New Band, New Failure

I tried to perform with my newest band tonight.
I spent a week soundproofing and stressing out about the show in my basement. Tried to smooth things over with the woman that shares our house, looked around for free/cheap soundproofing material, and threw together a band to play the songs I'd written in 2 practices accumulating a total of 4 hours. The new bassist had never played bass, but we figured it was punk, and so it could sound like shit and still be cool.
I performed, played through 1 of the songs we had practiced, ended the others early, and wanted to generally break down into tears the entire time. I was stupid, and nervous, and just wanted everything to end.

The day I had been preparing for finally came. February 19th, 2010, Nato Coles played Avenger's Tower. My roommates' finally performed with the band they've been practicing with for months. They rocked.
Then it was my turn.

I've always had crippling stage fright- but only in front of people I know. I can do anything I want in front of people as long as I can't connect a name to a face. Also, mics scare the crap out of me. There's got to be a phobia of microphones in someone's medical dictionary somewhere. I can't hear myself, or I can't hear myself the way everyone else hears me, and it always sounds horrible to me. The reverberation, the magnified clicks and harsh brushing of lips in my vocalizations-- it's horrifying.
The truth is that I'm a great performer- particularly with anything that includes oration. But I've only been able to achieve a comfortable performance if I could see someone I knew. Those people's judgments matter to me, and while I realize they will still feel the same way about me, and lie and tell me I did well when I get off that stage, and probably even be proud of me, it worries me sick that they didn't enjoy it at all. I don't want to make people suffer through 'one of Josephine's performance-things.'

As a child I wasn't shy. I liked the spotlight, and I usually put myself in it: singing, dancing, yelling, whatever. In 4th grade my school had a talent show, and I entered with one of my favorite songs- 'Julian of Norwich.' This was not the first time I had signed up to perform, but this year my older brother had developed a little bit of a mean streak, as brothers are wont to do upon entering puberty. When I practice, and hit a note too high for my voice, Edward would squint up his eyes in mock-pain and say "oooh-ouch!"
When I got on stage, I messed up pretty bad, because all I could think about was the image of him in pain because of my poor vocal skill, and his voice echoing that. I still think about that when I'm on stage today-- a decade later.

Fast forward to 19 years old. A pretty successful folk band from the UP, Misty Lyn & the Big Beautiful and a solo artist, Matt Jones, came down to Point to perform at the After Dark Coffee House. They needed an opening act, and my then-boyfriend, an acoustic performer himself, didn't want to do it. The other stock solo-folk acts up here were all busy, and so I volunteered myself. I don't know what I was thinking.
Tyler, the guy responsible for the bands coming down here, created an awesome poster with the entirety of my long-ass name (which is longer than the principal band's name) on it. I felt pretty awesome with my 'stage name' pasted up all over town (my stage name is my first, middle, and dual Polish last names).
Anyway, to get to the performance:
I came with a guitar, plugged in, spoke into the mic, and nearly had a heart attack. I know I can play guitar pretty well. I know I can sing tolerably well. I did neither of these things.
The mic threw my voice, and the whole time I was trying to sing these songs I had been singing alone in my house, and recording over and over again in my dining room, my friends stared straight ahead, and looked generally bored. The worse part was that whenever I looked at my boyfriend, his eyes were always riveted on my fingers. I kept faltering because I thought I was doing something wrong: was the guitar buzzing horribly? Was I hitting the chords too rough?
This was a guy whose tears would well up whenever one of his friends got behind the mic, and who would stare into their face in absolute adoration the entire time. He never looked at me like that, not when I sang, not when I played guitar, and definitely not when I performed my poetry.
The one and only time I thought he was really riveted on me in that way was at a birthday party where we were both asked to perform. After that party, he sent me a long message basically telling me he didn't approve of the friends I was with, using terms like "you can do better," and telling me to not "go crying to the first nice guy I meet next time I can't look in the mirror in the morning."
There were other times and places people shut me down, and these are the things I think about when I perform. I know there are people that support me, and I remember those friends that are always at the front of the stage, looking up at me in utter pride and adoration, ready to applaud loudly at anything I could possibly do. I also remember the times I was heckled on stage and thrived because of it. Plus my Dad thinks I'm the shit (and not everyone can say that). But I'm only human.

It was a good night, but the end of it all, I got shut down for something I didn't intend to be romantic at all, and fell asleep on top of my covers in my clothes smelling like beer and vodka.

Rock N Roll No More.