The Concert that Nearly Wasn’t

Have you ever had one of those anxious dreams where you’re on stage in front of an audience semi naked and have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing?

I recently had that experience in real life (although I was fully dressed). Let me explain.

The residents at the aged care facility where my mother lives often sit around, clearly bored. I can’t help noticing how they light up when something novel happens. For instance, when I bring my dog Leo to visit.

Occasionally, I also take my guitar and strum a few tunes in the courtyard. Residents who are slumped in their chairs lift their heads and smile, and wheel themselves closer.

Sometimes, Sylvia, a lively 97-year-old who was a professional singer in her younger days, sings along with me. While she’s now quite deaf, she can still belt out a tune, once I guide her to the right key.

A brilliant idea with no takers

So I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. Organise a concert.

Because I can’t sing to save myself, I began asking friends and family if anyone with a half-decent voice might help out. But I had no takers.

Then one day, I was having a jam session with Jason, who owns a local café with his wife, Olivia. Jason sings a little, but he can’t speak English very well, so he mostly hums.

We were playing the chords to “Moon River” when a customer suddenly stood up and began singing the lyrics in a magnificent voice. The other patrons clapped enthusiastically.

When I asked Perry (not his real name) whether he’d like to join Jason and me for a concert at the aged care facility, he happily agreed.

The facility printed flyers promoting the concert. Perry and I texted back and forth to finalise a set list of his favourite crooner classics from the 1940s and 50s. Jason and I practised the chords. And my mother proudly told every resident that her son would soon be performing with his band.

The bombshell

Perry agreed to meet us at the café on the morning of the concert to rehearse. After a couple of hours, we had the set list reasonably nailed and were ready to load the car and head over for the concert.

Then Perry dropped his bombshell.

Behaving like a diva, he said, “You know what? My voice is tired from all that rehearsing. I think I’ll give it a miss today.”

I stared at him. “What did you just say?”

“I’ve decided I’m not going to sing today.”

“But we’ve made a commitment. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

“No, I’m done for today. Maybe some other time.”

Olivia tried her best to persuade him to change his mind. But Perry wasn’t having any of it. He left the café with his nose in the air, and with me containing an urge to follow and throttle him.

I looked over at Jason, who had been watching the drama unfold. “What are we going to do?”

“All will be okay. We just play,” he calmly said, smiling.

“Play what?” I asked, with slight desperation.

“We just play … and enjoy.”

Staying solution-focused

I often teach the importance of staying solution-focused under pressure. This seemed like a good time to practise what I preach.

So we loaded the car and drove to the facility without a plan, other than Jason’s suggestion, “We just play … and enjoy.”

As we set up our gear, my mind was racing, and I had an impending sense of doom.

What are we going to play?
How do I explain that we don’t have a singer?
What’s going to happen?

To make matters worse, I could hear my mother enthusiastically telling everyone that her son and his band were about to perform.

Then I saw Sylvia, and had an idea. I approached her and asked if she would open the concert with her favourite song, “Autumn Leaves”, which we’d occasionally played together in the courtyard.

She graciously agreed.

And so the concert begins

Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the microphone and announced that our singer had unfortunately come down with laryngitis. So instead of a formal concert, we’d be doing a sing-along.

I then invited Sylvia to open the show. Everyone smiled in anticipation.

Jason and I began the opening chords of Autumn Leaves. Sylvia closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and launched into the first verse at full volume.

“The falling leaves drift by my window…
The autumn leaves of red and gold…”

There was just one problem. Because we were behind her, she couldn’t see our timing cues. And because she is partly deaf, she also couldn’t hear that we were playing in a different key!

As my face burned with embarrassment, I kept repeating silently to myself, Stay solution-focused… stay solution-focused.

I moved forward, caught her attention, and gradually we managed to get ourselves roughly in tune and in time.

The audience applauded politely.

Sylvia then led a sing-along of the old favourite, “Those Were the Days”. Everyone joined in, applauding warmly, before she bowed and returned to her seat.

I looked at Jason. “What now?”

“Beatles,” he said, smiling. “Hey Jude.”

“Good one, they’ll know that”, I thought. And they did.

Some sang. Some nodded. Some clapped. After that, Jason kept calling out other Beatles songs we had played at the café, along with a few popular folk songs.

Not only were the residents enjoying themselves, so was I. After a few more songs, I suggested we stop for afternoon tea.

Then something magical happened

As I put down my guitar, I reflected that we’d done a reasonably good job under the circumstances. There was a nice energy in the room, and everyone seemed happy.

Sylvia then came over and asked if I knew “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen.

I picked up my guitar and began to strum the chords. She sat beside me and started to sing beautifully, and the room went completely still.

Then something magical happened.

Most of the forty or so residents joined in on the chorus in absolutely beautiful harmony. It’s such a lovely song that it clearly stirred something in all of us.

And when we finished, we received a standing ovation. Well… at least from those who could stand.

As I packed away my guitar, it struck me that the concert had turned out far better than the carefully planned one we’d originally imagined. Sometimes, when our plans fall apart, the best thing we can do is stay calm, play the next note, and trust that something unexpected and good might emerge.

Until next time,