My First Solo Booking

For Christmas in 1998, I received my first guitar, a Martin Dreadnought. I took one semester of lessons--enough to learn some basic chord progressions--and then decided to become more proficient on my own. Now, I can play basic chords pretty fluently and, having played with others and in front of others, I’ve gotten more comfortable with performing. Last Wednesday, I played a 30-minute show at a nursing facility in Searcy where my Grandma, who helped buy my first guitar, is now living. My mom and dad helped me set up in the lobby with a microphone stand (borrowed from the Harding University Music Department), an on-site mic (plugged into the electric piano), and a bar stool (borrowed from some friends). I supplied a music stand and the guitar—not my Martin, but a Yamaha I had bought just before my trip.

Though I hadn’t slated the show in enough time to be put on a printed schedule, the activity director said I could perform at 3 p.m. My parents and I started setting up shortly after 2:30, and right away, residents began gathering to hear the show. I visited with a few of them, and one woman was a fan of Elvis. “There’ll never be another Elvis,” she said. At least 20 people showed up—not bad for an unannounced program. Luckily for the audience, I had a warm-up act—my mother playing songs on the piano. Then my father introduced me. I started with “The Wabash Cannonball” and saw that some residents recognized this number. I encouraged people listening to sing along with songs they knew, and this happened with some of the tunes. The most popular must have been “You Are My Sunshine.” I was somewhat nervous at various points and played some wrong chords, but the audience clapped after each song and I made it through, ending my set with “This Land Is Your Land.” As an encore, I asked if anyone had a request. From the far side of the room, a woman called out, “The Wabash Cannonball.” (Had she not been present to hear me play that earlier?) I played most of it again. She enjoyed it, and no one else seemed to mind the repeat. At the end, Mom came back up, and we did a duet of “The Tennessee Waltz.” Afterwards, I walked around and thanked people for coming. The Elvis-lover I’d spoken to before was disappointed that I hadn’t played any of her favorite artist. She repeated, ‘There’ll never be another Elvis.” I told her I’d have to work on some Elvis for next time, maybe “Love Me Tender.” She said, “That was the first movie my husband and I saw together.”

Grandma liked having me play. It’s funny that during the show, I noticed her looking around at others as much as or more than she did at me. I guess she was wanting to see if others were enjoying the music, which she had, by living there, generated the opportunity for.

Last year when I switched from a full-time to a part-time position, I had an idea to work on a repertoire of songs that I could play at small coffee shop style venues to make extra money. That never happened, but perhaps I’ll give it more of a go this next year. Maybe in the future I’ll play at other places and even make money doing so; but I shouldn’t imagine I’ll ever perform at a more worthwhile place than this first concert in a nursing home.