More Miller, Less Filler
Good stage presence is often the difference between hearing a performance and being at a performance.
A nervous performer makes us nervous for them. And no matter how well they play, their unease on stage distracts from the music.
A comfortable performer can take you on a journey.
And that is what Scott Miller and The Commonwealth will do to an audience after plugging in their equipment and playing songs like it's the first and best time they've been performed. And that feeling is what made an hour-long set at the All Good Cafe on Saturday night seem like it was about two hours too short.
Miller was on the front lines of the alternative country music movement a decade ago with the much missed V-Roys. He broke off on his own and started playing solo about six or seven years ago. He knows a stage as well as the dog-eared United States atlas on the passenger seat of his tour van. And his specialty is taking his audience along for a trip through the places he's been.
Miller's music starts the audience out on the back roads of some a mid-sized Tennessee town where people have nothing else better to do on a Saturday night than look for trouble. The next song will take you to a Sunday morning church service where the sinners wonder if there's enough room on the cross for them. And then it's off to sleep to dream historical dreams about Sam Houston --- the wild drunken guy from Virginia who kept getting shot in the leg in battlefield skirmishes before helping found Texas and becoming the first president of the pre-state republic.
I've heard Miller perform his catalogue of songs at least six times now, and it never ceases to amaze me how his music makes me forget where I am. When he's not playing a song describing the smell of young love in a borrowed Chevy Citation (not as gross as you'd think) Miller will dispense a bit of his dry wit between songs. His bit last night was reintroducing introducing himself after each song as a 70's pop icon. "Hello ladies and gentlemen, I'm Rupert Holmes," and on to "I'm Neil Diamond and I'd like to play a song for you."
Like any road band struggling to make their trip profitable, Miller reminded the audience made up of people well past the age of 25 that he had T-shirts for sale. He also joked that he had some onesies for sale because most people he knows now have kids. They had a special message printed on them, he says: "'Scott Miller Hates Me'."
Speaking of hating, I have a tip for Mike Snider the owner of the All Good Cafe. I realize you are trying to run a business that serves up both food and music --- a difficult task. I know you have to make the rounds with your Sergeant Pepper's Drum to collect money for the cover charge while making sure the food comes out on time. It's hard to keep straight of who's paid the cover. But I was a bit insulted that you shook me down twice for $10 and then impolitely demanded to see my hand stamp like I was attempting to steal from you. So here's a little constructive criticism. Let your waitresses attend to the tables while you stand near the door and take money, a good 30 minutes before a band starts. If you've forgotten if you've collected money from someone who arrives earlier, be nice about it. Do that and you'll stand a better chance of winning the repeat business of music fans like me. Remember, you need me a lot more than I need you.
A nervous performer makes us nervous for them. And no matter how well they play, their unease on stage distracts from the music.
A comfortable performer can take you on a journey.
And that is what Scott Miller and The Commonwealth will do to an audience after plugging in their equipment and playing songs like it's the first and best time they've been performed. And that feeling is what made an hour-long set at the All Good Cafe on Saturday night seem like it was about two hours too short.
Miller was on the front lines of the alternative country music movement a decade ago with the much missed V-Roys. He broke off on his own and started playing solo about six or seven years ago. He knows a stage as well as the dog-eared United States atlas on the passenger seat of his tour van. And his specialty is taking his audience along for a trip through the places he's been.
Miller's music starts the audience out on the back roads of some a mid-sized Tennessee town where people have nothing else better to do on a Saturday night than look for trouble. The next song will take you to a Sunday morning church service where the sinners wonder if there's enough room on the cross for them. And then it's off to sleep to dream historical dreams about Sam Houston --- the wild drunken guy from Virginia who kept getting shot in the leg in battlefield skirmishes before helping found Texas and becoming the first president of the pre-state republic.
I've heard Miller perform his catalogue of songs at least six times now, and it never ceases to amaze me how his music makes me forget where I am. When he's not playing a song describing the smell of young love in a borrowed Chevy Citation (not as gross as you'd think) Miller will dispense a bit of his dry wit between songs. His bit last night was reintroducing introducing himself after each song as a 70's pop icon. "Hello ladies and gentlemen, I'm Rupert Holmes," and on to "I'm Neil Diamond and I'd like to play a song for you."
Like any road band struggling to make their trip profitable, Miller reminded the audience made up of people well past the age of 25 that he had T-shirts for sale. He also joked that he had some onesies for sale because most people he knows now have kids. They had a special message printed on them, he says: "'Scott Miller Hates Me'."
Speaking of hating, I have a tip for Mike Snider the owner of the All Good Cafe. I realize you are trying to run a business that serves up both food and music --- a difficult task. I know you have to make the rounds with your Sergeant Pepper's Drum to collect money for the cover charge while making sure the food comes out on time. It's hard to keep straight of who's paid the cover. But I was a bit insulted that you shook me down twice for $10 and then impolitely demanded to see my hand stamp like I was attempting to steal from you. So here's a little constructive criticism. Let your waitresses attend to the tables while you stand near the door and take money, a good 30 minutes before a band starts. If you've forgotten if you've collected money from someone who arrives earlier, be nice about it. Do that and you'll stand a better chance of winning the repeat business of music fans like me. Remember, you need me a lot more than I need you.
posted by john clarke at 7:16 AM
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