I saw some live music last night, and I didn’t enjoy all of it. It was amateurish, the choices of songs were questionable and the performances ranged from poor to merely competent.
It was a sort-of-not-quite-almost-open mic night, in that it was curated and hosted by someone who knew pretty much everyone, and although it was open to the public, it was, in essence, a gathering of friends.
As an outsider – and particularly one who’s lucky enough to meet and hear a lot of really great musicians pretty much routinely – the experience was at times hilarious, and at others, almost excruciating.
But my cynicism and distaste at the songs and their performances (with the exception of Jake and John who were brilliant) is completely over-ridden by my belief that the world should be full of much more of this sort of thing.
Music as culture
I go on about Music As Culture quite a lot, and while it’s central to my thinking about music and its place in society, it’s easy to forget what that can sometimes mean in application.
Playing music is about people coming together, sharing stories and experiences. It’s about expressing their identity and using their creativity.
That’s at the heart of that TV show idea I came up with a little while back, and last night’s experience taught me that there are probably going to be other sorts of enjoyments and gratifications to be had as a spectator of a show like that.
That doesn’t mean I have to like what it sounds like – and while I love the idea of people all over the world picking up instruments, and bashing out tunes they love with members of their family and friends, generally speaking it doesn’t have to form part of my – or anyone else’s – evening’s entertainment (unless, of course, it’s been fashioned into a brilliant, compelling and entertaining television series).
It’s about context
One of the favourite things I’ve done in the past year is to get together in the garage with a friend of mine on guitar, and my son Jake on drums. I played the keyboard (and anyone who knows me will tell you I do NOT play the keyboard) and together we mutilated a couple of songs.
It was great fun, it was a really cool thing to do – and had I not known us, but had instead walked in as a spectator, I would have been completely brutal in my assessment of the musical performance, the embarrassing choice of popular song and especially of the incompetence of the guy with the keyboard.
And just like that situation, there seemed to be an understanding in the room last night that everyone was ‘one of us’. The mood was supportive, forgiving, relentlessly cheery and encouraging. And I feel a little bit bad that I was an exception to that mood.
In my own defence, I had misunderstood the event. It had been billed as an Open Mic night – and it wasn’t. I was there to see Jake and his friend John (who is a member of that particular social and cultural group) perform to an audience – and I’d not really understood the context.
As I said to my friend Clutch, who I’d dragged along, and whose own musical sensibilities were assailed (Clutch is a phenomenal professional musician and composer) – had this all taken place in someone’s living room, had we known a few more people personally, and had we all been drinking and celebrating something… this would have been a great night.
Caveat
Of course, all this doesn’t mean I suddenly have to like all music, enjoy hearing good songs played badly or indeed let go of any of my musical snobbery (or ‘taste’ as I like to call it).
But what it does mean is that what Christopher Small calls ‘Musicking‘ – the act of making music, and the creation of meaning through that act – is what’s important here, and it’s what was going on last night. And that is completely worthwhile and brilliant.
Even if it means someone plays Tonight Tonight by the Smashing Pumpkins on a slightly out-of-tune guitar.
