Which came first, the audience or the performer? Was the first performance of all time inspired by a random group of people in need of entertainment? Or, were the caves and forests of yesteryear filled with lone singers belting out their hearts without ever intending to present their talents to others? These aren't silly questions if you're passionate about performing. Because the answer to this "chicken or the egg" paradox provides the key for connecting with modern-day audiences. And while I'm not quiet old enough to have been there at the beginning, there is a lot of evidence as to how the first gig must have transpired.

Imagine a man at the dawn of humanity. He's walking along looking for food on some random Friday when he stubs his toe on a rock, again. The guy is not only in a fair amount of pain but also really aggravated. What are the chances of that happening twice in one outing? He can't think those actual words because he has yet to develop language but he knows he's not having a good day. Not only has he scared away any potential meals with his angry cries but he's also caught the ear of a nearby human who cautiously heads in the direction of the commotion. The curious onlooker crouches behind a bush and watches as the injured man vents his frustration by shrieking and howling at the top of his lungs. And so, in this very unceremonious manor, the first performance unfolded. Musicologists and critics will later refer to this type of emoting as "rock music." After all, it was inspired by hitting a stone.

Without knowing each other, a connection was made between those two ancient people. The spectator was captivated by the expressions and sounds of the other man because he related to the feelings. He continued to spy as the unsuspecting performer's voice then swooped up in delight upon discovering some berries, and then groaned downward in disappointment as the last berry was consumed. The vocal sounds triggered feelings of empathy in the one-man audience. Bonding with the stranger, he also released a sigh when the berries were gone, inadvertently calling attention to himself. Suddenly aware that he was being watched, the performer's heart skipped a beat as he realized that his actions had captured the emotions of another person. Wanting to explore this new connection further, the performer was sorry to see his audience scurry away into the forest.

The next night the man who had witnessed the impromptu performance wanted to share the experience with his woman. This being a time well before political correctness and without the ability to actually ask her if she'd like to see something interesting, he simply dragged her by the hair until he found the man he had spied on. Not only did this create the still-honored tradition of Saturday being date night, but it also doubled the audience of the previous day for the rookie performer. So the stage was set but just before the second gig of all time could get under way, something unexpected occurred.

Stage fright seized the performer's mind and body. How would he recreate the special circumstances that existed the day before? What was it that made his audience return? He desperately wanted to connect with these people yet he was in the dark about their desires. At a loss for what to do he ran over and purposely kicked a large rock with his bare foot. It certainly hurt but not like the day before. Embarrassed, he stifled his discomfort. His audience sat stone-faced. Then he grabbed some berries and woofed them down. He scanned the two onlookers for approval; bypassing the enjoyment he had previously experienced when eating the fruit. No reaction from his audience, until the woman shot a disapproving glance to her man for dragging her out of the cave for nothing.

Seem familiar? Since the second gig in history performers have struggled with trying to please an audience. And since that second gig, audiences have been subjected to a hit-or-miss chance of attending a great live show. What was true then is true now: An audience is most interested in how the performer feels. The first gig was spontaneous. The connection was real because the feelings were real. The next night the performer was so preoccupied with the mood of his audience that he failed to connect his emotions to the actions of his show. It's a simple rule: The singer leads the room. Let down your guard and feel something and the audience will be yours. Step on stage with your shields up and you're in for a long night.

Every human responds to basic emotions in the same way. We all cry when sad and laugh when happy. There are no exceptions anywhere on the planet. All healthy people communicate with melody in their voices as an extension of their feelings. Our pitch rises when we're excited and falls for disappointment. These are the same melodic cues that every song attempts to capture. In other words, music stimulates our emotions by imitating the sounds we produce naturally. On hearing a melodic cue, we quickly assess if the gesture is authentic. If we deem it real, we begin to search our own feelings for a connection.

Unfortunately many people feel uncomfortable navigating their emotions in public. They clam up and close the pathway from head to heart. The irony is that these are the people who would gain the most from opening up a little. So it is up to the performer to create an environment safe enough that the biggest hold-outs surrender to their emotions. That's why your audience has ventured out in the first place. They long to feel something but don't know how to get out of their own way. It's the old safety in numbers theory - which is why performers and audiences alike love a big crowd. The flip side is why it's such a challenge to have a good show when there are only six people in the club.

As always, it's best to lead by example. On any given night, during any song on the set list, there is an opportunity to connect with your emotions - and therefore your audience. You don't have to act out the lyrics. Think big picture. Joy, love, loneness or heartbreak are all typical song subjects because everybody can relate. To keep your performance real, draw from your experience. The heartbreak you're singing about doesn't have to be the heartbreak you're feeling. You can reminisce about the family dog that recently passed away during a break-up song. If you're still missing that pooch your audience will pick up on those feelings and start searching their hearts for what they miss most. Before long everyone is tearing up. No one has to know that the "she" that left you had four legs and a very cold nose.

So which came first? The answer is neither audience nor performer. It was emotion that started the whole entertainment business. And it is the pursuit of an emotional experience that draws people out of the comfort of their modern day caves and brings them elbow to elbow with strangers. It is an agreement with the way you feel about things that will inspire someone to start your fan club. So start connecting the way you feel to the songs you sing and inspire your audience to explore their emotions. Because no matter how well you can sing or play, it's the way you make people feel that is remembered most.

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