the bridge; that their voice doesn't crack when they aim for that reach; that they don't come off as too nervous, even though their palms are too sweaty to hold their instruments steady; and that finally, the crowd is actually congratulatory and leaves for home with a smile plastered upon their face, now truly pleased that their music choice has been justified.