My wife and my daughter’s boyfriend and I went to see a band last night. Army of Freshmen are a power punk outfit from California who’ve been around for a while. My wife had taken a shine to them at Brixton Academy a couple of years ago and is what I suppose you might call “a fan”. The gig was in Folkestone – a small town on the Kent coast – in a tiny room called the Quarter House. There were three other bands on the bill and although they appeared to do their best, performances were only adequate and interaction with the audience, notional.
When Army of Freshmen came on stage, it was obvious that their attitude to performing was a little different.
Before they even began, the lead vocalist, Chris Jay, set about warming up the “crowd” of about seventy or so people and it was as though he were facing a 2,000 strong audience at the Albert Hall. Not once, in the hour and a half, did any of the band – an extremely likeable crew and fine musicians all – make any reference to the tiny numbers who had turned out. In fact, they gave fulsome thanks saying that, on their way over from France, they’d worried that no-one would turn up. If they weren't happy to be there, they made a bloody good job of acting as if they did.
Being in Europe for only a couple of days, they were jet-lagged and, having travelled from Germany that day, they must have been exhausted but you’d never have known. The set was, as they say, “blistering” and “High Octane” and other clichés and the respect and genuine affection they showed to the die-hard fans at the front was almost touching.
I was reminded of another gig I saw a couple of years back in a run-down little place in Deal (also on the Kent coast) called the Astoria. This was Frank Zappa’s original band, now called The Grande Mothers and I remember feeling much the same way about their performance. In fact, I’ve seen some of the members of that band actually playing the Albert Hall and again, there was no diminution of effort for the hundred or so at the Astoria that night.
This is one of the things that marks the professional out from the amateur. No aloofness, no cynicism just an understanding that whoever bothers to make the effort and fork out their cash deserves the very best that the artist can offer.
In some ways, it’s much easier for the writer because he/she never actually sees their audience. Imagine if you had to be present for every reading, trying to gauge their reactions to each nuance, checking their response to characterisation and sentence structure. Indeed, how many writers even bear their audience in mind? How many will say that they are only writing to please themselves and that they don’t mind if no-one likes their stuff; that they can take it or leave it?
Such contempt for an audience would soon see a band booed off. But on the other hand, at least the band learns instantly what an audience thinks of them whereas the writer must wait months or even years to learn if their "performance" has been a good one or not.
So at such a remove, writers have to try to imagine their audience and make informed judgement as to what its expectations might be, then offer what they can to please. I’m not suggesting that writers pander to a taste but rather offer what they do in as attractive manner as possible. No preaching, but no lack of passion either; no showing off but no appeal to the lowest common denominator; respect rather than appeasement and integrity rather than hubris. These are what writers can offer and only hope that, when a review finally appears, what they intended is what has been received.
We can’t all do it. Lord knows I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it and that may be why I still see myself as a dilettante; I might say, rank amateur when considering my own audience. Such as it is.
Army of Freshmen went up several notches in my estimation last evening. Good luck to them for the rest of their tour.
When Army of Freshmen came on stage, it was obvious that their attitude to performing was a little different.
Before they even began, the lead vocalist, Chris Jay, set about warming up the “crowd” of about seventy or so people and it was as though he were facing a 2,000 strong audience at the Albert Hall. Not once, in the hour and a half, did any of the band – an extremely likeable crew and fine musicians all – make any reference to the tiny numbers who had turned out. In fact, they gave fulsome thanks saying that, on their way over from France, they’d worried that no-one would turn up. If they weren't happy to be there, they made a bloody good job of acting as if they did.
Being in Europe for only a couple of days, they were jet-lagged and, having travelled from Germany that day, they must have been exhausted but you’d never have known. The set was, as they say, “blistering” and “High Octane” and other clichés and the respect and genuine affection they showed to the die-hard fans at the front was almost touching.
I was reminded of another gig I saw a couple of years back in a run-down little place in Deal (also on the Kent coast) called the Astoria. This was Frank Zappa’s original band, now called The Grande Mothers and I remember feeling much the same way about their performance. In fact, I’ve seen some of the members of that band actually playing the Albert Hall and again, there was no diminution of effort for the hundred or so at the Astoria that night.
This is one of the things that marks the professional out from the amateur. No aloofness, no cynicism just an understanding that whoever bothers to make the effort and fork out their cash deserves the very best that the artist can offer.
In some ways, it’s much easier for the writer because he/she never actually sees their audience. Imagine if you had to be present for every reading, trying to gauge their reactions to each nuance, checking their response to characterisation and sentence structure. Indeed, how many writers even bear their audience in mind? How many will say that they are only writing to please themselves and that they don’t mind if no-one likes their stuff; that they can take it or leave it?
Such contempt for an audience would soon see a band booed off. But on the other hand, at least the band learns instantly what an audience thinks of them whereas the writer must wait months or even years to learn if their "performance" has been a good one or not.
So at such a remove, writers have to try to imagine their audience and make informed judgement as to what its expectations might be, then offer what they can to please. I’m not suggesting that writers pander to a taste but rather offer what they do in as attractive manner as possible. No preaching, but no lack of passion either; no showing off but no appeal to the lowest common denominator; respect rather than appeasement and integrity rather than hubris. These are what writers can offer and only hope that, when a review finally appears, what they intended is what has been received.
We can’t all do it. Lord knows I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it and that may be why I still see myself as a dilettante; I might say, rank amateur when considering my own audience. Such as it is.
Army of Freshmen went up several notches in my estimation last evening. Good luck to them for the rest of their tour.
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