Many years ago, I went to a Crosby, Stills and Nash concert. It was in the 1970’s, so well past the group’s heyday. Several times during the show, Stephen Stills chided – scolded! – the crowd for clapping or singing along. “We’re the singers”, he said. “Your job is just to listen.” Charming moment, Steve!
Of course he was missing a huge point – CSN’s music was ingrained in our collective past. So when “Teach Your Children” came up, we had no choice but to sing along. Stills failed to realize that audiences arrive with emotional attachments that cannot be ignored.
Just a few nights ago, Paul McCartney was on the Jimmy Fallon show, and they did a bit where they arranged for the building’s elevator to stop at a specific floor, and the people on the elevator would suddenly get a glimpse of Fallon and McCartney playing music or ping pong, other silly things. Literally everybody in those elevators had a visceral reaction to recognizing Paul McCartney – their knees buckled, they flushed and their hands rose to their faces in astonishment. Half a century after Beatlemania, just the sight of Paul McCartney affected them like that.
Some music affects us in ways that stick with us for years – for the rest of our lives, actually. The artists who deliver that music can be surprised to find this out. Actually, the emotional reaction can take the fans by surprise. There were a couple of bluegrass tapes (cassettes, of course) that I really liked and listened to quite often. One was a High Country album, and the other one was by Jim Nunally and Dix Bruce.
Years later, I happened to be in jam session with Dix Bruce, and when we played songs off that tape, I was truly thrilled – it was like I was joining those old memories all over again, but now I’m in it! Similarly, I have had the pleasure of playing with Larry Cohea numerous times over the years and I still get a rush actually contributing to those sounds that meant so much to me.
Great musicians who happen to be nice people (Cohea, Nunally and Bruce certainly count!) seem to understand that. Other musicians, not so much. I imagine it can get wearing when people you don’t know want to make unexpected small talk, ask annoying questions, or beg you to play their favorite songs.
Some people just aren’t good “people people”. I played a gig one time and a lady in the band that went on before us did a great job on the guitar – her tone and technique were impeccable. During the changeover, I asked her about her guitar (year and model – standard musician talk) and she looked and me and sneered “Guy always want to talk gear!” and turned away. I forgot her name, and I hope I don’t ever remember it.
If a musician (or any artist) is successfully conveying their vision, folks will be moved and they will assign emotions to the experience of encountering that art. And the result is, that art becomes part of that person. A wise artist knows this is not an invasion. It’s a sign that they are making a difference – who wouldn’t want that?
