The Worst Five Minutes

"Five minutes to stage time."

Those has to be the best and worst words you can tell any artist. It's butterflies and nervous sweat, excitement and caffeine. It's what it all boils down to. This is the time to find the singer, who's wandered off to god-knows-where. It's time to practice that bridge you're still not sure about. It's time to be nervous.

You would be surprised if you knew how many artists has stage fright. Or maybe fright is the wrong word. Apprehension. Because this is what it all boils down to. This is why they got up at six this morning, or why they travelled eight hours across the country ("view was great, roads were shit"). And this is when they need to prove themselves. To entertain. To capture the audience, and not let go. Because their jobs depend on it.

"You know what? Becoming a guitarist when you're shy is a really bad idea!"

He confided in me ten minutes before stage time. I tried to distract him by telling him he was far from alone in this. I think part of being great, is being nervous. It pushes you to try harder. I told him about the artist I found wandering in small circles backstage, nerves frazzled, singing to himself. The now famous band who's stage ritual was standing in a circle singing old folk tunes. The metal band who always warmed up with Salvation Army folk tunes. The ones who danced and laughed, the ones who cursed and smoked. All nervous.

Because this is what it all boils down to. Those thirty to hundred and thirty minutes on that stage. Proving your worth.

I always listen to my band's (they're always "my band") first song from behind the curtain. Then I go outside to smoke, my victory cigarette. Because they made it. And tomorrow, they will make it again. Make magic happen.