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Quick Pretention

Effort

I learned something last night. In fact, I had my confidence boosted quite a bit.

See, if you ask me, last night was the worst vocal performance of my life. No Drama. Total seriousness. I couldn't breathe. My tone barely held out for the set, and my voice completely disappeared during the first song of the encore. My head felt like it was going to explode, and I had to keep fighting off the urge to pass out. And yet, the crowd loved us. WE got a lot of compliments on the show, even from those that didn't know I was sick. I was so embarassed when I got off that stage, and so convinced at first that people were just being nice when they said "Good show." But as time went on, I realized they had been impressed. The music had been solid, our little gimmicks (from me getting carried through the crowd in a Straight-Jacket to throwing Devil Duckies at the audience) were perfect, and if anything my performance was intense. I poured every last ounce of health I had left into that show, and I think everyone felt it. They felt my dedication to the music, as well as that of the rest of the band.

And that made me think, Jesus, if this is the response we get when my voice completely sucks, imagine how we're gonna do once I'm healed?

Also, a friend pointed out something. At Visions in Blue shows, and at In Tenebris shows before I started working at the Dawning, I would always be in the front row, rocking out to my brother's music and singing along, and it seemed somehow perfect that he did the same last night. Seriously, I owe him my total thanks. He is a wonderful brother and my best friend, and he proved it last night. Not only did he join me backstage to help soothe my fears (this was the first time I was ever really scared to do a performance), not only did he help four other guys carry my fat ass to the stage, and not only did he dance like a maniac for a few songs and scream into the mic with me, but during the last song, when it was obvious I was about to fall over and die, he came onstage from behind and dragged a good portion of the audience onto the stage, turning "He Still Insists He Sees The Ghosts" into some kind of MTV dance party. And I couldn't help but laugh. He brought most of the support right to us, letting us know how much we were loved that night. It was just wonderful.

My brother is the man, pure and simple. And I don't think I'd be where I am right now without him.

Tom and Chad are to be awarded medals. I have performed in a band before (yeah, it was a high-school "garage band," but it counts), as well as with countless choirs, and all my friends from Camp at various performances. But I've never enjoyed sharing the stage with anyone as much as I have with them. We've found our niche. We've got our sound. Dammit, we kick ass, and I'm not afraid to brag about it. It's only going to get better from here, and it's largely because of them. I truly am a lucky man.

I can't deny that anymore. Despite heartache, despite sickness, despite a life of pain that just won't quit, I have it good. I have too many friends that supported us last night to even mention, and there is a lot of love in my life. Yeah, maybe I'm missing one specific type, but in the presence of all of this, can I really complain?

Maybe. And I probably will later. . . but not today. Today I feel good. I am physically dead, but I am damn good. And I know that the next Dawning we play (January 17, mark your calendars) is going to be phenomenal. And nothing can fuck with that right now.

So today I'm catching up on all the new CDs I got that I haven't been able to listen to, and gladly welcoming any conversation that comes my way. But I don't think I'm gonna leave the house anymore today. No reason to burn out, less I lose this high sooner than I wish to.