You drive, 2, 4, 6 hours from home...
to get a paycheck equivalent to a night serving tables or selling plastic jewelry on Congress Avenue.
You pour your heart out, and you play the most Spiritual thing you have ever written.
You sing the words that made you cry the day you laid them on a coaster.
It's the song that made you clench your fist in fury and glory and self-affirmation. You sing to them. The realizations that made a young soul believe in God.
It's a statement you knew would change the world.
And they stare at you. Bored.
So, you play them “Amarillo by Morning”.
Like Pavlov's Dogs, they trot to the dance floor and two step.
It's a song written to be a hit. A song written to sell tickets. A great song.
You clench your fist again. Humble but full.
You laugh it off until dawn with three other guys who believe you might have a good idea.
Maybe a lonely woman or another drunk dude joins you in the sanitized sanctuary.
You finish the sponsored case and catch 5 hours of over-caffeinated stillness.
The Spanish lady pounds on the door.
The amplifier is heavier in the morning and the vehicles really aren't adequate.
You make room and pray it doesn't rain.
You're $70 wealthier. You might make rent.
So, you drive.
Home.
To Austin, or Boston, or New York or Nashville.
Tired and ornery.
You have to play the hour you promised a “great contact”.
You're $50 from comfort and your best friend drives a BMW. Brand New.
It's the 31st, and your family is 900 miles away. But you play. For free. For fun. For God's Sake.
It's cold out, it's raining, and it's slow that night.
And then she sings.
She sings those words you put on a napkin or a notepad ten years ago.
Verbatim, to the T, she sings your song. Her friend sings too, and they raise their glasses.
In front of the masses, the 23 gathered, you see them smiling along.
A new friend, steps on the hardwood.
Singing the soundtrack to your youth.
And it is all worth it.
You are Damned Right. It is worth it. : )
and my God, it's fun.
Jeremy