The Stage Fright or Flight

The floorboards at The Albion have a certain way of creaking under my worn boots.  Tonight I was stood there, instruments plugged in for people with real talent and the low hum of Farnham locals filling the gaps between my own jagged thoughts.  Then realisation hit me that we haven’t practiced enough, if at all!

The why we have not rehearsed is easy to pinpoint; life is loud and demanding.  Hours are gold dust.  Between the grind of my day job, the needs of my family and the endless list of obligations, the "perfect rehearsal" is a moment in time I can’t afford, so we show up raw, unprepared and maybe a little drunk, staring down the barrel of a setlist that feels more like a threat than a performance.

The terror is real, cold and is a sharp knot in my gut.  However, I’ve begun to look at that stage fright not as a demon to be conquered, but more a tool to be used.

The Utility of Discomfort

Most people spend their lives trying to engineer a world without friction.  They want the smooth path, a padded seat or a predictable outcome, but there is a rot that sets in when things are too easy.

By stepping onto that stage at The Albion, knowing the transitions are shaky and the harmonies haven't been bled over in a garage for weeks, I am choosing a voluntary stress.  It is a controlled baptism of fire.  I am putting myself in the flames, but on my own terms.  

Why?  So that when life decides to set the house on fire without my permission, I’ll know how to breathe through the smoke!

If I can find my voice while my hands are shaking in a crowded pub, I can find my resolve when a real crisis hits at 3:00 AM on a Tuesday.  Stage fright is just a training scrimmage for the soul.

Brotherhood

But there is a second layer to all of this and it’s found in the men standing to my left and right.

We live in an age of "a thousand friends" networks.  I’ve struggled with this as an introvert trying to launch a business, putting my head on Instagram and words on Threads.  

We are now surrounded by digital noise and superficial nods, but standing on a stage, feeling the wheels nearly come off the wagon during a bridge, I realise that the quantity of connections means nothing.

What matters is my brotherhood.

The band (All About Tone), founded in an infant school playground, is a small group of tight, safe and secure souls.  When I miss a cue or the nerves start to swallow my breath, I don't need a stadium of fans to cheer me on.  I need the two guys who know exactly how messy my life has been this week.  I need the brothers who are in the trenches with me, who see the "grit" and don't ask for "gloss."

A small, secure circle is a fortress.  

A thousand "friends" is just a crowd.

The Bottom Line

Don’t wait for the perfect conditions to perform.  Don’t wait until you feel "ready" to face the things that scare you.  

Step into the stress, but also find the brothers who will stand in the gap with you.

The “music” might be a little unrefined and the notes might stray, but the honesty of the moment is worth more than a dozen flawless, empty shows.

Bones