‘NEVER TRUST A BURP.’

To all my fellow singers out there, has anyone experienced the following:

You’re on stage, giving it all you got, enjoying a nice draft beer in between tunes. The warm Texas sun is kissing you in front of at least 50-60 wonderful people enjoying dinner on a wonderful Thursday…

… when all of a sudden, you feel a burp coming.

You continue singing.

Suddenly, there’s a possibility it may take a turn for the worst with no certainty of the final outcome.

It’s the singer’s ultimate nightmare: letting a burp slip and end up puking on the mic and the guitar in front of a rather large audience.

The more you sing to try and block out the possibilities, the worse the anxiety gets. Which compounds the problem.

No? That hasn’t happened to you? Well, it happened tonight.

I was freaking out.

Midway through Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Dreams’, I had to stop before my fate was sealed. Forever.

Not sure if I got too hot, or the beer got hot, or if, maybe, the keg of Dos Equis went bad. More than likely, a combination of all factors.

The bartender looked suddenly alarmed as I asked her to turn on the stereo because I wasn’t feeling right.

I go in the bathroom to regroup. The AC was on full blast, which felt amazing. My sweat turned into ice water on my skin and I began to calm down.

But now… it’s time to face the embarrassment, tuck the tail between your legs, and get back out there.

After all… I’m no punk bitch. And I’m no quitter.

I get back out there and explain the situation to the audience.

’Sorry for the delay, folks,’ I said. ‘Ever feel like you’re a baby and you just need to be burped?

’Singers need the same thing. Only difference is it could go wrong for us and babies have no problem puking everywhere.’

I actually got a laugh.

I see a couple taking pictures of me, or video, perhaps. I’m certain they were looking to grab the video of the bald dude puking on stage and letting it go viral on YouTube.

Turns out, they asked for my business card because they want me to play for their child’s 9th birthday party.

What?!

So… needless to say… I make it through the gig, sans puke. Got paid with a check, along with a gift card to the establishment, and the bartender even mentioned a few people said they loved the music tonight.

Surprising relief.

I’m loading out my gear and, wouldn’t you know it - the one thing I needed in the first set - comes out in full force!

BUUUUUUUUURP!

God, I hate anxiety.

Powered by Squarespace

 

© Erick Fayard, 2019. All Rights Reserved.