Europe Reflections, Part Four: Playing The Troubadour

When I walked out of the back room into the dimly lit performance area of The Troubadour, London UK, I headed straight for a cluster of smiling faces and waving hands.   Here I was a bizillion miles from my home New York and there were about 9 wonderful people there specifically to see me at my first ever London gig. 

Well, OK, it was officially my 2nd London gig, but I'd been battling Laryngitis since I got off the plane early that previous Saturday morning.  I had to bow out of my special fundraiser show at the Ram Jam Club on Sunday because I could barely speak and certainly couldn't sing.   Now here I was speaking a bit more clearly but still croaking out hellos at The Troubadour on Wednesday and hoping my singing voice would somehow be there once it was my turn to take the stage.

Whether I would sound great singing or not, I knew the highlight of that evening was already upon me as I said my first hellos to new UK friends I'd met on Facebook.  Nigel, Pete, Kim and Dave all drove various amounts of hours from their homes to come meet me and see an otherwise online stranger from the states play.  And there was Neil and Jo and Isabel and Susan, too.  My lil UK fan club corner was so supportive and excited for me and I couldn't have been more grateful.

My dear UK Friends, if you're reading this, I am still so humbled and happy that you were there.  It lifted my spirits and it gave me the courage I needed to brave my raspy-voice dilemma and get on up there anyway.

The Troubadour was packed.   It was Songwriter Sessions night, but you'd think the crowd didn't know there was live music at all when the host played a few songs and the first singer/songwriter played her full 30-ish minutes.   I would later learn that it was a night better for full bands, but when the eve started I and my little group looked around in astonishment that the place was so dang loud and not a soul was paying attention. 

I started thinking it might be just fine if I sang like shit.   Only 9 people would hear me anyway.

I was 2nd to play.   The host introduced me.   We cracked some jokes, he exited.  I stood tuning the beautiful Epiphone 6-string acoustic guitar that Neil Sumner loaned me and repeated in my head the words that Susan's dad had said to me that morning.

"I think you'll transcend the physical...transcend the physical....transcend the physical...."

I can't even remember now what song I played first.  The lights were so hot and bright, I could no longer see my supportive corner of listeners.  The talking voices were loud and the clinking of glasses constant and I just chose my pocket of rhythm in the middle of it all and began. 

Intro chords.  Strumming, strumming.  Don't think, just sing.  Don't THINK, just sing.

And it was there.   In my rehearsal, I couldn't get enough breath and I couldn't sing above a hoarse whisper, but on stage my singing voice, she was THERE.

I was so elated, I didn't care that no one was listening.   I was so happy to be there in freakin' London, where I had never been before, and I was SINGING!  I was playing the same club that incredible troubadours like Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan had played.   The entire time I was up there singing, I was curled into the warmth of it, the sweet floating high of it.   I have no idea what songs I played.  I have no idea what I said to the crowd, other than sincerely thanking Neil for letting me use his wonderful guitar.   That guitar helped me feel grounded and maybe even a little bit at home.

I played.  I sat down with relief and to the hugs and high-fives of my friends.  We listened to the young rock band that played after me and a bit of the next band's set. Though we really had no choice.  When a young rock band hits the stage, you can no longer hear anyone around you. The rest of the room was forced to finally listen, too.

Over the next couple of days, my voice got better and better.   And Friday I headed on my own to Norwich UK, a 2-hour train ride from London, to play a small club called Jurnets Bar.  

By Norwich, I had my confidence back.  I was still dealing with a cold, but I could sing through it.  I showed up at Jurnets with Neil's guitar in tow and walked up to the sound man, Alex, who looked to be about 19-years-old.  We said hello.  He was lovely.  Said he was doing sound checks and asked if I needed one.  Nope, I was fine, just throw me up there when you're ready.  

I bought a glass of red wine.  I parked myself in the back of the room.  And I started looking around and noticed that most everyone else in the busy club looked to be about 19-years-old, too.   Including the very punk band in the middle of a very loud sound check.  Including the punk band's entourage sitting right near where this 41-year-old singer/songwriter from NY was going to be playing. 

A club full of 19-year-olds.   Sharing the stage with punk bands.   No one I knew within miles...uh, kilometers.

I sipped my red wine and kept saying to myself under my breath "Don't leave.  Don't leave.  Just play the set.  Don't leave...."

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Did I play to all the 19-year-olds in Jurnets Bar, Norwich UK?  And if I did, were they nice to me?

STAY TUNED for the FINAL blog post of Europe Reflections coming SOON!