Rosie
From up on stage, it was impossible to see much once the spot lights turned on. They were shining right in my eyes. I could only imagine Ryan watching me as I played. It was ok though, it was almost better that way.
I’d never written a song for anybody but myself before. It was an intimate thing, just to write it in the seclusion of my own room. It was even more intimate to get up on stage and sing it in front of a crowd of strangers. Accordingly, I put it at the end of my set.
Per Ryan’s suggestion and Victoria’s approval, I started with a cover. It was an old favorite of mine, Teardrop by Massive Attack. Yes, I may have first heard it because it was the riff was the theme song of the show House, M.D., but that didn’t matter. It was a fantastic song: moody, sexy, and energizing. Based on the surprising amount of applause it had garnered the night before at Victoria’s party, I expected it to go over well at the Lone Star Lounge. It did.
There’s nothing remotely like the sound of applause. I’m not sure most people realize it when they go see a live performance, but for the person up on the stage, the sound of clapping and cheering is rocket fuel. With it, I could go on forever, straight up into the atmosphere and into the stars. Without it, I feel like I’d crash and burn.
As I played through my set list, each song garnered more and more cheering and applause. Even the corny things I’d practiced saying between songs, the little jokes and anecdotes to buy me time to recover, the ones that were meant to sound spontaneous but were actually carefully choreographed and scripted, were well received. It was tough to see against the light blaring straight into my eyes, but it almost sounded like the crowd was growing.
I played through my planned set, and then through a second set that was just as long. It was getting late. My voice was getting tired. I had to play Ryan’s song soon. By the time I was playing the theme from Cheer’s because Ward reminded me just the slightest bit of Sam Malone, I knew I needed to wrap things up. The crowd seemed to love the music, but I was just about fresh out of songs. Soon it would be ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’, ‘Happy Birthday’, and ‘Rudolph the red nose Reindeer’. I only knew so many songs.
It was time to be brave. Time to bite the bullet.
Go on, I goaded myself. It’s just your soul you’re putting on display. How hard could it be?
“This is a new song,” I told the crowd. “I actually just finished writing the words the afternoon. You’re the first people to ever hear it. It’s called ‘Little Song.’” I smiled, and hoped I looked about a thousand times more confident than I felt at that moment. “I hope you like it.”
I said a mean thing, and I’m sorry.
I did a dumb thing, I was wrong.
But I’ll be better, don’t worry.
I wrote you this little song.
I can do better, though god knows I’m quick-tempered.
I can be better, though I always jump into the fight.
But I’ll be better, don’t worry.
I’ll prove it to you if you stay for the night.
I wrote you this little song to say that I’m sorry.
I wrote you this little song to say please, please, please.
Please don’t say that we’re over. I don’t think I could take it.
I’ll do better next time. I’ll beg down on my knees.
I wrote you this little song because I knew I was wrong.
I wrote you this little song because I knew all along.
I wrote you this little song since it’s all I can do.
I wrote you this little song because I think I love you.
When the last chords reverberated into nothingness, the silence in the room was complete. It was eerily quiet. Horror movie quiet. Pin drop quiet. I squinted into the spotlight—was anyone still there? It seemed like the whole room took a breath. Then, the reaction was beyond anything I could have imagined.