Here's an item I've never had the balls to discuss in public. I've rarely mentioned it even in private, unless the people I was talking with were sleepy enough, or drunk enough, that I figured they'd probably forget I said it.
"Entertainment" is a thing about which my feelings are decidedly mixed.
I've been accused in plain speech of forgetting that I'm supposed to be entertaining the audience. This accusation is particularly galling to me, as it implies a kind of disrespect for the people who paid to hear my music. In fact, I have an unusually high respect for my audience, because in spite of the mountain of circumstantial evidence I've collected in bars over the years, I continue to believe that Americans can understand and even enjoy music and words that are more challenging than those of the dreary hit parade. More times than I can recall, I've spoken to people whose tastes were not so adventurous but who loved my work nonetheless. That's always more exciting to me than the praise of the highfalutin or self-congratulatory. In fact, in my experience, a lot of people who consider their pop music taste to be discerning are unmoved by my music. It could be that my music simply isn't good enough for them, and I'm in denial about that, but while I enjoy my music (mostly), I don't really believe music can be safely and responsibly evaluated in terms of goodness and badness. It's especially wrongheaded to discuss pop music in these terms, because the personality and physiques of the players and singers has such an outsized role in determining listener reaction.
Although I maintain a low level frustration about the American need to be entertained by photogenic people, I've come to believe there's a more significant psychological factor at work than the looks and persona of the artist. I think it's more deeply rooted even then our desire to have sex with the person behind the microphone, or the typewriter.
Charisma isn't just about physical attraction; I believe the iceberg below the water line is the feeling that you're part of something big. This is why charismatic guys and gals, whether they're rock singers, actors, or cult leaders, need not be sporting conventional looks. Charles Manson, even at his hunkiest, was no Mick Jagger. But Manson knew what every good dinner party hostess knows-- your job is to make your guests feel special.
I don't argue that each entertainer understands this, even in a subliminal way; I don't think they always do. Many artists are focused on their art, and the result makes people feel included in something through an alchemy that neither party could explain. For the target audience, this witchery is like catnip for a cat. (Do other animals have their own versions of catnip? I like to believe, for example, that platypuses are highly susceptible to the effects of platypus-nip. I think if you could spend a few bucks and watch your platypus get really zonked, the platypus would be far more popular with pet owners.)
Some people like to feel they've been invited to the greatest party ever. For Jimmy Buffett's fans, this party makes you feel the giddiness of a young white person drinking margaritas in a banana republic. For George Clinton's fans, it's more an atmosphere of psychedelic space fucking. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
For those more inclined to thrive in a mellow atmosphere dotted by midriff-flaunting seaweed dancers and goat-odored wild-eyed Rip Van Winkles, the Grateful Dead and their miraculous sound system toured early and often.
Many other examples could be given. Sometimes what the entertainer promises is a party, and other times it's validation. If you like my music, you obviously know what's up.
It's difficult for me to write about this for several reasons. Many of my favorite artists are planted along the antisocial spectrum, from grumpy crosspatch to pathological reptilian. I recall unhappily the revelations that various of my artistic heroes (Lou Reed, Fritz Lang, etc.) were nasty pieces of work. It didn't stop me from being moved when Lou Reed died. But there's a larger issue.
I literally feel like I'm insulting people's intelligence when I affect a phony welcoming stance, either onstage or off. Paradoxically, I always try to be kind and gracious with anyone interested enough to talk to me about my music. I sometimes wonder if people mistake my lack of stage chumminess, or my mushbrained postgig expression, for unfriendliness. I hope not.
Years ago, when I briefly had a band that drew enthusiastic small crowds, I couldn't even get to the damn bathroom during a set break, due to the clump of fans bent on bonhomie. I recall a specific show where my gin-bedeviled bladder was about to explode, and I waved off an attempt by a woman at the bar to draw me into a stop-and-chat. I said something about badly needing to go to the bathroom, and tried to keep moving, and she grabbed my arm and launched into an angry screed suggesting that it wasn't cool for me to lie to her, as if she were just some average fan. My attempt to convince her that my bathroom sprint was a real physical need fell on drunk ears.
I've told this story before, but Lee Wilhoit and I used to have a nonverbal system of signals where he was supposed to extract me from conversations that dragged on like the later seasons of MASH. This system had its limitations, chief among them being Lee's ability to gape at me motionlessly no matter how vigorously I signaled him. The problem with pantomime signals is that when used in a prolonged and repetitive manner, they give people the mistaken impression that you are dangerously unhinged. I quickly came to regret my ill-considered assumption that smacking myself on the top of my head repeatedly would be a good signal. After about two straight minutes of this, even an artist of boundless confidence begins to feel a certain self consciousness.
I wanted to get all of this in the open before saying something uncharacteristic.
If you are listening to my music, or listening to my podcast, or reading this blog, I appreciate it very much. And I don't consider it flattery when I tell you here that I think you are smart and discerning for doing these things, and I hope you're enjoying all of it. I'm not sure how much of a party vibe I'm whipping up with all of this jolly entertainment, but I do want to say that I absolutely think you're part of something.
That something is the group of people who are at least semi-aware of the world and of themselves, and who
have some inkling about the human potential for trafficking in horseshit to delude themselves and others, but also the human potential to create things both magical and lasting in the face of all the counterfeit fun and self-congratulation. I don't have a cool name for this group, like Parrotheads or the Kiss Army, but if you all need that, please let me know and I'll see what I can do. I thank you sincerely for showing up once in a while to check out my latest recorded caperings, and I hope you can forgive me for focusing more on the art and less on the shmoozing. Unlike the USA, I don't have the option of borrowing precious time and energy-- my budget of those items is stretched to the limit accommodating my research and development of the product; there's slim to none left for public relations. For those who consider that a dealbreaker, I bid you a wet-eyed adieu.
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