She was not on the bill.
As I told everyone when I took the stage, “How do you raise a five year old that’s great at concerts? You take a three year old to dozens of shows and gradually get them accustomed to being in the audience.” I said this because I went on over halfway through a two-hour show, and Augustine had already exceeded my best hopes for her attention span. We were living on borrowed time – looking at my daughter was like staring at a car’s gas light.
I want to be cool and open up Augustine’s horizon.
It’s both selfish and selfless.
I want Augustine to grow up knowing that more things are possible than other kids might think and I want her to relate to me as someone who knows a bit about these things. My biggest failure would be if she responded to something with ‘I could never do that’ as opposed to ‘I could do that if I put my mind to it.’
That’s why I reached out to book a show at Last Fridays Songwriter Night. I wanted to play a venue where Augustine would be able to watch the show. I don’t have any particular dreams for her to be a performer, but her watching me play songs I created is somewhat extra-ordinary – might open her mind up to what is ‘possible’. Also, I really wanted to get on stage.
Now, there are two ways to look at bringing a three-year-old to an acoustic show – a great idea or a bad choice.
Which way your opinion falls depends on how you view singer-songwriter performances in a photo-gallery in Pasadena. Either way you look at it, Last Fridays Songwriter Night has a cozy vibe. With chairs and couches clustered around a single microphone it could feel sophisticated or homespun, to me it’s the latter. Also, since the audience is mainly comprised of friends/family. (ie. no one exits the stage having furthered their career, but everyone leaves feeling heard) The gallery is supportive and forgiving, which is why I thought brining Augustine would be fine.
So, I set out to get her in the right mindset, and maybe went to far.
I knew an after-her-bedtime show consisting of non-kid music could be a challenge for Augustine. (Several times at home she has grabbed the neck of my guitar mid-song to insist on hearing ‘Let it Go’.) To prepare us both, starting two weeks out I told Augustine all about my ‘music show’ and how she was especially invited to sit and watch.
Then, in response, about a week out Augustine let me know that she would be playing her songs too.
Augustine’s music is a ukulele played in the style of someone trying to pull a weed out of the ground or dislodge a stuck drawer. Much like the Ramones, she focuses more on sharing the physical feeling of the music rather than the artistry, though she does have a songbook where she writes her songs.
Augustine’s desire to and feeling capable of playing her own show was literally my dream coming true. So, be careful what you wish for because it was impossible to explain to her why she wouldn’t be able to perform at the venue. However, after talking, we decided that she would play her music before the show at home. We agreed upon this, for a whole week…until the day of the show.
The power children hold over their parents when there is a deadline to be somewhere is immense. That’s how her ukulele and my guitar ended up sharing a seat on the way to the show. It wasn’t that I didn’t try and dissuade her or diffuse the situation, it’s that the only way I was going to make it to the show was to pack up her instrument.
I thought I’d be able to convince her to leave her ukulele in the car, until I saw her holding her case and walking down the street. Augustine was brimming with pride – like a mom holding her newborn baby or a fifth grader carrying the winning science fair entry.
Seeing her stride towards her concert was watching someone experience joy in its purest form. All of the feelings that become the skeleton of any performance later in life that muddy the performers experience were absent. She was thrilled to be playing her music, completely free of self-doubt, ambition, fear, or reward. If she does decide to perform at some point later in her life, my only wish for her would be to carry a piece of this abandon into those shows as she had strutting down this Pasadena alley.
Against my better judgement, I let her lead the way, uke and all, and hoped for the best as we entered the gallery.
Even now, I’m not sure what the initial temperature of the room was.
I was on such high alert to any anti-kids feelings that it was impossible for me to read the faces of the half-dozen people gathered there already. But, no one said anything, so we continued on.
I only had one idea that I thought would work for everyone involved. Since we arrived just as the doors opened, I figured I would be able to set Augustine up on stage for a ‘performance’ before anyone at the venue or in the audience caught on. So, as I said my ‘hello’s’, I set up a chair on stage and told Augustine it was her turn to play.
Without hesitation, Augustine popped out her ukulele, climbed into her spot and rubbed her hands across the strings as if she was petting a cat. Her tongue out smile was directed at her mom, and I thought we had somehow made this work. She was visibly tickled, which let me briefly belive that she was too young to understand the idea of an audience’s attention. As the host got ready to start the show, we packed her ukulele back up and her mom and I congratulated her on her ‘great songs’.
However, Augustine wanted more. As she watched the other performers (all girls), she wanted the audience to be quiet and listen to her music too. I know this because she told me this at the end of every set. As each performer left, Augustine was lean over and ask ‘is it my turn now’.
It would be unfair to say Augustine didn’t wait her turn. When I took the stage, Augustine was sitting directly in front of the mic, excitedly nibbling her knuckles like a third-grader waiting to be called up to collect their honor-roll award. I saw this in her, this bubbling excitement that was nearly boiling over, which happened just as I finished my first song. Before I could roll into the banter for the second song, she called out, ‘Daddy, is it my turn now.’
I’m not sure what would have happened if I had let her take a seat while I ‘tuned my guitar’ or whatever-side-business I could make up. However, dismissing her question with ‘in a little bit baby’ had the same effect on her as Bradly Cooper putting peas on Lady Gaga’s hand or Freddie Mercury being told he had too many teeth – she just had to sing.
I knew I had a situation as I rounded out the next song’s first verse. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that, Augustine had slid out of her seat, grabbed another bench and was dragging it onto to the stage. Then when I looked back, she had taken her seat and had somehow summoned her ukulele from thin air. She wasn’t disruptive or whining – really, if she was older it could have been assumed that she was a soloist taking her place for the next section. That’s how she began taking over my set – calmly, nearly politely, taking her seat with far better posture than I have. From that point on, some twenty minutes, my act was a duet.
As the next song closed, again it came ‘Daddy, is it my turn now?’
The chuckles from the audience gave me the impression that this was a nice respite from the rest of the show. Which was great because there was nothing that could be done. This was the situation, Augustine was going to get her stage time. When sitting there carefully plucking on her ukulele didn’t give her the attention she wanted, she crossed over to me mid-song and Agrocrag-climbed up my side, snuggling inside my left – chord-playing – arm and pressing her forehead against my singing cheek.
I’ll never forget this show, and, the way I’ll always remember it, the audience liked the entire set. My daughter and I were nice to see, maybe even heartwarming. Augustine was never overboard, she was well mannered and just wanted to be a part of the show – just like when Green Day invites fans on stage to play a song – innocent joy.
The next few songs were a mix of Augustine sitting in her chair or carefully balancing her ukulele on a stool, and then it was over for me. Augustine got up on stage again after the last performer and strummed a bit more before calling it a night. As we left the venue just before midnight, Augustine began critiquing her performance – like every other person to ever be on stage – and make plans for her next show. Which I’m assuming will again overlap with mine.