Please Stop Skedaddling From The Concert.

by Serge Bielanko

Today or in the next couple days, I'm going down in the basement for the guitar. She's ready for it, I think. Violet. She's ready for the music. I have no idea what I will open with. The setlist is long. With any luck, it'll go on for years, decades. Songs will come and go. But whatever I decide to start this show with...well, that will have to remain. You can't kick off the whole thing/the lifetime of music loving with some dumb crap you don't plan on encoring with at least a few hundred times in the years to come. You don't open with shit, you open with Solid Gold. A Nugget. Something fierce and loose. Something you can tap your toe to. Or dance to if you've feel that pull. Something fun, something you can sing along to (well, once you can speak).

I've mulled it over. Hard.

And of course, the song has to be one of my own. One I wrote. Nothing else would do for my child. Hell, nothing else would really do for your child either. You should play them one of my gems but you're gonna play what you play and that's that. Me, I'm going in for one of my own self-penned sweet jams. And, I'll be honest: I'm scared. It's completely rattling. I am rattled. I haven't played the damn guitar in a year and a half, and although I don't suppose I will have forgotten how to do it, I do think there is a chance that I pop a string and it zips through the air and stings my baby's fleece cheek, thus putting her off the look/sound/sight of my instrument forever. I know. That's stupid. But, I need this to go well. Confidence is everything. If you come out of the gate swinging dragon fists, knocking shit out of the ballpark with killer tunes and killer moves, well then you're going to feel good about what you are up to. Then, you're likely gonna kick some ass, friend.

I need to kick Violet's ass with Song One. Hook her. For ever.

I wonder if I should add some of my tasty Cotton Country Mouth-harp or not? I know she'll like the sound of the harp, but maybe this first time it'll just be too overwhelming. Plus, I'd need to go out and buy one or two, plus a holder. That'd be seventy-five bucks at least right there. Jesus.

When I do put on this Show Of Shows, I'm thinking I will put her in her high chair. That way she'll be unable to crawl away and embarrass me in front of My Lord. Or my dogs. Also, up in the chair her tiny face will be right level with my guitar hole. Then she won't stand a chance, huh? She'll be possessed by sweet melody. By subtle cadence. By the voice of a jackal.

Anyways. This is me talking out loud. I'm nervous. But it'll be alright. For the first time in my life, if the crowd ain't paying attention, I can walk over and scoop her up from the crawl and start all over again.

Until she is the best crowd ever.