The Anatomy of a Show
A Day in the Life of a Performing Musician
Last night, I performed a set of music at a small club called Grandpa Bar a few blocks north of downtown Nashville. A lot of thought and energy goes into these undertakings, and today, I will guide you along the journey I took from preparation to the stage.
This event was booked almost a month ago by Nashville’s wonderful Shoes Off Entertainment. I was approached specifically because this gig showcased Asian and Pacific Islander musicians.
I promoted it on social media, as one does, and as soon as it was confirmed, I started thinking about the setlist and figuring out who from my band might be able to play with me.
My drummer could not make it, but my guitarist (and longtime collaborator), Andrew Weitze, was available. We met last weekend at his house. I sat at his piano while he strummed on his acoustic guitar. We decided on five songs that conveyed a good mix of musicality and depth, with the last song being a complete departure from everything else.
I was also thinking about what I would wear. Generally, I do not perform in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, not that there is anything wrong with that. I view my clothing as an extension of my performance. Though nonverbal, it is a visual element that makes its own statement about who I am and where I come from. I have amassed a gorgeous collection of traditional and ornate Filipino clothes that I can mix and match in a variety of ways for any show. For this Grandpa Bar event, I chose a recent acquisition from my trip to the Philippines earlier this year. It was a black barong (men’s traditional formal shirt) and a beaded neckpiece both styled from the designs of an indigenous tribe called the Igorot in a northern mountainous region.
Since I play music every day, I practiced all five songs solo in the mix of others that I am either actively writing or fine-tuning for future shows. It’s less of a concerted effort to get them ready and more of a gentle revisiting of friends. We catch up with each other and build a comfortable rapport.
On the day of the show, I got some work done from my part-time nonprofit job in the morning, followed by an hour of light weeding in my garden. I spent the afternoon slowly freshening up, getting dressed, and packing up my keyboard and gear.
The show started at 8:00 PM, and we arrived closer to 7:00 PM. I make it a habit to get to a venue at least one hour before show time. This wide berth gives me time to settle in and address any unexpected surprises. (Parking is often an issue in Nashville, so I must account for that potential challenge.) Out of respect, I also like to enjoy and be present for the other performers on the bill who play before or after me.
My dear husband MaxZine came with me. He took on the bulk of the driving. We stopped at a Vietnamese restaurant to have Pho for dinner. I usually like to eat something warm and light before I play.
Ten minutes after we finished devouring this nourishing sustenance, we arrived at Grandpa Bar. It has an unassuming entrance on the back end of a building that sits across the street from local government housing. Since we got there early, we found a parking spot right near the entrance.
We unloaded our gear and settled in for the night. This club is a swanky establishment with damask patterns on the walls, mellow chandelier lighting, all-gender bathrooms, and gold-embossed seating along the bar. Problems with the mixer for the sound delayed the show for over 20 minutes, but the festivities soon began with a round of songwriters—Chris Kang, Rosie Gold, and Kapali Long. They each played a song over three rounds. Their styles spanned the gulf between pop and country music with lots of skilled musicianship, storytelling, and genuine emotion.
Soon enough, my guitarist Andrew and I took the stage. Due to the late start of the show, the earlier round had to be trimmed short (it featured nine songs instead of twelve). My set was getting a bit long, and we trimmed off one song (Arabesque).
The beauty of playing as a duo (and solo for that matter) is that there is a little more space for the music to breathe. I took my time with each song and was gentler in my approach.
One song, called Villain, is an older song of mine that we have reimagined for guitar. I sang it without touching my keyboard, and it was rather liberating. MaxZine got up and juggled his glow-in-the-dark clubs during this song to the audience’s delight. The first two songs, The Hollowing and Hello Mexico, are two of my favorite pieces. They rise to searing emotional crescendos, with changes in tempo and syncopation along the way.
The last song WAWA was intended as a comedic contrast from everything else and an uplifting end to our set. It did not disappoint. I will not say more about it. You’ll have to come to my show to hear it for yourself.
One last performer, Nivedhan Singh, played his songs after us. His set included songs from a musical he is writing about a man who falls in love with a dolphin. It was quite lush and entertaining.
After saying our goodbyes, we packed up my heavy keyboard and headed back to our home in the woods. We arrived safely around 12:30 AM.
As you can imagine, I woke up this morning very tired and groggy. A lot of thought and intention go into these performances. My music is my calling, and it is the part of my life that allows me to give and share more of myself than I would otherwise.
Today, after I hit send on this post, I rest.
I have a light day ahead before the wheels start turning again.
The next time you see a musician performing somewhere, take a minute to absorb what they are giving. There is often a lifetime of preparation and intention underneath all of that casual, unassuming swagger.
Give back your attention and gratitude, if you can.
I don’t think this is too much to ask.
P.S. I will have more shows to come.