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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

Tonight at Remedy Coffee House you can hear the smooth grind of espresso, the murmurs of conversation, and the mellow tones provided by your humble narrator, Levon Walker.  Coffee shops are intimate, you can listen or not, and my band enjoys the night off (wherever they are).

What do songwriters really want?  Sometimes for people to hear them but not be looking.  It’s a puzzling predicament, this trying to make a living in entertainment.  Hopelessly shy and ferociously introverted, it’s exhausting exhilarating and stretching.  I walk off the stage and then run away to myself, for a discourse on what they thought of us.  Do I have all my limbs?  Have I lost blood?  Ah, I am still alive; really alive.  It compels me to do it again.

Its healthy to incorporate something on a regular basis that scares the hell out of us.

Modern dance and karaoke at Toots have helped.  There was a time when a good friend, and he will remember this, put me on a big bill downtown. He had to walk out on stage to put the mic in my face, three times.  I kept leaning back further from the piano.  He was gracious, made it look like a sound-guy issue.  Embarrassing.

For so long I’ve played in bands, where I can fit in.  Or dinner music in a black suit, functioning as a component of the piano.  Fallback habits come easy under pressure.  When the lights are on, I try to get out of them.  It’s the worst feeling, “I didn’t win, I didn’t lose, I hid in the dark.”   There was something I didn’t say.

With any performance, it matters what you can do when it counts.  The rest of the time it matters even more.  We are not made or broken in a 45 minute set.

My purpose today, and it seems like I have been shrugging, is to suggest that you come to Remedy tonight and listen.  Don’t look at me, you can clap, and then say nice things to Ashley so she can tell me later.  That’s how an introvert wants things, and the attitude that keeps me looking for odd jobs.

I promise not to mumble, turn things into instrumentals, or ignore the light in my spine that wants to dance.  Laugh at my jokes, okay?

 

 

 

Remedy in the Old City, 8 PM

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