The Right Compliment

I played a restaurant gig the other night, and it wasn’t one of those magical evenings where everything flows effortlessly.

The night before had been one of those rare gigs where I was completely in the zone. My guitar felt like an extension of my hands. The songs I’d spent months learning seemed to play themselves. I wasn’t thinking. I was just playing.

This night was different.

The restaurant was busy. Servers were rushing around. Dishes were clattering. Conversations filled the room. My picking was a little sloppier than I wanted. Not terrible, just not one of those nights where everything falls perfectly into place.

After all these years, I still notice every little mistake.

Of course, the customers didn’t.

Most people never do.

The comments I usually get are things like:

“What year is that guitar?”

“Beautiful guitar.”

“That guitar sounds great.”

I always smile and say thank you, but part of me wants to answer:

“Well, I had very little to do with what year it was.”

The guitar is beautiful. The guitar does sound great. But musicians know the difference between complimenting the tool and complimenting the music.

What made this night different was a compliment from one of the waitresses.

She was new. Probably in her twenties or early thirties. Young enough that I wouldn’t automatically assume she’d have much interest in the songs I play. After all, I’m over here playing Leonard Cohen, Sinatra, folk songs, Irish ballads, and the occasional tune that’s older than she is.

She wasn’t sitting at a table listening.

She was working.

Carrying plates.

Taking orders.

Doing all the things restaurant employees do while live music happens in the background.

At some point during the evening, she stopped and told me that the music was beautiful.

Not the guitar.

Not the sound system.

Not my voice.

The music.

Beautiful.

I’ve received a lot of compliments over the years, but that one stuck with me.

Maybe it was because she wasn’t there to be entertained. Maybe it was because she hears music at that restaurant all the time. Maybe it was because she was younger than the audience I imagine when I play some of those songs.

Or maybe it was because she reminded me of something I sometimes forget.

Musicians hear the notes.

Listeners hear the music.

I spent part of the evening thinking about the passages I didn’t play perfectly.

She heard something beautiful.

Maybe that’s the difference between performing and communicating.

That's a compliment that sticks with you.

Father’s Day Post

Last week’s Father’s Day story generated more comments and conversation than anything I’ve posted in quite a while. Thanks to everyone who shared memories and stories of their own.

I also post short Notes throughout the week—stories, observations from restaurant gigs, life on the road, RV adventures, music, and whatever else happens to wander through my head.

See it here on Substack Notes: Click Here

I post short Notes throughout the week—observations from restaurant gigs, RV life, stories from the road, music, and whatever else happens to wander through my head. If you enjoy these longer newsletters, you'll probably enjoy the Notes as well.

Looking for live music for a clubhouse, retirement community, RV park, private party, or house concert? Drop me a note. Some of my favorite performances happen in living rooms, clubhouses, and places where people can actually hear the stories behind the songs.