This is a note to self, a journal of sorts. You might find it relevant too…
Last Sunday I was a guest on a local radio station, Manchester-based ALLFM. I had an hour-long chat with the lovely host and played some tunes live in the studio. Fast forward six days to Saturday and I took to the stage at the Manchester Coffee Festival. I played to an eclectic audience and had a lovely day out sampling coffee, crafts, sweet treats and all of my favourite things. It's been a good week indeed.
A few days ago I listened back to the recording of the radio chat, and as I was doing so, I had two realisations. The first is that my speaking voice doesn't sound like I think it does. In truth, this isn't much of a realisation; I've known this for a while with my singing voice, and it has taken a while to get used to the idea that my voice sounds different in my head compared to what I hear when I listen to my song recordings. Still, it hadn't occurred to me that the same would apply to my speaking voice, until I listened to my radio interview.
This brings me to the second, and more pertinent realisation: I was on the radio. This may sound basic and matter-of-fact, but the implications for me are significant. A radio host considered my music and my art worthy of inviting me into the studio for a chat and a live music session. This still hasn't sunk in, that my voice, my ideas, my music, and my essence have been broadcast live on air.
At the festival on Saturday, I had a conversation with the stage programmer, the person tasked with the job of securing artists to play at the event. We'd never met in person and all our prior communication was online via email and social media, so the festival was the first time we were in the same space. She mentioned in passing how I'd been popping up on her social media feeds for a while, and she'd made a note to reach out when the ideal opportunity presented itself, hence the coffee festival gig. This warmed my heart, that someone had reached out with an opportunity like this. A while ago I wrote about how encounters like this, even though they're few and far between, provide the perfect antidote to the scores of rejections we get in the industry, and serve as reminders that there's good all around.
Between my Sunday radio interview and my Saturday festival, I had another chance encounter. On Tuesday, I played one of my regular midweek venues, an intimate cafe and bar with lovely vibes. After my set, a woman came up to me to say she'd enjoyed the music. I thanked her as I usually do, but before she turned to walk away, she said she was glad she came out to the bar that night. It turns out her husband had seen me play at the bar a few weeks earlier, and went home to rave about "this doctor who was amazing" (her words), and so, when they were making their evening plans that day, they wondered whether they'll get to see “that doctor at the bar” play again. This encounter stayed with me for several days afterwards, for three reasons.
First, it both flatters and frightens me to know that I factored into their evening plans, even if just marginally.
Second, it makes me cognisant of the idea that it pays to do my best, even when it feels like no one cares or no one's watching. I've played many a night in rowdy venues where I left feeling deflated because I'd believed no one was listening or interested, only to later learn that there was someone listening with interest, despite all the noise. And even when I've played to ostensibly attentive audiences, I've often been unable to tell whether or not it's gone down well, and I've ended up second-guessing myself. The solution to this problem, if we can even call it a problem, is to always put on the best show irrespective of the circumstances. I had no idea the woman's husband had come away with a good impression all those weeks ago, I didn't even know he was there, but he'd enjoyed the music enough to go home and talk about it, and that warms my heart.
And third, it reminds me that there are people who express their encouraging views and offer compliments in the moment, like the woman, and there are people who don't, like her husband. Artists thrive on words of encouragement, I know I do, and I assume others do too. We'd love people to be more like the woman and less like her husband in an ideal world. We'd like for people to approach us after gigs or slide in our DMS to tell us we're doing a good job, because this external validation helps to quell the crippling self-doubt we struggle with. But there are a whole bunch of reasons why people may not walk up to artists in gig venues, and perhaps it behoves us to learn to live without this external validation. This is all to say that art still has value even if the artist isn't expressly appreciated, and the absence of a compliment doesn't imply a lack of appreciation.
In summary, I've reflected on three cool things I've experienced this week. If it sounds like I'm patting myself on the back, that's because I am. I'm doing this publicly to keep myself accountable and to motivate myself to keep going. Maybe it could help motivate someone else too. I recently wrote about smelling the roses, stopping to appreciate the little things, and of course the big ones too. And so, in the face of setbacks and disappointments and all the challenges concomitant with being an independent artist, this is me stopping to take a breath, to remind myself (and anyone else who may benefit) that good things are happening too, that it's not all doom and gloom, that although this field of life may be awash with thorns, there are beautiful, aromatic roses dotted around, waiting for us to stop every now and then, take a whiff, and forge ahead on the journey.
PS: Just a reminder that the lead single of the new record is out now, everywhere. You can listen to it on several platforms. Please share it with a friend, share it with your social networks, and consider subscribing to the newsletter (below), my YouTube channel, or wherever else you listen to music.