First steps: Rehearsing (for) authenticity
Earlier this week, it felt like we took our first proper steps towards Abbey Road (and beyond). Two big steps in particular. Firstly, we booked the Glad Cafe in Glasgow for 6th October 2021 for a launch gig for the release of Bloodrush. More details of that event and of the release date will follow, but thus far the line-up for the gig includes me and Saskia Griffiths-Moore (the English folk singer who set up and runs Talent is Timeless): https://www.saskiagm.com. Secondly, I booked a few hours at Berkeley 2 Studios in Glasgow, and starting rehearsing, on this first occasion with James Mackay. James is my nephew but, more to the point, he is about to graduate from the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland’s Jazz programme; he has very kindly agreed to record the song’s guitar parts at Abbey Road. You can find out a bit more about him and his music here: https://www.facebook.com/james.mackay.73345. Let’s just sum up by saying he’s super-talented.
Both of these steps felt pretty exciting for me. I’m not going to write much about the gig here except to admit that I haven’t played very much live — I’ve done some open mics and some house gigs, and even one memorable ‘you can sing and play for pints and dinner’ at the Isle of Gigha hotel! I’ve also played my songs many times to my friends at ‘Vox Unbound’ — the creative community that Vox Liminis (https://www.voxliminis.co.uk) hosts, and where my own song-writing has been most nurtured and developed. Much of the line-up for the Abbey Road recording comes from that community. Louis Abbott has agreed to play the drums, Donna Maciocia to play keyboards and sing backing vocals, and Jill O’Sullivan to reprise the violin parts from the demo. Saskia (on backing vocals) and her bass player (Thomas Holder) complete the musical cast. I’m already feeling very grateful to them all, and very lucky!
I’ve learned a lot about both songwriting and performance in and around Vox Liminis, especially from people like Louis, Donna and Jill. I take some comfort that musicians I’ve met in that context often say that they find it more intimidating to share songs un-plugged to a few people that to play them with a band, via a PA to large audiences. So, inexperienced as I am, maybe I’ve already partly prepared for live performances. Even sharing my home-spun live-demo videos of songs on this site (and on my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxrK5yGwzJRfczDtg3_S9wg) has helped a bit. Precisely because those are imperfect and unadorned performances (just me, my guitar and one microphone), they feel like a ‘true’ reflection of what I can and can’t do right now. Although it always feels a bit scary to share them, it also feels comforting because, to me, they mean there is no pretence at being better or more than I am.
This issue — of honesty and authenticity — is a recurring one, and I think it relates to what my more experienced musician friends say about the vulnerability of sharing songs to just a few people and in an unplugged format. For better and/or worse, in that situation, there is nothing to hide behind. Interestingly, even though there was no audience in the rehearsal room, I noticed how the privacy of that space — and the projection of both voice and guitar through the PA — changed how I felt about singing and playing. It made me feel more like a player and a singer — maybe because having my performance mediated back to me by the PA made me the audience as well as the performer.
Another musician friend — Jo Collinson Scott (aka Jo Mango) — once explained to me how and why we rarely hear our voice as others hear it. When we talk and sing without any amplification, we hear our voice both as a sound wave projected through the air (just as other people hear it) and, crucially, projected through the bones, flesh and sinews of our heads. This is why we typically find recordings of our voice unfamiliar and discomfiting; to us, they do not sound like us. But in this case, in the rehearsal studio, I felt the opposite effect. Precisely because I sounded different when mediated by the PA (and, of course, with a healthy dose of delay on the vocal), I sounded (to myself) more like a singer.
A second thought concerns the purpose and process of rehearsal itself. My dictionary defines a rehearsal as ‘a practice or trial performance’. There’s a kind of paradox in there for me. When I listen to music — and when I make it — it matters hugely to me that what I am hearing feels genuine, or to use those words again, honest and authentic. Is there a danger then in being too practised or too polished or too well-presented? To put it simply, for me, the singer really needs to mean it; and that matters more to me than the technical qualities of their performance. That said, I suppose there is a limit: A technically poor performance can become a distraction, getting in the way of the communication of meaning.
In the Talent is Timeless online community, this has been one of the fascinating dimensions of our conversations and our feedback on each others’ performances. It’s obvious that, within an audience, different people value different things. Some care more than others about technical quality (not just of the performance but also of the audio and video recording); and I’ve learned such a lot from constructive and critical feedback of this sort on my performances (not just of Bloodrush). But for others, it’s much more about feeling the meaning and emotional credibility of the song and the singer. I’ve also learned a lot from feedback on this aspect of performance; and have been encouraged more than I can say by those who’ve responded both to my voice and to my songs in a positive way.
I’ve played and sung Bloodrush hundreds of times already; more than any other song, I’m sure. I worry a little about over-rehearsing it to the point where the words don’t mean what they first did to me. But then I think of how James played in the rehearsal and I realise that his ability to play with such sensitivity and authenticity is the result of years and years of both listening to and playing music. I once asked the Orcadian guitar genius Kris Drever (stupidly) how he got so good at playing; he replied that it was simple—it just took 10,000 hours of practice. Kris is mostly right, I think, but not completely; there’s more to his playing than that. For a particularly sublime example, listen closely, especially to the introduction of this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcBGW4l_9sE. The first time I heard this was in a live performance, and by the end I felt like puddle on the floor. It dissolved me.
So, to conclude, I think the point of rehearsal is not to substitute technical perfection for authenticity and feeling; rather, it is to enable it. If we practice to the point where we know we can hit all the right notes and at the right times, then we free ourselves to perform and communicate freely and authentically. But to then go ahead and do that requires an admission of and an engagement with our vulnerability — and even our humanity — which is harder for some people than others. Technical ability can’t deliver that. Vulnerability and humanity also develop through practice, I know, but life is not a rehearsal!
One last thought and request: As I get ready to record and perform ‘Bloodrush’ (and hopefully some other songs too), I want to soak up all the feedback I can, of whichever sort, and whether positive or negative. The whole point of the process is to learn after all, so please don’t hesitate to get in touch (via social media or the email on the Contact page) about any of the performances you find on this site or elsewhere.