LA Underground put on a delicious show, if I may say so. All boy-girl duos. We understood each other. When a few of us reconvened afterward, we unanimously delighted in a keen remark by Gerardo of Odd Modern: "Two is enough."
At the end of last week, though, I didn't think so. Luke was wearing a wrist brace and was unable to practice that much, and I was getting worn out, too. I had stamped, hand-inked, folded, and glittered dozens of cd's, while becoming accustomed to playing guitar and not looking down too often, not to mention staying on top of everything else, including caring for people and animals in two different households, as my other job is helping out my grandma, who lives with my mom. I was already tired of making cd's, strumming chords, and cutting vegetables when I pulled a muscle in my right arm while capturing my sister's heavy cat when he escaped Friday afternoon. Apparently, I am THAT frail.
I hated being two that afternoon. I felt but a useless half, and a deep malaise quickly descended upon me. I cried the rest of the day and well into Saturday. I almost didn't go to the show Saturday night. I told Luke that I was quitting the band, that two was definitely not enough, that our gear was too heavy, and that I was too ugly to perform. If not for my having promised to give a cd to Gerry, an awesome fan of ours, I might have skipped the evening altogether.
Sonia, another lovely fan, was there to greet me. She wanted to know why I was bummed, and I could read my pain in her face, as I recounted the details of myriad seeming problems. She responded in a very grounded and thoughtful manner that quickly elicited tears. A different brand, but, man, I was sobbing in a club that was hopping. Nevertheless, it was my good fortune to have forgotten to apply mascara.
We went on early because one of the other bands flaked, which made me particularly glad to have gotten over myself enough to have avoided that fate. Performing that night was quite cool. The crowd at the Cocaine was frisky and asked for more. We, of course, left them wanting. We had to; we don't have tons of songs programmed into the computer yet. A bit later, I autographed Val's, um, er...
Cut to last night at the Scene, where I experienced my first few moments of "presence" on stage. When I'd considered stage presence previously, I'd thought it a branch of mere artifice, another distasteful extension of the musical process, but everything changed because of a story Eckhart Tolle told. I'd watched it on Sunday and viewed it again just before the show via iPod. 'Twas of an archer who wanted to win so badly it was hurting his game. An observer asked a fellow observer, who happened to be a Zen master, what the floundering competitor was doing wrong. "His need to win drains him of power."
There is no future moment of fulfillment. There is only now.
I don't remember which song it was, but, at one point, I recalled that. My attention moved from the death of my tiny white amp toward the song's essence, and only at that point was I equipped to deliver the music in its proper form because it wasn't about me or my trying to perform or my concerns over the week's end. It was about letting it be what it is.
I had a breakthrough. There is no going back. I'm so excited. Some of you saw it (Seasons!) and are excited, too.
Thus, there is no future for boxViolet. There is only now.
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