Getting ready for a show is always a process, especially when that show happens to be you’re very first in New York City. The travel, the packing, the music, the equipment, the excitement…you get the idea. Being from Western New York, November means cold and snow. This year, lots of snow. So the Nordic-tundra-puffy snowman look- I’ve got down. However, successfully achieving the chic city look without freezing my fingers off or sweating like a hippo, I have yet to master. This is a work in progress. My father insists on bringing hats with him everywhere he goes, and advised me to pack a little black hat just in case it was windy, just enough to keep warm. I insisted it was never windy in the city – the buildings block all of the wind! I had been to the city in November before and never remembered any wind as I looked at the Rockefeller Christmas tree- which is always hidden in scaffolding when I am visiting. He disagreed. I made sure to pack my bag Thursday night- I would have plenty of time on Friday to change my mind, unpack, and then repack for my departure early Saturday morning. Which is exactly what happened…twice. Two last minute additions included my black windscreen for the microphone (which I like to call a nose), and a matching black hat. Since this was a big show (my very first ever in the city), the nucleus was attending- mom, dad, and James. We arrived in the city early Saturday morning, checked in, and decided to bop around for a bit until heading over for the sound check. As we walked through the streets and arrived at the famous scaffolded masterpiece, despite my objections it was….windy. I put my hat on. I could practically hear my dad smile behind me even though he was several paces back. The afternoon progressed quickly, enjoying the sights and taking in the charm that makes New York so special. We headed back to relax and get ready…and the butterflies began their attack. What if nobody came? What if the piano was in bad shape? What if this place was a front for organ harvesting? What if…you name it, I thought it. I’m not one to get nervous before a show, but with all of these unknowns, I couldn’t ignore the tinge of worry knocking occasionally at my confidence’s front door. I grabbed my set list, windscreen, and my hat and headed out. We waited for a cab, we waited at the red lights, we waited for the people to cross the street when they weren’t supposed to, wait wait wait wait- wait. Then we pulled up, and the place was…ADORABLE! The piano was in great shape, and these people did not strike me as kidney sharks. I started playing, and as soon as I started, the butterflies packed up and left for the night – realizing they had lost the battle once again. Then the most miraculous thing happened. People came! Let’s be clear- in no way did I sell out the Met, but there were people there. They stayed, they drank, and most importantly, they listened. They listened! After the show, they stayed to chat about the music…they had opinions…it was fantastic. The conversations flowed as freely as our celebratory libations…for hours. The nucleus was inebriated, and it was time to head back. I grabbed my hat, and we hailed a cab. Little did we know our adventure was coming to its peak as we climbed into the little yellow taxi. It all started with the seatbelt light. The sensor was pitching a fit, beep beep beep…”shut up you b***h” our driver commanded in an almost jolly voice …the car exploded with laughter. As we drove through the more lucrative parts of town -“10 million dollar apartment…for that much you can buy North Dakota and Idaho…buy one get one free you b***h”. As he pontificated on world domination- “I’d vote for Bush and Mr. Dick again on one condition… they take over Canada”. When cars would get in the way – “move you b***h”. As people walked in front of the car “move you b***h”. As he honked the horn at my dad’s command “yes boss, move you b***h”. The whole way- for 46 blocks “yes boss, move you b***h”. We paid our spirited driver and headed in for the night. Tired, sauced, dehydrated and hysterically laughing- until the lights went out.
It wasn’t until I was on the plane headed back home the next morning that I truly absorbed this experience. That night, I did not play to a sold out house at Madison Square Garden, I did not sell ten thousand albums, I didn’t make a million dollars…but I felt on top of the world. I felt rejuvenated and renewed. I was enthralled with the opinions and thoughts of my listeners. I was overwhelmed by the support of my tiny nucleus, the three people in this world who support me more than anyone deserves. I was grateful for the friends who took time to come to this show and grateful for the new friends and fans I made that night. It became so clear in this experience- that this journey is not about the money or the fame or the whatever else. It is simply about music and people, nothing else. When I got home, I unpacked my bag, and realized I had left my little black windscreen in New York. Despite the sadness of leaving my nose in the city, a part of me is really glad it’s there. The city gave me so much that night…so many wonderful memories and lessons I will have for the rest of my life. The least I could do is to give it a tiny black hat, just enough to protect from the cold New York wind until I return.