Sharing the Stage
On a rainy Tuesday night, my husband and I show up to a concert and promptly realize we are the oldest people in the room.
This is the first date night we’ve had in months, babysitter and everything. I am wearing high heels and lipstick for the occasion. We stop for a quick bowl of pasta on the way, clinking cocktails over the table congratulating ourselves on this momentous feat—carving out time for our marriage, wearing hard pants, staying out past our bedtime on a weeknight.
Who are we?!
We feel cool. A little too cool.
But when we walk into the venue, my husband’s gray hair stands out like … well, a gray head of hair among a sea of brown, black, red, blond. I realize—immediately—that we are significantly overdressed. Everyone else is wearing baggy jeans, graphic tees, a mishmash of sneakers and what I can only describe as pool slides. Here’s something I’m learning about the young folk these days: they dress like they don’t give an eff. Their style is effortless. As in: their outfits literally require no effort. Meanwhile, I am wearing a silky black top with dark wide leg jeans and strappy heels, a combination I can only assume translates to Middle-age Mom Who Is Trying Too Hard.
A young man, who could be 17 or 24, I honestly don’t know, recognizes us from church.
“I’m the sound guy!” he tells us.
Aha yes, we’ve seen him around. He introduces us to a handful of fledgling adults who could be 15 or 21. I have lost my ability to gauge ages in this demographic. Their faces are wrinkle-free. Their shirts are not. We make small talk for a few minutes. One of the guys tells us he attends UC Davis, which is where I went to college.
“I graduated from Davis!” I tell him, “A very long time ago.”
“Cool,” he says, “So did my dad.”
Soon enough, The Gray Havens, Antoine Bradford, John Mark Pantana, and LOVKN all take the stage. Within seconds, the room is pulsing with energy. People sway and sing and cheer as each musician performs their set.
Brett and I have been to quite a few concerts together, from big blowout stadium shows to little indie bands playing in dive bars. Usually when more than one artist is listed on the ticket, one person is the headliner and the rest are opening or supporting acts. What quickly strikes me as different about this concert, though, is that everyone seems to get equal playing time. There is no main act, no supporting roles. And instead of rotating artists on and off the stage, the musicians stay together.
While each performer takes their turn at the microphone, the rest sit a few feet back on stools.
And they don’t just sit there, bored, staring off into space. They are singing along. Not into a microphone, not as part of the performance itself or part of a harmony. They are singing along and bobbing their heads the way you sing along in the car when your favorite song comes on the radio. They are singing along like … fans.
To be clear, these are four independent artists. They are not in a band together, they are simply peers on tour together. And yet—they know every single lyric to each other’s music.
Halfway through the concert, it occurs to me how easily each of these artists could vanish backstage to a green room, put their feet up, and chug a Gatorade while they’re not performing. Instead, they simply rotate who gets a turn at the front of the stage. They sit directly behind each other, singing each other’s music, applauding and cheering one another on, presenting a unified front of art.
Something about this picture of collaboration nearly brings a tear to my eye.
After 90 minutes of standing, my high heels feel more and more like a dumb choice.
What I wouldn’t give for some baggy jeans and Birkenstocks right about now, I whisper to Brett.
At intermission, we wander outside to sit in the courtyard and get some fresh air. We talk about the music, which songs we like best, the powerful testimonial that left us in awe. Both of us are struck by how unique the format is, having all of the artists equally share the stage. We talk about what it really means to collaborate, to make art and present it to the world with no headliner and no supporting act.
I can’t help but wonder: how do we create more spaces like this? How do we step into our callings as artists and remain enthusiastic fans of our peers and friends?
When I think about the spaces I occupy—and the collaborations I’ve been a part of—I think the most successful versions include a delicate dance between humility and confidence.* Humility is what propels us to hover gracefully in the background, to have each other’s backs, to sing the lyrics of others and not just our own. Humility reminds us we are never too cool to cheer for our friends. Confidence, on the other hand, reminds us that we, too, have something to offer. We belong here, and we are worthy of a turn in front of the microphone.
Perhaps, in its simplest form, this is what it means to collaborate. There is a time to be humble and a time to be confident; a time to sit down and a time to stand up.
When we come back into the venue, everyone is sitting on the floor, criss cross applesauce, like an elementary school assembly. Brett and I stand in the back, hovering like chaperones with creaky knees.
One song back from intermission, my phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me of my bedtime reminder. It’s 9:15 pm.
We need to relieve the babysitter anyway, so we duck out early and drive home reveling in a night of worship, laughing at how old we are, streaming Spotify through the speakers. I add all four musicians to my library, and give everyone a turn at the front of the line.
Journaling prompts
Describe your ideal collaboration.
Do you lean toward sitting down or standing up when it comes to making & sharing art? Who might be able to help you lean the other direction?
How can you “share the stage” this week / month / year?
What role do you think humility and confidence play in the creative process?
*To clarify: I don’t believe humility and confidence are opposites, but I believe they can present as slightly different postures when it comes to collaborating with others. ❤️ It’s certainly possible to be both humble and confident (most of my favorite artists are both!).
Related Resources:
The Art of Being a Part-Time Poet (video) // So You Want To Start A Mastermind Group // How To Start & Maintain A Writer’s Group // Writing Together (video)
