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When a Gig Goes to Pieces

1/31/2017

4 Comments

 
Sometimes seams open on a violin.  Everything could fall apart.  This hollow body of wood and glue works hard, but it’s astonishingly fragile.  Worry gripped my heart for a beat.

When I picked it up from the luthier, I was relieved.  It cost just twenty dollars. The price was so reasonable, I considered my second violin.  Uncle Brian had unearthed it at a flea market in rural Texas, a dusty relic with a forgotten past.  The patch-work of improvised parts includes a cranked gear replacing one tuning peg, a wooden spoon fashioned into a chin-rest, and an elegant scroll carved with flowers.  It’s a mess of cracks and dings, the resulting tone makes me wince.  Maybe the people at Oklahoma Strings could work their magic again.
My fantasy evaporated, and I awoke holding a five hundred dollar repair estimate.  Back home, under a bleak cloud,  I put the broken fiddle beside my other, to think about another day. 

Next evening our three-piece family band had a big gig planned. After performing at senior living homes for a few years, we were finally playing at this fancy one we’d had our eye on.  The audience was milling in; onstage I opened my case.  Unease swooshed in.

Where was my main wooden bow?! I tumbled down a wormhole, wondering, but yanked myself out; I had a spare.  All at once reality struck. A tsunami of adrenaline crashed into me, knocking out my breath.  I could instantly melt onto the floor like hot, molten plastic and stay there forever, becoming a hard puddle. Later the janitor’s broom would sweep over me, and the lights would go out; but all that happened was my cheeks flushed and sweat beaded on my face. 

I rushed off stage to the storeroom and rattled the door, all eyes on me. Was I hyperventilating?  My son, August remembered how a door works and gently let me in.  “THIS IS A DISASTER!! I brought the wrong violin!” I sputtered.  This gig had everything going for it: a large modern space, an eager crowd of a hundred or so.  I had sabotaged it in this weird way.  

Shortly Casey returned from the restroom, “Are you freaking out?  Get it together!”  I fluttered about in despair and confusion; we had to leave.  No way could I play this piece of wreckage.  Would it even tune? And the wasted bow with half its hair missing?  Nails on a chalkboard!  Casey spoke matter-of-factly, “These people are here to see us.  You’ll just have to play it.”  Was this the voice of reason, or a risky gamble? I struggled to shove the trap door down on my hysteria, and  lock it in the hand-dug root cellar of my mind. I breathed deep, and mentally tossed the dice.  Drained, like coming out of a fever, I began tuning.  

Ten minutes later we were on stage ruffled, smiling, being introduced.  This place in this moment was so lovely; I had to make this violin sound good. It was raspy and tricky to play. Casey gave me the side eye.  Tense, I kept smiling, trying to get the hang of it.  August remained stoic as usual. I studied the crowd; were they buying this?  They were clapping in rhythm.  Applause burst forth.  I shrugged internally, “Who would not be supportive with this kid on stage?”

During a tuning break Casey explained the situation.  Gentle chuckling drifted around the room.  A white-haired lady declared, “We can’t tell the difference, honey!” Again and again while we performed, I could hear the grim tick of the geared tuning peg slipping; more sour notes, more side eye from Casey. The low string was good for nothing.  Adjusting the songs off-the-cuff was an engaging challenge.  Part of me enjoyed it, but I was relieved when it was time to switch to guitar. 


A few years back, I began learning guitar with Casey as my teacher, at the same time I worked on my voice.  Before long I was in love in a hurts-so-good kind of way.  My debut performance was at an Old Folks Home.  I was a nervous amateur again.  Now it’s a regular part of our act.  

Picture
Here was my chance to redeem myself, to my family, to the listeners.  Just me, my sparkly dress, and the guitar.  I poured out everything I had. People earnestly sang along.  Random faces lit up like fireflies when they recognized special songs.  I stretched this part of the show out, but soon Casey and August joined me back on stage.  We wrapped up with more of the dangerous, oddly exhilarating half-baked fiddle.  Even August sang on the last song, something he’d never done before. We all pitched in.  Luckily the audience was rooting for us, it was a classic underdog story after all.  

Later on lots of people said nice things and shook hands.


Sometimes everything goes to pieces, sometimes it holds together just enough; you never know.
4 Comments
Skillet
2/1/2017 05:41:01 pm

Exhilarating read. I've had similar experiences, though not with such an intricate instrument as a violin. Damn near brought a tear to my eye with your closing statement. "Sometimes it holds together just enough." Story of my life, Minna. I can't wait to see you and Casey play again. I can listen to your violin indefinitely. Keep being awesome, you're good at it!

Reply
Minna Biggs
2/2/2017 07:35:04 am

Thanks so much for the kind words!!

Reply
Margaret Biggs
2/2/2017 01:27:25 pm

Sweet daughter of mine, you can sure tell you are your father's daughter. An excellent piece!

Reply
Minna
2/2/2017 04:12:11 pm

Thanks Mom!

Reply



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