It has been some time since I have entered the studio to create something new to share with you all.I could not be more honored than to have been able to do this with my great friends John Gerard and Adrienne Fawkes.

Our record is currently in production, and will be available shortly. I think everyone will be pleasantly suprised at the quality of songwriting, preformance, and production ala Steve Rapson.

The record features 8 full length tracks, and will be titled “Anywhere but here”. Due for release early this summer.

Edit: We decided not to release this record. I’m sure you can find a bootleg.

"…When the room is noisy, smoky, uninterested in your act, and you
still get in the zone where you are 100% focused on the music, are
thinking of nothing else, and get transported to the place where it all
feels right, sounds good… that's the hardest and the best thing you
can do. Anonymous."

Gig-tough performers are most likely to connect with a crowd. This
is because they have developed the ability to do their best in any
situation. Part of that is the vibe they give off apart from the words
and music. The audience is smart. They detect how an artist feels from
the subtlest clues. There is no place to hide.

Entertainers are there to give. Whether they get back what they
want, or expect, or deserve is not under their control. Who would stand
in front of a stove and promise it wood as soon at it gives some heat?
Being gig-tough is a way of thinking. Attaining this mind-set is
simple, but not easy.

My Christmas Guitar Tour revealed the elemental truth in this
idea. Nineteen gigs in twenty-one days: an open mike feature, The Tam,
Borders Books, Passim, two radio interviews, restaurants, coffee shops,
living rooms. I hated the first several gigs. The sound was never
right, I thought I played poorly, I thought the audience was
indifferent, nobody bought CD's. I thought, "What am I doing here?"

Half-way through, everything improved. I started to enjoy
producing the music. People sang along, they bought CD's. Maybe the
secret is a good room, a good crowd, planets in alignment… but, this
is the same room, and the same kind of people as last week where I had
a hellish gig and died a miserable musical death. And I'm wearing the
same clothes, playing the same songs on the same guitar. The only
variable? My thoughts, and the feelings they engendered. After several
gigs in a row, I began to get over it, as they say. I was able to get
immersed in the sound of the guitar, executing the parts I had
carefully worked out.

One Friday night at Strawberry Fair I came out of the zone after
an extended improvisation on Moonlight In Vermont: re-harmonized
melody, dissonant chords… exotic scales to stretch the ears. People
politely clapping. Where? What…? "Whoa!… forgot where I was," I
said to the group grinning on my left. This is where I want to be every
time I perform. I have a better time, the audience is more entertained,
and it's what the pros do.

Martin Sexton performed two shows at Passim on December 28th. He
found the zone several times. Each time he did, the audience went with
him. They screamed and clapped. The deeper he got into a song, the more
they responded. His face turning red, his eyes squinting and shut
tight, writhing in place, belting out the song. The crowd went nuts.
(By the way, have you ever seen a performer doing all those things but
not connecting? This is the difference between actually being there,
and pretending to be there. The audience knows the difference. They are
smarter than we.) After the song, they yell approval. This feels good
to a performer. It feels good to Marty, so he tells them, "Oh, I do
love it when you carry on like that!" He grins widely, authentically,
slightly embarrassed. The humble side of him wants look down and
shuffle his toe on the floor. The pro knows he must stand there, open
and naked to accept the collective approval of the people. His eyes are
open. He looks out, taking in everybody.

Singer/songwriter Jon Carmen has said, "Playing to roomful of
attentive people is generally good, while playing to an empty room or
people who aren't listening generally sucks." Producer/songwriter Crit
Harmon observes, "It's better to work a room that features music and
has beer, than a room that features beer and has music." All true.
Divinely inspired wisdom, even. So we strive to find the good rooms and
avoid the bad. We regale each other with gig horror stories. On the way
to a new venue we imagine success, achieving the next level.

The one thing to avoid is thinking about, or dwelling in any way
on how the gig is going while performing. Because it affects the act.
We don't get in the zone, and are too aware of everything going on in
the room: Geez, could those two talk any louder over there? Is the
sound technician intentionally trying to sabotage me? This stage is too
high, I can't connect. This stage is too low, my space is being
violated. Oh, no! They are going to smoke right in front of me! A
performer either learns to deal and grow past the bad gigs, or they
quit playing. What's a singer/songwriter to do? Try this:

* Be humble–Humility comes from outside ourselves. Find a source.
* Be empty of expectations–Expectations come from our own thoughts. Try thinking less.
* Be gig-tough–Do a lot of gigs. Always be ready to work. There are
seven days in a week. When there are eight offers a week, then be
picky.

The purpose: to develop an ability to personally connect with the
audience via the music. Bruce Marks, Director of the Boston Ballet, was
interviewed by Gail Harris. She asked him what he looks for in a
world-class dancer. He said, "Well, everybody who comes to the Boston
Ballet is highly skilled. Technical perfection is a given at this
level. I look for that spark of human connection; a dancer who takes in
the audience with her eyes. Laura Young (Boston Ballet School principal
dancer) can make eye contact with three hundred people at the same
time. You can see it going forth from the stage out to the theater, and
back from them to her. The great ones all make that personal
connection."

Patty Smith was interviewed by Terry Gross on the NPR show Fresh
Air. Terry asks, "You started off reading your poetry in bars?" "Yes,"
said Patty, "Normally they had bands, but on off nights, or as an
opening act, I would get to do fifteen or twenty minutes. At first
people would ignore me or even try to shout me off the stage. But I
stayed up there and wouldn't be driven off; eventually I started to
connect. The last few minutes they paid attention."

My intense Christmas tour re-inforced what I have learned about
performing. However, I could not execute until I leaped into the fray
and did it. I have now learned the only way out of the s–t is through
it. Not around, over, or under it.

My act is better. I enjoy gigging more than ever. I seem to learn
every time I go out as a watcher or a doer, so I resolve to get out of
the house even more in 1997. See you there.

Steve Rapson
released his first CD, Christmas Guitar, in November 1996. A cover-rock
band leader for twenty years, he is now an acoustic soloist, producer,
songwriter, and host of Java Jo's Open Mike. His next CD, Romantic
Guitar, will be released in February. email him at
Rapson@soloperformer.com.

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.

Here is an article that was written by Trish and Phil Knudsen regarding our reason for attending open mics, and posted on their homepage www.trishandphil-music.com. I'm using it here with their permission.

"We are
now into our fourth month of hosting the TCAN open mike. We felt the
time was right to tell you something about our philosophy of the open
mike- here at TCAN and in general.

We see
the open mike as a community event – not necessarily a performance
event. It's a time to hear, and really listen to, other people who
share their gifts with us. The performers are at various stages in
their musical development. Some may see the open mike as their only
musical or spoken word outlet, some may use the open mike to test new
musical
collaborations and musical styles. Some people may use the open mike to
showcase their talent in the hope of being offered a feature, or an
opening slot at some venue. All of these are valid reasons for
involvement. The key thing holding all these ideas together is that we
are here for each other. We shouldn't get involved in the open mike for
ourselves only – although performance may also feed our own souls as we
sing, express ourselves and receive appreciation from others…