Tonight's Photo Gallery (photos by Jenny)

Tonight’s show at Elysium Arts ran the gamut of good to bad, and back again. The night would be shared with good friends and musical comrades Courtney Brocks and Jeff Hawkinson, and was initially designed in the writers in the round format (whereby all singer/songwriters take the stage at once, taking turns playing songs). After a brief discussion before the show, we decided on a more traditional setup, with Jeff and Courtney opening, me playing a middle set alone, and then the three of us closing the night off together.

Courtney’s and Jeff’s opening set was incredibly tight and well-rehearsed. It was one of only a handful of times they’d ever performed publicly, and I must say, as a debut performance at an established venue, it ranks as one of the best I’ve witnessed. They were spot on with their harmonies and execution of each song, supplying some amazing dynamics, and kept the crowd completely mesmerized throughout.

We’ll get to my set in a minute. Let’s stay with the positive.

At night’s end, Jeff and Courtney joined me onstage for what I’ll define as 30 of the most enjoyable minutes I’ve spent onstage in this format. We started off with Whiskeytown’s ’16 Days,’ and then moved right into the newly-constructed gospel version of ‘Funeral Flowers,’ which nearly brought me to tears with its power (think of Lyle Lovett’s ‘Joshua Judges Ruth’ harmonies and you’d be on the right track). There’s nothing quite like a well-executed three-part harmony to raise the forearm hairs. Other set highlights included ‘Caroline,’ which was unique and cool simply because Courtney changed the female harmony part from a fifth to a third (check out a video clip here. Just keep a barf bag handy, as Jenny changes the camera angle halfway through). We ended with Hank Williams’ ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,’ which features all three of us taking turns on verses before breaking into a three-part harmony on the last.

Let me give you some background before I move on. I’ve rehearsed with Jeff and Courtney exactly twice before tonight. I first saw them play in a living room long about two months back, and after inviting them to open for me tonight, we decided it’d be fun to play some songs together at the show. We have no predefined goals or strategies here, it’s just three people getting together and making music for art’s sake and for the sheer fun of it.

Jeff and Courtney have been amazingly focused throughout this process, and it’s obvious they’ve rehearsed their asses off outside of our getting together. In turn, that has pushed me to play more on my own, which is always a good thing. It’s really been an enlightening experience in many regards, but also a rebirth of a practice that used to happen often when I was younger (that is, people getting together and playing for no other reason than to make beautiful sounds, and maybe as yet another excuse to drink. It reminds me of my days hanging with the Tone Poets in York, singing pre-Warner Brothers REM tunes all night). I think when music is absent of stakes or personal agendas, it presents its best face. That’s how I feel with this arrangement. It’s been a nice accident.

Now let’s enter the other end of the gamut for a moment…

As a musician, one of my goals is to parlay the more memorable moments of practice time into live performance. The premise sounds simple, it’s really just a matter of recreating the experience for use in another realm. But there are many factors in the live environment which do not exist in the comfort of your practice space. For one thing, there are (hopefully) people watching when you play live, which makes you self-conscious and affects your adrenaline. Secondly, if you’re practicing for a singer/songwriter formatted show, you’re probably not at home singing through a PA, so there’s a real adjustment (although obviously this isn’t my first singer/songwriter rodeo).

Here’s an actual IM chat between Jenny and I that took place this morning:
Martin England: I just realized why my set bothered me last night
jenengland99: why?
Martin England: I wasn't able to recreate what I'd accomplished here at home
jenengland99: interesting
Martin England: that's what I need to work on
jenengland99: how come?
Martin England: I think because I'm so used to the rock thing
Martin England: getting all fired up
Martin England: adrenaline
jenengland99: yea
Martin England: it's more like football
jenengland99: that is interesting
Martin England: singer/songwriter shows are more like baseball
Martin England: they require patience
Martin England: you need to slow things down

I’ve been playing with Pondering Judd for fifteen years now. We’ve done over 500 shows together. Playing in a band is like playing football. You get fired up. You WANT your adrenaline to take over. You smash your head off a wall before taking the stage (ok, not really, but sorta).

Playing in the singer/songwriter realm is much more like playing baseball: it’s about finesse, not physicality. There are no pre-gig high-fives, no Irish car bombs. One of the reasons I never truly succeeded at baseball (on the field, not in my backyard) was that I couldn’t control my emotions whenever I was at bat. I’d shake in anticipation. I mean, I did all right, but it wasn’t even close to what I could do when I was alone in the backyard, hurling a tennis ball at the side of my folk’s garage. In the backyard, I was unbeatable (just ask all of my imaginary opponents).

Ok, my set tonight wasn’t exactly god awful, but I just never felt comfortable. I didn’t feel like all of the work I’d put in at home was translating into my performance. It felt like I was singing too loud, playing too hard, and not applying enough finesse (which is actually a contradiction in terms, because really, you don’t apply finesse, it just happens when you’re comfortable and, as poet Donald Hall once called it “letting the river flow.”) I also played mostly new songs, which was also a self-thrown curve ball, only because I had to keep one eye on the music stand throughout most of the set instead of just stepping into my performance.

Prior to the show, I’d spent a few weeks working on my harmonica skills (wearing one of those Bob Dylan harmonica holders). At home it sounded pretty good, or at least decent enough where I felt like I could add it to my act. And it’s not that it sounded terrible live, it’s just that at one point, I went to blow into it….and missed completely. Instead I blew into the microphone. It was actually pretty hilarious, but for the night’s remainder, I quickly decided that the harmonica would not be a part of my performance (mainly because I knew that after this miscue, I wouldn’t be able to play it without cracking up).

I’m being a little hard on myself here, but honestly, it’s that self-scrutiny that allows us to improve upon our experiences rather than (a) settle for the status quo or (b) give up entirely and slip back into the lone comfort of playing in a band. Fortunately, experience provides us with a foundation for which we can rest on when we have less-than amazing moments. Interestingly enough, I actually felt most comfortable tonight once Jeff and Courtney joined me onstage, giving further credence to the strength-in-numbers theory.

Thanks to Jeff and Courtney for a memorable night, to Joe Simes for hosting the event, to Jenny for snapping photos, and to everyone who came out to see us play.

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In the coming months, I’ll be playing much more in this singer/songwriter/solo format, touring local living rooms with a new house party concert concept (drop me a line if you’re interested in hosting and learning more about this idea). Pondering Judd will be entering the studio again to record three new songs at some point, and will be back in February at Biddy’s. I’ll also be back at Elysium Arts in February with Jeff and Courtney. Good friend (and Elysium Arts owner/operator) Joe Simes will join us. Hope you will too.

Video Link to Dancing Baby at Apple Harvest Day

To me, music’s never been about stardom or making money (ok, maybe both were pipedreams when I was 17, but hey, I’ve also only quit my day job exactly once to play music for a living, and that was the summer I nearly wound up in rehab). There’s a much deeper connection, something that goes beyond people recognizing you at Hannaford, or perhaps buying you a beer at Kelley’s Row (ok, the latter is pretty cool, but only happens once in a harvest moon), or being able to afford to eat at The Chop Shop (Dover) instead of Johnson’s (North Berwick).

In many ways, I feel like a nerve miner, both for myself and the kind folks who take time to give a listen. In my opinion, one of the sole reasons for being a creator of art, music, literature or poetry is finding the threads that run between us all, and then capturing those threads in a coherent way for all to inspect (this is the reason I’ll never truly understand the meaning or purpose of abstract art. I mean, if someone’s gotta tell you what the painting or sculpture’s supposed to be, doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose?)

Sometimes finding the right combination of lyric and melody to locate these nerve centers seems impossible. Other times you realize the combination needs to be switched up a little (for example, the recent reworking of ‘Funeral Flowers’), but when you do finally get it right, and you feel like you’ve somehow managed to connect your thoughts and feelings with those of other human beings, albeit through a cry of love or rhyme of passion, the ensuing joy seems like it could light up the entire Northeast power grid. This is why we play music. This is why we live.

But there’s another reason I play music, one which seems to grow a little dimmer as the years pile up. Live performance is quite possibly the most narcissistic act known to man, and can make you feel more vulnerable than any naked public dream you’ve ever experienced. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for why we choose to climb onto the stage, but honestly, when we step away from it for a while, those reasons seem as silly as orange juice-flavored toothpaste.

Back in August I had shoulder surgery, and while I’ll spare you the details (unlike my Dad, who insisted on showing everyone his scars, including that awful road map left behind from his open hear procedure), I will say that it awoken in me a feeling of helplessness and despair that I hadn’t felt since those wonderful days of adolescence. These sentiments came about simply because I felt like I was on one of the best songwriting rolls I’d experienced in quite some time, and it'd been quickly dispatched by a repair to the right labrum. It didn’t feel fair.

The ensuring month of days/nights spent trying to kill the pain with a bottle(s) of oxycodone narrowed me into a dark tunnel. I’m not sure they make a more uninspiring elixir, as it chokes ambition, creativity, and the need for social contact all in a fell swoop. I suddenly questioned why I needed to perform at all. The devil does indeed employ idle hands. I’m no less certain he owns a host of anti-art galleries across this land of ours. Perhaps he’s even the one who invented abstract art.

Somewhere in between surgery and this past weekend, Jenny and I attended a dinner party over in Dover. It was only the second time I’d been out of the house since late August, and quite frankly, she had to practically drag me, kicking and screaming. While the food and company were outstanding, what really stands out to me about that night is an impromptu living room concert by Jenny’s friends Courtney and Jeff. This performance had every element you'd ever hope for: patient, passionate, and deeply connecting. Their voices melded together as one, both lilting just about the strains of their acoustic guitars while bringing tears to some audience members due to its sheer power and beauty.

This experience instantly rearranged my thoughts into a logical perspective. I suddenly wanted to be them (although my injury had rendered performing impossible at that moment), and I instantly remembered why I’d ever chosen to climb onto the stage. There’s something about performing that helps you connect with others. It is its own art form, and although the songs are typically learned, constructed and arranged prior to the performance itself, it is the all-important conduit to those aforementioned nerve mines. Without live performance, writing songs would be useless. Some might argue that records achieve this same purpose, and while I wouldn’t completely disagree, I will say that there is a gigantic difference between hearing the likes of Lyle Lovett or Steve Earle live as opposed to just sitting at home, listening to their records.

Jenny and I hosted an Oktoberfest a couple of weeks after the dinner party. We’d invited Courtney and Jeff to perform, and at the cajoling of my friends, I eventually did too (although I was regrettably too buzzed to really enjoy myself. Then again, so was everyone else). Although my performance was questionable, I felt as though a shroud had been removed, like the sun at dawn on the eighth day. I was reborn.

Last Saturday Pondering Judd took to the stage at Dover’s Apple Harvest Day. Although attendance wasn’t nearly as thick as it had been at the Cocheco Arts Festival, it was no less invigorating. Ma Nature had bestowed us with an absolutely magical fall afternoon (the kind where you have to turn on the feet heat if you’re going to roll the windows down), and the airs of change were blowing through the courtyard. We’d rehearsed exactly twice since early August, once with me just singing (this was before I’d gained clearance from my physical therapist Becky to play), and a second with me awkwardly manipulating my arm conservatively to brush the strings on my Taylor, but somehow, someway, the performance was incredibly tight and polished. The glances exchanged between all of us on stage that day were indelibly connecting, brothers who’d briefly moved to earth’s far ends only to return to live and function as one, once again. The stage was split between the chill of autumn shadows, and the warmth of the afternoon sun. The sound was perfect. As I looked out into the crowd I sensed folks seem to genuinely appreciate the fact that although the local dudes onstage weren’t exactly famous, they were at least doing their own thing: mining for nerves.

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Epilouge
In the gig's aftermath, the entire band went over to our friend Bobby's house (an amazingly cool brick-walled apartment which sits on the second floor in downtown Dover, overlooking the mighty Cocheco River), where the happiest of accidents began to take shape. I'd first received a call from former PJudd manager and great friend Damon (with his new girl Mary), telling me they were in town to check out the show. I then received subsequent calls from great friends Sean Beavers (PJudd cover artists), and Kate and Jay. Just before leaving for the party for Kelley's, I spotted PJudd producer Chris Magruder standing on the sidewalk (looking for trouble, no less). The whole lot of us wined and diner together, sharing our opinions of the upcoming election, our thoughts about the Red Sox chances of bringing home their third title in five years, and yes, our feelings about the power of music. Although nobody in the crowd bought me a beer (I've been playing longer than most of those kids had been alive), it mattered not. I was with good friends, living a life typically designated for royalty while still possessing the purse of a pauper.

Thanks for everyone who came out to the show today, and for all of my friends who are kind enough to break away from their responsibilities for a day to share in the glory of autumn. I love you all.

For the first time since I was 11, I'll be forced to the guitar playing sideline for a few months (going in for wing repair). We'll still be kicking up some dust around here, so don't think for a second there will be any modicum of silence (at least in the form of words and sentences).

In the meantime, here's a few things we're working on:

• Hard to believe, but it's been nearly a year since we recorded and released Coalesce. This winter, we'll return to the studio to record the first of a trio of three song mini-records (the expression 'EP' is SO 1992). These songs will be available solely through iTunes and other digital download sites (at least until we have enough songs to put out a full-length record). This strategy will allow us to record more often while continuing to play a lighter schedule, and will also help capture each song's true essence before it gets corrupted (similar to newborn babies just before they learn to walk, speak or provide inappropriate gestures to strangers).
  
• Our next show will be sometime in December, our Tenth Annual Toy Drive. In this economy, children of the seacoast could really use your help. So could we. Please let us know if you're interested in volunteering to help organize the event, or even if you just have a really cool idea for a theme or event location. Drop us a line.
  
• The PJudd House Concerts at which we performed over the summer were nothing short of smashing. Although we won't be booking any more shows for the fall, please keep us in mind for your Christmas party, bamitzvah (spelling, anyone?), birthday party or pig roast. We're armed (pun intended) and ready.

Take care. Stay in touch!

Edge, Marty, Jacquese, and Goose