Tour reaches the Edge
Another shortcut. This time Dave Soroka assures me that he's familiar with the road from Grand Forks to Edgewood and that, indeed, we'll save some good time. We hit the path with Dusty riding shot gun; he's playing electric with Dave tonight at our show at Carol's Cafe. Dusty and I chat animatedly for most of the drive, admiring the views of this backwoods BC country.
Been hanging around Dave for a few days now, and learning how different our approaches to music are and trying to learn from that. Dave is an intense person, and that intensity is certainly taken onto the stage with him. He invites (maybe sometimes even expects?) his audience to participate in that intensity. I've seen other performers like this: they hold expectations of their audience. It's a difficult position to take, because the audience won't always live up to those expectations. But sometimes it means the performer works harder to deliver a really intense experience that audiences latch into, cooperate with, participate in. These performers are not simply up there to entertain.
On this short backwoods BC tour with Dave, I start to connect his intensity to a book I read on the psychedlic era, the music of the 60s. Enormous happenings and concerts took place where the audience was intensely connected to the music, to each other, and participated in making a scene what it was. These thoughts are lingering as we arrive at Carol's and set up on her enormous, vine-covered patio on a hot summer's day.
Dave opens the show, which starts with restrained passion and builds all night. The fine folks of Cherryville show up to carry on the vibe from the show a few nights before, and the growing crowd nearly succeeds in drinking Carol's place completely dry. The crowd is hyped: dancing, singing, enthralled and the energy continues to build through four, five, six sets of music. The Cherry-villians bring instruments, until we have a great jam band: drums, guitars, percussion, and I join to backup Dave.
The whole jumpin' scene evolves on Carol's deck, out in the warm summer air, and both audience and musicians are really connected in this experience, a moment, where the music and the meaning and the lyrics are absorbed and respected and honored, as the songs swerve from serious to playful to intense to gentle to rockin'. Everything on that deck revolves around the music, even when the audience is talking, laughing, playing.
We wake early the next morning, and Carol makes us coffee before we push off. I'm tired and thoughtful in the backseat as he head home, and Dave is absolutely glowing from the last couple of gigs. As I think about the last few gigs we've played together, I wonder what it is I expect from my audience. And Dave has certainly tamed my own arrogance that my way (so very different from his onstage and off) is the right way. So good to be thrust outside one's comfort zone every now and then.
Been hanging around Dave for a few days now, and learning how different our approaches to music are and trying to learn from that. Dave is an intense person, and that intensity is certainly taken onto the stage with him. He invites (maybe sometimes even expects?) his audience to participate in that intensity. I've seen other performers like this: they hold expectations of their audience. It's a difficult position to take, because the audience won't always live up to those expectations. But sometimes it means the performer works harder to deliver a really intense experience that audiences latch into, cooperate with, participate in. These performers are not simply up there to entertain.
On this short backwoods BC tour with Dave, I start to connect his intensity to a book I read on the psychedlic era, the music of the 60s. Enormous happenings and concerts took place where the audience was intensely connected to the music, to each other, and participated in making a scene what it was. These thoughts are lingering as we arrive at Carol's and set up on her enormous, vine-covered patio on a hot summer's day.
Dave opens the show, which starts with restrained passion and builds all night. The fine folks of Cherryville show up to carry on the vibe from the show a few nights before, and the growing crowd nearly succeeds in drinking Carol's place completely dry. The crowd is hyped: dancing, singing, enthralled and the energy continues to build through four, five, six sets of music. The Cherry-villians bring instruments, until we have a great jam band: drums, guitars, percussion, and I join to backup Dave.
The whole jumpin' scene evolves on Carol's deck, out in the warm summer air, and both audience and musicians are really connected in this experience, a moment, where the music and the meaning and the lyrics are absorbed and respected and honored, as the songs swerve from serious to playful to intense to gentle to rockin'. Everything on that deck revolves around the music, even when the audience is talking, laughing, playing.
We wake early the next morning, and Carol makes us coffee before we push off. I'm tired and thoughtful in the backseat as he head home, and Dave is absolutely glowing from the last couple of gigs. As I think about the last few gigs we've played together, I wonder what it is I expect from my audience. And Dave has certainly tamed my own arrogance that my way (so very different from his onstage and off) is the right way. So good to be thrust outside one's comfort zone every now and then.
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