Best Effort

Last Monday at Anti-Karaoke there was this new guy who got onstage to sing a song.

He started the song, and it became clear that this was not going to go well.

No rhythm. No tonality. No musicality. The poor guy just couldn’t hear the music — perhaps due to nerves? He just stayed glued to the music stand, letting the words rush out of his mouth a toda hostia, like a little kid hurrying through a Bible passage before he got smacked by the nuns.

Everyone in the club tried to help him get back on track. They sang the chorus loud and clear so he could find his way back into the song. I went out there a few times to help him too. After the third time, I realized there was no hope.

He wasn’t one of those people who “ruins” a song with enough self-confidence to enjoy themselves while doing it. He was nervous and conscious of how bad it sounded. He was suffering.

But he didn’t give up. He kept going, never feeling sorry for himself, never giving in to frustration. The whole four minutes. Probably the longest four minutes of his life — and ours.

When he finally finished, he said, “I’m so embarassed!” I didn’t doubt that he was. I was embarrassed for him. The audience was embarrassed for him. It was a completely embarrassing performance.

But I admire him. It took guts to stay up there for the whole song, and not hide behind jokes or doing it badly on purpose, like people tend to do when they perform in groups.

There are two kinds of “bad” performance. The first is when it’s bad because you don’t give a shit and don’t even try to do a good job. It’s completely mediocre, not to mention unoriginal. Anyone can take the easy way out. This is what offends the audience. There is nothing cool about cheating yourself — as well as the audience — of an  experience. I always wonder, “Why the hell did they get onstage in the first place?”

The second kind of “bad” performance is when you’re awful, but you’re doing the best you can. You’re putting forth your best effort. Going right up to the limit of your abilities.

The audience can never hate this second kind of performer. They see the struggle, and they feel for him. They realize that he is trying. They see that he is trying to give them something. So they cheer him on.

And I do too.