2007-02-17 - 10:52 a.m.
When I was back in Wisconsin a month ago for my grandfather’s funeral (not 50th Wedding Anniversary Grandpa—I’m talking grandfather on my stepdad’s side), I found out that one of my cousin-type things, who is a few years younger than my brother and I, graduated from high school and traveled around the country for months following Phish or something Jam Band-y band. And to make money, she made and sold grilled cheese sandwiches at the concerts.
First of all, that’s kind of amazing because now she will be forever be known on my dad’s side of the family as “the great-grandchild who followed a band religiously across the country.” That takes balls to be that grandchild. And it’s arguably better than “In Rehab” Grandchild or more interesting than “Writing an Honor’s Thesis” Grandchild.
From my perspective I wouldn’t have the patience to sleep in tents every night just because I loved a band so much that I wanted to hear them EVERY NIGHT FOR SIX MONTHS. I mean, I love Kathleen Edwards pretty much 10 times more than I love any other artist but I think after two or three nights in a row, I’d be content with her albums.
Then I started thinking about it from the perspective of the band, if I got really famous as a singer-songwriter and amassed this following of people who followed you everywhere, every night, all the time. And when I thought about it, I got mildly annoyed.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s very flattering that people would put off things like getting a job, studying, or contributing to society all because they love the music you make so much. But the thing for me is twofold. First of all, I don’t ever know if I’d want my music to be so overpowering great that it put people into a trance-like state where they’d follow me wherever I’d go. I’d want people to love my music, to put it in and feel like they were going to cry when they listened to certain songs, attend a concert or two during their lives, and maybe put up a really great picture of me as their computer wallpaper.
However, I wouldn’t want people to do anything hugely damaging or altering because of me because in the end, I’m just a guy with a guitar saying stuff. To me it’s ideas like “Helping Other People” or “Making Myself a Better Person” that drive me—not Kathleen Edwards “Copied Keys,” as great as that song is.
The thing that got me the most about traveling groupies is that since they’d hear you every night, they would be able to pick apart your music and your mistakes even more than you’d be able to. They’d come up to you after the show and because they have this huge devotion towards you, they’d feel like they could give you some constructive criticism like, “Man, Steve—that was a pretty show but I don’t know if it was as good as the one you did in Salt Lake last week. I mean, I think the problem is that you’re opening with ‘Cup of Tea, Cup of Love,’ which instead should be your first encore number. Also, I’m not so sure I’d go with a full-band arrangement on ‘He Got You, Honey’—your acoustic version is so much better, dude. And also, what the hell happened tonight on ‘I’m Ready (Nowhere But Here)’?!?! You guys really got messed up on the coda, huh?”
Totally obnoxious, completely. I’d have to tell them, “You know what, Paco? I have a pretty good idea of what I’m doing since I’m the man writing and playing the songs, so why don’t you stick to the grilled cheese—which I hear that you’re good at—and leave tracking and arranging to me?”
Joe thinks that this is a terribly ungracious way of thinking about fans, that I should be happy that people would feel so strongly towards my music. Which I can kind of see, since I should be grateful for anyone who listens to my songs (which I am, by the way). I just don’t go together well with that kind of hysteria.
All I’m saying is if you’re good with a George Foreman, don’t pick up my guitar.
