Sneaky Feelings

Aside from the basics of a job that's simply kicking my ass right now, I had one of those moments today that swung me from elation to dejection in the span of about 2 seconds. The spinner stopped, ultimately, on a rather more positive square, but in between I had opportunity anew to ponder that knife edge upon which my happiness is balanced.

Found out today that Elvis Costello would be performing in SF next month, at one of my favorite venues, The Great American Music Hall, a small space with tons of character and, depending upon the performer, occasionally excellent sound. Cool enough, but I've managed to be a fan of his for years and I've still never seen him, so no great crisis there. Problem is that he'll be performing with Clover as his backing band and performing My Aim is True in its entirety, and that record, performed with that band, may be my all-time favorite single set of songs. So what's the problem? Choices made, choices already made.

Careless Hearts goes into the studio to record our own newest set of songs in mere weeks. We don't have some kind of studio lock-out, we will simply be tracking whenever we can starting on the 19th of October and going till we complete the album. We all work, so sessions will be evenings-after-work and weekend affairs, and I've already prepared my wife and kids for the difficulties that may present. I hate when my musical passions cost my family anything, and their support, though solid and heartfelt, is something I strive to never take for granted.

Which brings us to this morning, when I discovered to my surprise that tickets were still available for the Elvis Costello show, several days after they had gone on sale. I was thrilled!

Then, I was crushed, because I knew immediately that I wouldn't be going. Not, as my pal Gregg guessed, because my wife would be angry at me if I went: on the contrary, she'd probably be buying me a ticket if she knew about it. It was that I knew, by choosing to pursue this musical career, for lack of a better term, and this recording session in particular, that the die was cast, and that to add another night out in this same time period would be an act of selfishness that I could not perpetrate against my kids and wife. Would it have damaged them beyond repair if I'd gone? Nope. But it might have hurt their feelings that night, however slightly, and for what? To hear songs I've heard hundreds of times already? Being performed for the nostalgic gratification of a bunch of yuppies by a rich old millionaire? Not to say that it wouldn't be absolutely brilliant: of course it would! But I realized in the span of three heartbeats that I didn't want to hurt them at all, not even a little bit, for something I didn't have to do. I have come to realize that playing my own music is something I do in fact have to do. So you make choices, and you move on. From somewhere deep inside of me, the love that I have for my family should always be the thing that guides my choices. I was glad this call was as easy to make as it was, and that feeling, of knowing well the ground upon which I stood, was good.