An Audience of One

I changed the strings on my Gibson last night, after putting the kids to bed. I did some work on new songs for the summer, but after a while I drifted back to songs I haven’t played in years. Not the pop songs that usually get played on the radio, but slow mournful tunes I enjoy playing for myself.

I play in front of people so often, and I work hard to give them a good show. I lean into certain lines, add a guitar fill to spice up a repetitive four-chord progression, dance around in between verses. I sweat, I trip over my mic stand, I laugh about the guy who’s still shouting “Free Bird” at the end of the bar.

It’s lively, and it’s warm, and it’s the reason I love playing for folks - we’re doing something together.

But when I play alone, in an empty room, the energy is different. I’m more focused, and I can feel the strings’ vibrations flow from my fingers up to my shoulders, and I can feel my voice barreling through my chest and echoing through my head. It all becomes a single sensation.

For me, when I hit that place, it’s hard to put the guitar down.