As part of my celebration of 20 years in Nashville, I'm sharing some stories from my past—some parts of my journey that have influenced me the most. Here's a look back to when I was just a wee kid, wondering who I'm supposed to be.
Watch my intro video here!
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It’s Donny’s fault. At least, partly. And if I’m being completely honest, Marie’s too. What they did to me was nothing short of life-changing. They combined singing, dancing, acting, effusive charm, a dazzling array of costumes, in-studio ice-skating, and a healthy dose of self-deprecation in their televised variety shows, just enough for me to permanently place performing in the back of my head as what I really wanted to do when I grew up. I even had a talented sibling! I was halfway there! If someone asked what I wanted to do for a career, I’d say “A mailman or a fireman,” but I knew the truth. And I knew I couldn’t speak it out loud.
“Dad?” I asked, after walking up the stairs from watching “Donny & Marie” in the basement of our house in Richfield. “When can I take voice lessons?” For some reason, I knew in order to be a professional, I had to have voice lessons.
“When you get older you can take voice lessons.” He didn’t say no, exactly. He just didn’t say if he meant older, like next year, or older like when you pay your own mortgage. Voice lessons were to be saved for the extremely talented, and the rich. Normal, middle-class people don’t just throw around money to work on something so intangible as your future career in show business. Little did they know. Armed with this confusion, I’d retreat to my bedroom and put on my headphones and try singing harmony with Hall & Oates, ELO or the Bill Gaither Trio. So much for eradicating my confusion.
I was a child longing for attention. I wasn’t rationalizing my talent as being worthy enough to warrant an audience; that honor would be left for all the opinionated, self-centered experts I’d meet later in life. I was simply convinced of the power of performance. Entertainers displayed emotions I knew were inside of me but had no idea how to express, and showed me feelings I could only dream of having myself. At an early age, something inside of me knew there had to be more to life than the monotony of static-line living. I wanted more than just a go-to-your-room, better-to-be-seen-than-heard modus operandi.
While I waited to grow up and take voice lessons, I found other things to do. I took piano lessons, learned how to play the trombone, baritone, and even a little tuba when my family moved to Orlando, Florida. Miss Presley said our junior high band needed a tuba player for the Sousa march we were required to play at District Competition. I learned the fingerings for that one song, enough for us to squeak by.
My first theatrical performance came in seventh grade. I entered on my knees, fake mustache already lop-sided, ironically exclaiming, “Reach for the stars, wherever you are!” I fell in love with the audience before they even knew my name.
Ultimately, what I am driven by is my desire to connect with another person—to inspire, encourage, challenge, or entertain.
When I write, I work to create things that mean something to me, things that I want to share. To not have an audience would be similar to cooking a great meal and not having anyone show up to eat it. Some would argue that my task, then, is to simply enjoy the meal by myself, savoring each bite, celebrating my own advanced culinary skills. That doesn’t cut it for me.
I like how Madeleine L’Engle describes it in Walking On Water: “There is no evading the fact that the artist yearns for ‘success,’ because that means that there has been a communication of the vision: that all the struggle has not been invalid.”
This doesn’t give me permission to just toss a bunch of random ingredients into a pot of hot water and throw a party. And as I grow in maturity, I’m learning that the most effective connection occurs within the context of excellence. People will listen to what you have to say if you speak with confidence and intelligence. More people will want to listen to your song if you don’t make any mistakes. If the door is opened to connect with another person and you give them something they’ve never seen, heard or tasted, they will ask for more. I’ve thought my good heart and sweet songs would translate into a music career. Turns out the music industry in Nashville is much more interested in someone excellent, than someone nice. Calling that superficial has been one of my biggest regrets.
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