(This is an excerpt from my book, ‘The Useful Musician‘, available on Amazon in both Kindle and paperback formats)
WHY IT MAKES YOU MORE USEFUL:
You create good will. You get asked back.
WHAT TO DO:
Watch and listen. Keep an eye out for a player or singer who’s struggling, and see what you can do to help them. Do it quietly if you can, without anyone seeing. Remember that a musicians’ identity is often wrapped up in their ability to play or sing—instead of knocking that down to make yourself look better, see if you can improve it.
THOUGHTS:
I was a young player in a recording studio session and struggling for something useful to play on a particular track. Rick (I’ve mentioned him elsewhere) came over and said, “Hey Ed— play this”. And then he showed me the coolest, funkiest little figure to play that involved little ghost notes with my left hand. It wasn’t hard, and I picked it up right away. This was during a break in the action, so nobody really saw. When we picked it up again and started recording, I played what he’d shown me. It sounded cool.
Standing a few minutes later in the mixing booth, listening to the playback, one of the singers said, “Did you hear what Eddie played there? Ed, you’ve been holding back on us!” I started to say something but Rick jumped in and said, “Ed’s got the moves, man.” He didn’t even take credit for it. I was very loyal to Rick for that, and for other things like it.
And now here’s how NOT to do this…
There was a young woman, a college student, who sang with us sometimes at The Big Church. She was a good singer, but suffered from horrible stage fright. We sat backstage one week, waiting for the sermon to end so we could go out and do our last song—on which she was singing lead. I was sitting next to her and stage fright was all over her. As God is my witness, I tried to help her get over it.
In an effort to lighten her up, in an effort to help her see that all this was just not worth all the worry, I said, “Hey Sarah—that song you’re going to sing in a minute? It’s SO IMPORTANT. I mean, we rent this building, we invite the public, we plan these services, we rehearse, and then the pastor preaches, and then, at the end, the WHOLE THING is brought home by the song we’re playing. EVERYTHING in this service hinges on it being perfect. I mean, people might actually leave and never find God if you mess up even one little note.”
I thought surely she’d laugh and see that the exact opposite of what I was saying was true, that our little part in the service was just that—one little part.
Sarah didn’t take it that way. She almost threw up. When I saw what was happening I tried to explain myself, but it was time to go out onstage. She did okay, but I was read the riot act by several people. I wrote her a letter, explaining and apologizing, but I’m pretty sure that was the last time she ever sang with us. Several years later I ran into her, married, kids running around her, and I went up to her and apologized one more time. I was hoping she didn’t slap me. Instead…ready for this?…she didn’t remember it.
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