Well, I told my friend Matt. If the place isn’t busy we’ll just leave.
I was trying to mask my nerves. I tell people all the time that the nerves are the fun part. There’s some truth and a great deal of bravado in this statement. The truth is that the fun part wouldn’t be the fun part without nerves. But there’s still that feeling–sometimes it’s fear, sometimes it’s just your brain telling you that it won’t be that special, and is it even worth it.
A few months ago I found out that a bar and music venue in Geneva IL has a weekly open “jam session” open mic. The first time I went I had no musical instrument and no intention to play. The second time I brought my guitar and managed to play 2 songs. The THIRD time, I told Matt and Jerry to tag along. I was excited to see familiar faces and meet new people. But I also wasn’t sure what this open mic would bring.
I’ve been playing music since I would plunk around on my grandma’s piano, pressing keys almost at random til I found some sound I could play again and again and find thrilling. My grandma gave my brother and I her piano for my birthday one year, and I started taking piano lessons when I was about 6. I got real joy out of playing, even if practice often felt more like a chore, and the pieces I would play frequently challenged not just my skill but also my patience.
Critically, I was “classically trained” on piano, which for me meant that none of my teachers really taught me to sing and play piano at the same time. I played from sheet music, and didn’t really understand the concept of “jamming out” until I went off to college and met friends who also played music. My first time really playing music with people was with Jerry and Matt. As someone who’d played all his life from a specific piece of music, I didn’t really understand the ways that music can be shared and created collaboratively. And as someone who had played since he was 6, I had higher expectations for what I could do than I could produce in a dorm room with no practice beforehand.
So after a few friendly attempts at jamming I mostly gave up on playing the piano. Instead, I’d sing along as Matt played “Hey Ya” by OutKast. The year after I graduated from college Jerry and I would play open mics in Chicago, learning lots of covers by the Beatles, Pearl Jam, and Bright Eyes. I’d play piano occasionally by myself, learning to play and sing a few songs at the same time. But it would be years before I’d play piano for people onstage.
Fast forward to 2025, me lugging my acoustic guitar to Evenflow on a Tuesday night (the first time I ever went there I recognized the reference to a Pearl Jam song and felt like I belonged). A group of people were jamming onstage–the guitarist taking the chords to “No Woman No Cry” by Bob Marley and mashing it up with references to the sound crew and bartenders. I found myself wandering to the stage, making eye contact with the guitarist, and making a motion with my fingers. Asking if I could hop on the piano. “No Woman No Cry” is one of the songs I learned to play and sing on piano, and even though it took some adjusting soon I was playing with the group, feeling spectacular. Certainly you’re more constricted in a way by the group you’re playing with–fitting in the notes with drums and bass and other instruments, wanting to make something that brings out your partners’ music even more than it stands out by itself. But after a minute or two finding the groove I felt free-free to listen, to play chords and add in a few notes of my own, but mostly to feel the thrill of rhythm and melody in the moment.
The jam session ended. I gave a profuse thank you to my bandmates, and watched a few other acts play. One guy said he was auditioning for The Voice in a few weeks. Another had an album out on Spotify, and he played us a few songs next to an Incubus cover.
I’d signed up to play under my own name, and soon it was my turn to perform. I wanted Jerry and Matt to play with me but they demurred–neither h The sound guy asked if I wanted people to come up and jam with me and I said sure. A bassist and guitarist appeared from the crowd as if by magic, along with the same drummer that had played with me earlier.
“Alright,” I told everyone. “We’re just gonna stay in C,” and I started to play. I did 2 songs–”Free Fallin” by Tom Petty and “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” by the Rolling Stones. The Stones song was perfect for the purpose–it only has 3 chords and there are lots of opportunities to just let loose, pull back on the piano, and let the other instruments solo. Meanwhile I could feel the energy of the crowd pick up with me. People who perform often report that, once they’re onstage, rather than feeling judged by the crowd they feel supported by people who know how they’d feel facing a crowd, so that they’re really willing you to succeed. An open mic is especially like this because most of the people there have either been in your shoes already or are about to be. They’ve brought their instruments, braved their nerves, and they want to give you the energy they want to feel themselves.
I finished my set to raucous applause. I considered hugging the 3 strangers I’d gotten onstage with but settled for a few fistbumps and handshakes. I stayed to watch a few more performances and then left for the night.
Jerry took some videos of the set on his phone and posted them to Facebook. A few days ago one of my cousins sent me a text saying that I’d left her in tears. In a good way.
Moral of the story: don’t let your NERVES stop you from making art! And, even though it can be difficult, don’t be afraid to share your art with others! Whether it’s playing piano with strangers or showing your drawings to someone you care about, art brings people together if we let it! How did you make art with someone else this week? Let us know, and keep creating!
