Creating a radio played just for two
Well, it's been a few days since the tour ended, so I've had a little time to reflect on our experiences. I don't want this page to wither just because we aren't on tour, so I'm going to tell you what I've been thinking.
I've been thinking about the way it's so easy to get hung up on the idea that the room wasn't as full as it could've been in this or that city, or that we didn't make enough money at this or that gig, or that I broke this many strings during that set, or what have you. Now, of course we want to play for lots of people and make money and have our instruments not break. It's difficult to play your heart out when the room is mostly empty space and there's a guy whispering "10 more minutes" in your ear when you've got 6 songs left and you just spent your last 5 dollars on a beer and your guitar only has 4 strings.
It's a real struggle to play music in front of strangers. You have to overcome a lot of things - apathy, unfamiliarity, awkwardness, jadedness. Sometimes it's too much. But sometimes you manage to crack the shell and let the light shine through, and suddenly people stop worrying about how they look to everyone else, or whether they've heard of this band before, or how sweaty they're getting. And when that happens, and everyone realizes it's happened, it's a feeling of release, and euphoria, and unity, and that's why we do what we do.
And when I think about that feeling, I know that if I can make one person cry, if I can send one person home with something I created, whether it's a CD or just a happy memory, then that's enough to justify the all-night drives and the sleeping on the floor and the infrequent meals. And we did that. I can't regret a mile of the nearly 5000 we traveled, because I know we made someone feel something. Not everyone, but someone. And that's enough.
I'm not sure when we'll be back to Raleigh, or Williamsport, or Pittsburgh, or Leonardtown, or New York, but I know that we left things behind in all of those places - things that with any luck are still bringing someone happiness right now, even though we don't know about it.
So I want to take one more opportunity to say thank you to everyone who came to see us, everyone who sang, danced, or shouted, everyone who took the time to talk to us, everyone who fed us or gave us a place to spend the night. We only bother to play because of you. And please, don't be a stranger.
And we're going to do it again. Citizens of Nevada, Arizona, California, Oregon, Washington: prepare yourselves! Steve Goldberg and the Arch Enemies are coming. Feel free to recommend a venue or city for us to play. We'll see you in October.
I've been thinking about the way it's so easy to get hung up on the idea that the room wasn't as full as it could've been in this or that city, or that we didn't make enough money at this or that gig, or that I broke this many strings during that set, or what have you. Now, of course we want to play for lots of people and make money and have our instruments not break. It's difficult to play your heart out when the room is mostly empty space and there's a guy whispering "10 more minutes" in your ear when you've got 6 songs left and you just spent your last 5 dollars on a beer and your guitar only has 4 strings.
It's a real struggle to play music in front of strangers. You have to overcome a lot of things - apathy, unfamiliarity, awkwardness, jadedness. Sometimes it's too much. But sometimes you manage to crack the shell and let the light shine through, and suddenly people stop worrying about how they look to everyone else, or whether they've heard of this band before, or how sweaty they're getting. And when that happens, and everyone realizes it's happened, it's a feeling of release, and euphoria, and unity, and that's why we do what we do.
And when I think about that feeling, I know that if I can make one person cry, if I can send one person home with something I created, whether it's a CD or just a happy memory, then that's enough to justify the all-night drives and the sleeping on the floor and the infrequent meals. And we did that. I can't regret a mile of the nearly 5000 we traveled, because I know we made someone feel something. Not everyone, but someone. And that's enough.
I'm not sure when we'll be back to Raleigh, or Williamsport, or Pittsburgh, or Leonardtown, or New York, but I know that we left things behind in all of those places - things that with any luck are still bringing someone happiness right now, even though we don't know about it.
So I want to take one more opportunity to say thank you to everyone who came to see us, everyone who sang, danced, or shouted, everyone who took the time to talk to us, everyone who fed us or gave us a place to spend the night. We only bother to play because of you. And please, don't be a stranger.
And we're going to do it again. Citizens of Nevada, Arizona, California, Oregon, Washington: prepare yourselves! Steve Goldberg and the Arch Enemies are coming. Feel free to recommend a venue or city for us to play. We'll see you in October.
