Anyone who caught the NFL matchup on Sunday, Sept. 27, 2009 between the Minnesota Vikings and San Francisco 49ers, or at least the last five seconds of it, saw what was an unquestionably amazing moment in sports. His team down 20-23 with two seconds remaining on the clock, the inexorable Brett Favre launched a 32-yard pass into the back of the end zone with the hopes that some backup receiver they'd stuck in would somehow get his hands on it. Favre lay sprawled out on his stomach watching the action downfield, fully assuming the game was lost. But when the receiver managed to drag a second toe across the edge of the end zone, ball in hand, and the referee threw his hands up signaling a touchdown, Favre was yanked up at once by both his teammates and the sudden euphoria. As Minnesota paraded victoriously around the field, you could see that look in the elderly quarterback's moist eyes: THIS is why he had done it "one more time" for so many seasons now; THIS is why he had flirted with and dodged retirement, pissing off legions of fans and the management of at least two professional football teams in the process; THIS is why he could not leave the game he loved so much. He had done it "one more time" not because he wanted to; not because of fame, fortune, or to prove anything to anyone -- but because he HAD to. He knew in his heart that playing this game was what he was meant to do, it was the fabric of his existence, and doggonit, it's what he would do until he were no longer physically able to drag his surprisingly resilient frame onto the field. And though no doubt there are those times when he questions whether it was the right decision to come back, it is the moments like these that remind him the choice was correct -- that yes, I HAVE to be here, I HAVE to be doing this, I HAVE to be a part of this thing right now.
I recently had the opportunity to observe what I think was the same phenomenon in quite a different backdrop. Fast forward a few days later, it's Friday night, and I find myself in the most, er, eyebrow-raising of venues. It was on the Lower East Side, and by Lower East Side I don't mean your boutique-hipster, yuppie-trying-not-to-look-yuppie standard Friday night fare congregating at the latest hotspot, I mean the fucking Lower East Side. Tucked away at the literal end of Rivington Street, Recoup Lounge was certainly not within the circles of any kind of gentrification, nor of any cognizance of inviting interior design. We had come to see JT Maple, and so had the bartender. Well actually, the bartender probably would have been there anyway. So it was just the two of us.
I don't think I've ever been in a situation where I've completely offered myself up to the mercy of anonymous public attendance, but I can imagine how much of a blow it might be to one's morale. No matter for JT that his only audience was a bored bartender and two yawning twentysomethings, lulled half to sleep by the previous two sets (attracting similarly-sized audiences). Acoustic guitar in hand, he climbed right up on that awkward stool, all lurking in the sallow Pacifico beerlight on the fake ass stage, introduced himself in a low mumble a la Johnny Cash, and proceeded to play his songs as if there had been a room packed with cheering fans. I suppose that being able to perform in spite of the audience is a necessity for any good performer, but I dare muse that it's probably a little more psychologically challenging to play in front of a smaller group: there's no mob mentality, you can turn back if you want to, and there's less anonymity to be gotten away with. But still, there's no arguing -- it sucks when you have a show and two people show up.
As I watched this kid up on the stage, with its wires and shitty garbagebag-wrapped broken flatscreens erupting from the ceiling and God-knows-who denizens of the night occasionally creeping out of one side door and back into another, and listened to the soothing songs and expert guitarsmanship, I realized that JT Maple and Brett Favre weren't all that different after all. Yeah, it sucks when two people show up to your show, but that's what you're up against when you get into the business of pursuing your hopes and dreams. Brett knew he'd be going to be up against the naysaying sports pundits and the tens of thousands of skeptical fans each time he stepped on the field. JT knew that sometimes there'd be let downs and crappy gigs and thin audiences. He was up in front of us not because he necessarily wanted to be, but because he had to be. The path to stardom is paved with frustration, moments of despair, and empty dive sketchbars on the fringe of urban society. This was where he had to be and what he had to be doing, right now, no matter what the past or future held.
We all have something we HAVE to do -- the question is, do we have the courage to do it?
Everyone's favorite song. Skip to 2 minutes in.
http://www.myspace.com/jtmaple <--- JT Maple myspace
No comments:
Post a Comment