On Performing.
Originally published at The Null Device Blog. You can comment here or there.
I, like many of us in the niche electronic genres, have been in a bit of a gifted state. Because we Know People, and because there’s a ton of crossover and cross-pollination, and because most of us have released at least one reasonably-polished studio album before we even considered putting together a live act, we’re often handed remarkably kickass slots in really kickass shows right out of the gate. Our second show - ever - was opening for A23 in front of a few hundred people - that’s an auspicious beginning.
That’s unusual. That’s cool. But that’s also dangerous. It’s really easy to start out complacent about performance, and even easier to slip into a sense of entitlement.
Null Device isn’t exactly a touring machine. We play shows, we take what gigs we can get, but we haven’t piled into a van and hit the road for a month or anything. Still, I’ve watched shows from ABBA Tributes to Zoroastrian Pop Divas (seriously), I think I’ve played enough shows myself now that I’ve got a vague grip on this, and I was lucky enough to have Dan in the band for a few years. He’s been a grizzled veteran (more grizzled now that he has the beard) of dues-paying rock touring, so I’ve been able to learn a bit about what makes a good show from someone with experience outside the insular world of niche-genre electronics. Even when we didn’t agree on something, I still learned a lot about the mechanics of playing out that would’ve taken me much longer to learn otherwsie.
It also started me talking to other musicians from many genres, some big names, some small names, some rockers, some quiet types…if there’s one thing I’m decent at, it’s doing research, so I’ve done some research.
Granted, Electronic music comes with its own set of limitations and requirements, but a few maxims hold true regardless.
And yeah, maybe it’s a douche-y move for me to spout off with “advice”, because the Internet is rife with dudes who can yell about “fixing” music but can’t actually walk the walk, but…well, hell, I’ve got opinions, and I’m gunna share ‘em.
Plus, three of the more dynamic and engaging electronic-ish live acts I can think of are currently out on tour, so I’ve been thinking about this a bit.
This is what I’ve picked up.
1) Really, it’s all about the performance.
Your show doesn’t have to be note perfect. Your band doesn’t need to be made of the top shredders or keyboardists or drummers or sound engineers in the world. But you have to do something. Two guys standing in front of laptops, looking like they’re checking their email? That’s not a show people will come to see, no matter how improvised the actual performance is (and yes, it is possible for laptop bands to rock out - I’ve seen it!). Armies of live musicians won’t help either if it looks like all of them are busy trying to remember what comes next and none of them actually give a crap about the music.
2) Anything else is really a distraction.
The lamented rockandrollconfidential.com “Hall of Douchebags” gallery had a phrase: “less schtick, more practice.” If your show can’t go on because the airline lost your costume suitcase, or one of the fire dancers called in sick, or the video projector in the club is broken - then you need to rethink your show. All that stuff can be cool when pulled off effectively, but it’s only effective when it complements the performance, not when it replaces your performance. If the only purpose is to hide the fact that the frontman isn’t doing anything onstage or that your guitarist can’t seem to remember where the Am7 chord is, then it’s not helping.
Conversely, if your band is really, really good, you might not want that anyway - you want the audience to focus on you, not on whatever nifty gizmos you’ve got with you. It’s a personal choice, though.
Another problem that tends to haunt indie bands with “extras” is the unpredictable venue problem. Few of us are at the point where we get our pick of venues or get to submit complicated tech riders. Hell, half the time they don’t have enough working DI’s, so expecting a professional video system or reinforced stage is pretty unrealistic. Your video projection system at whatever club you’re playing may end up being a wrinkled bedsheet suspended from a clothesline. Or the stage may be a weird size or shape, so your backup dancers are scattered all around. Or the headliner’s drumkit takes up so much room on the backline that you don’t have room onstage for your light-up motorized keyboard stand.
One would hope that if you’ve got a “stage show”, you’d want it to look polished and professional, not like a cobbled-together low-budget refugee from Media Production 101. (unless, of course, that’s part of your act).
3) The audience as a whole doesn’t care about your gear.
The bulk of the audience, even a lot of the music nerds, don’t care if you’re using the latest tech, or some crazy old vintage synth, backing tracks, no backing tracks, or a limited-edition American Strat with souped-up pickups. They just want it to sound good. Oh, sure, there’ll be a few guys, usually with beards or at the very least ThinkGeek tshirts, who wander up during setup and ask obscure questions about what DAW you use or what brand of mic cable you have and so forth, but they’re a minority and they don’t usually buy enough merch to make pandering to them worth the trouble. If your performance is good enough, then it won’t matter if you’re rockin a chinese-built Squier strat copy or an original Minimoog Model D.
Backing tracks are a mixed bag. If you can play all the parts live, great, but given the tendency of electronic music to be minimal in nature and rely heavily on sonic minutiae, it’s often entirely impractical to pull it off entirely live, at least without the assistance of a computer to handle some of the grunt work. Some bands can, and do it with aplomb. Some bands try and fail miserably, because their limitations as players or songwriters (and we’ve all got them) stick out like sore thumbs. If you’re a small band, you also may not have the luxury of a keyboardist you can stick in a back corner while the other 6 members of your band rock out, so hiding a crucial member behind a wall of tech and tying them up with audience-unfriendly geek-tasks may not be helping you. Conversely, putting everything on backing track can suck pretty hard. The audience knows if you’re miming, no matter how good you are at it.
4) The audience as a whole doesn’t care what you wear.
A corollary to “less schtick, more practice.” Sure, you want your band to look hip, and you want them to look consistant. You want them to look like they all got the same memo about what’s appropriate onstage attire. But unless you’re a norwegian black metal band, or, you know, Gwar, elaborate costuming is likely going to work against you. It’s a very fine line between “edgy” and “ridiculous.” Trying to remain on the bleeding edge of onstage fashion is a fulltime job in itself, as any Brooklyn indie-band’s hairstylists can attest.
I’ve seen far, far too many bands who seem to put more effort into their outfits than their music. And that’s a crime.
Putting your band in matching jumpsuits is more likely to make them look like rogue Fedex delivery guys than to make a strong comment about cultural confromity. Elaborate fetish outfits do have their appeal to some crowds but they can be grossly impractical under hot stage lights and do often run the risk of looking silly (if your band members look uncomfortable wearing them) or dated (remember, “Master and Servant” came out in 1984). Whatever you pick, it should again be complementary to the performance, not draw attention away from it. If, perhaps, your band is indeed singing about a world of feral deliverymen, then the jumpsuits may work. If you’re playing neo-medieval techno-folk, then by all means, wear the tights and buccanner boots. If you’re singing about videogames, then the Nintendo controller beltbuckle is entirely appropriate (Brian). If you come onstage in the buccaneer boots and tricorn hat and start singing about futuritic dystopias (or worse - your band is just instrumental and there’s no real theme) you’re just going to look weird. The music should be able to get the message across on its own merits, and shouldn’t need a “cool look” to make the statement.
And, frankly, sometimes costumery just not a good idea. If you are, like me, a 30-something, doughy IT professional, it may not be in your best interest to squeeze into those leather pants and that mesh shirt. If you’re lucky enough to be supremely confident in your own body image, then go for it, you can likely pull it off. If you’re not, though, any tiny lack of confidence is going to be amplified tenfold onstage to the audience, and it’s going to detract from your performance. Besides, as a performer you’ve got enough to keep track of - adding “do these pants make my ass look fat?” will only get in the way of “can I hit my cue?”
5) As a frontman, you can’t do everything
It took me a long time to learn this. Which was odd, because that’s one of the first things you intuitively understand when you’re a soloist. Back when I was a performing violinist on a fairly regular basis, I knew where my duties lay - I was to perform in front of the accompaning ensemble. I was not supposed to play the second violin part, or conduct, or do anything other than be up front and play.
And yet, when it’s “my” band, it’s really easy to want to be the guy who writes all the parts, triggers the backing tracks, plays the solos, twists the knobs, etc etc. Part of it is just ego protectionism - this is my band, this is my show, I’m the leader, everybody should know I’m capable of doing more than just singing. Since a lot of electronic acts are one- or two-person projects, it’s even easier to slip into this mindset. But live, if you’ve got the extra band members, you’ve got them for a reason. They’re there to perform too. Maybe they’re not front-people or soloists, but they’re your rhythm section, your backup singers, or your technical wonks or whatnot. Trying to handle too much as a frontperson is just going to end in disaster - too many distractions. You’ll be concentrating on playing the keyboard riff and forget to come in with the vocals. Or you’ll wonder if the backing tracks are loud enough. Or any myriad of things that could distract you from giving a strong performance.
6) You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
Shit happens onstage. Constantly. The monitor mix isn’t loud enough, somebody clams a note, you find out the promoter’s sole promotion was dumping some cheap flyers at a now out-of-business record store, etc.
Yeah, well, suck it up. There are still people there to see you, even if it’s just the other bands on the bill and the club owner. Just because you’re not thrilled doesn’t mean you get to be a dick about it. Don’t yell at your bandmates onstage when they screw up - that’s a bushleague move (wait until the awkward and uncomfortably silent drive to the next gig). Don’t bitch out the promoter or the venue owner or the soundguy - it’s pretty much painting you as a diva that they’ll never want to work with again. Sure, you may be 100% right and they sucked, and you may never want to work with them again either, but you can’t afford enemies, and bad opinions spread faster than good. By the time you get to your next gig you may find out that this soundguy is good friends with the last dude and he heard you were an ass - imagine how much effort he’s going to put into making you sound good onstage? Do you really want your performance to be talked about afterwards not becasue you were good in the face of difficulty, but becasue you stopped the show to yell at your guitarist for biffing a solo?
Also, do what you need to do, when you need to do it. Everyone I’ve talked to harps on this point. Unless you’ve got roadies, when you’re done, you gotta tear your stuff down and get it out of the way for the next act, no matter how tempting it might be to go hit on the hotties from the front row or bask in the afterglow of a job well done. Sure, take a moment to towel off, catch your breath, cahnge your shirt, but don’t loiter. Even if you’re the headliner, someone’s waiting for you to get your stuff out of the way. Similarly, soundcheck is just that - checking your sound. It’s not a time for you to work out your gear issues or practice your wikkid riffs or god help you run a full rehearsal. In a perfect world, if everything ran on time, you might be able to take a leisurely approach to things, but when does a soudcheck run on time? A band misses loadin because they were stuck in traffic on the turnpike, or the headliner has a giant drumkit that takes forever to set up - the schedule’s gunna be off. Be a pro - do your thing, get out of the way, and keep the whining to yourself.
7) If you’re stuck catching flies with vinegar, make it a good balsamic.
Sometimes shit happens badly enough that there’s no way to save it. The promoter may be a complete douchenozzle and doesn’t show up. The venue accidentally double-books. The soundsystem may cack up. Your bassist may plummet through a loose floorboard in the stage. Things that are holy-crap-stop-the-show Bad. If it’s just unrecoverable, well, be professional. It’s a learning experience. Or a “mobile rehearsal” (to borrow Dan’s phrase). Come up with a backup plan in case something like this happens again, if possible. You gotta be circumspect about it - getting bitchy isn’t going to solve the problem.
8) Get into it!
Yes, you write very Serious Music. Your message is Important, and if you can just get it out there, Bono’s gunna drop everything and take up your cause. Or maybe your stuff is indeed more complex and innovative that Stockhausen and Shostakovich combined.
That’s all very well and good.
Regardless, if you look like you’re not enjoying your own music, that this is somehow a job to you and not something you love doing, I (and I’m sure many others) are going to tune right out. No matter how worthy the message or how innovative the music.
Enjoying it doesn’t necessarily mean coming onstage and cracking jokes, giggling between songs and high-fiving your drummer. Sometimes it just means showing some form of passion for the material. If your every move is rehearsed, from the big offstage entrance to the point where you dump the fake blood on yourself in the closer, you’re going to look stiff and stilted. C’mon, performing with a band is supposed to be the best job in the world, loosen up and get into it. You can keep your choreographed moves and your fake blood and big entrances, but leave a little room to just let it out. Oddly passionless art isn’t going to sway anyone (unless you’re Kraftwerk, but that’s a different story).
Now, I just hope I can follow my own advice.