Electronic Dream
I had a performance anxiety dream last night. Even though I am no longer actually on stage for The Residents shows, my psyche is permanently scarred. But my dream was not about The Residents.
In my dream I am performing a solo improvised electronic music thing. The venue is a hotel ballroom, a symposium for electronic music aficionados and my contribution is highly anticipated. I'm feeling a bit of pressure.
The first thing I realize as I stepped onto the platform is that my instrument, which I have never seen before, is made of paper. Not any paper but the back side of discarded business letters, the kind of thing one might offer a child to draw houses with black smoke curling from chimneys. The controls were cut-out flaps sloppily attached using off-brand transparent tape. Others were merely drawings of knobs to make the device look more complicated. I had about twenty pages, some were torn from a yellow pad and had pale blue lines.
I wiggled flaps and shuffled pages but the sounds were thin and lacked imagination. Improvisation gains its power based on the idea that it can horribly fail. Maybe this was one of those times.
Then I notice the promoter of the symposium making his way to the platform to rescue me from embarrassment. I suddenly produce a handful of greeting cards still in envelopes. I don't know why I had them. I open one and as I pull it free, the card image flashes across the room and sound erupts filling the space with frightening but humorous sounds. As I reveal the card's dull and bland message, the dull and bland attendees burst to life, no longer the dull and bland people they seemed only a moment ago. I watch color rise in their faces, a rash appears here and there. Their breathing becomes syncopated, deep and slow. I see the promoter stop, a smile growing on his far too young face, believing I had deviously faked everyone with my satirical "paper electronic instrument."
Truthfully I had no idea what was going on and I certainly had nothing to do with it. I was like a possessed magician. Every envelope I opened upped the aesthetics of the combination of humorous and sophisticated sounds rippling through the room. After the fifth card I decided that I had taken my luck as far as I dared. The audience did not applaud, and for a moment I considered that they might be dead. I stuffed the remaining cards into my pocket and left the stage. I left the building.
The night air was warm and pressed me to the wall. It kissed me. It said, "Good Morning." I opened my eyes and drowsily mumbled, "I just had the strangest dream."
I had a performance anxiety dream last night. Even though I am no longer actually on stage for The Residents shows, my psyche is permanently scarred. But my dream was not about The Residents.
In my dream I am performing a solo improvised electronic music thing. The venue is a hotel ballroom, a symposium for electronic music aficionados and my contribution is highly anticipated. I'm feeling a bit of pressure.
The first thing I realize as I stepped onto the platform is that my instrument, which I have never seen before, is made of paper. Not any paper but the back side of discarded business letters, the kind of thing one might offer a child to draw houses with black smoke curling from chimneys. The controls were cut-out flaps sloppily attached using off-brand transparent tape. Others were merely drawings of knobs to make the device look more complicated. I had about twenty pages, some were torn from a yellow pad and had pale blue lines.
I wiggled flaps and shuffled pages but the sounds were thin and lacked imagination. Improvisation gains its power based on the idea that it can horribly fail. Maybe this was one of those times.
Then I notice the promoter of the symposium making his way to the platform to rescue me from embarrassment. I suddenly produce a handful of greeting cards still in envelopes. I don't know why I had them. I open one and as I pull it free, the card image flashes across the room and sound erupts filling the space with frightening but humorous sounds. As I reveal the card's dull and bland message, the dull and bland attendees burst to life, no longer the dull and bland people they seemed only a moment ago. I watch color rise in their faces, a rash appears here and there. Their breathing becomes syncopated, deep and slow. I see the promoter stop, a smile growing on his far too young face, believing I had deviously faked everyone with my satirical "paper electronic instrument."
Truthfully I had no idea what was going on and I certainly had nothing to do with it. I was like a possessed magician. Every envelope I opened upped the aesthetics of the combination of humorous and sophisticated sounds rippling through the room. After the fifth card I decided that I had taken my luck as far as I dared. The audience did not applaud, and for a moment I considered that they might be dead. I stuffed the remaining cards into my pocket and left the stage. I left the building.
The night air was warm and pressed me to the wall. It kissed me. It said, "Good Morning." I opened my eyes and drowsily mumbled, "I just had the strangest dream."