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Joe Kowan: I have stage fright.
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I've always had stage fright,
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and not just a little bit,
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it's a big bit.
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And it didn't even matter until I was 27.
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That's when I started writing songs, and even then,
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I only played them for myself.
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Just knowing my roommates were in the
same house made me uncomfortable.
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But after a couple of years,
just writing songs wasn't enough.
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I had all these stories and ideas,
and I wanted to share them with people,
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but physiologically, I couldn't do it.
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I had this irrational fear.
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But the more I wrote, and the more I practiced,
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the more I wanted to perform.
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So on the week of my 30th birthday,
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I decdied I was going to go to this local open mic,
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and put this fear behind me.
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Well, when I got there, it was packed.
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There were like 20 people there.
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(Laughter)
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And they all looked angry.
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But I took a deep breath, and I signed up to play,
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and I felt pretty good.
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Pretty good, until about 10 minutes before my turn,
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when my whole body rebelled, and
this wave of anxiety just washed over me.
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Now when you experience fear,
your sympathetic nervous system kicks in.
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So you have a rush of adrenaline,
your heart rate increases,
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your breathing gets faster.
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Next your non-essential systems start
to shut down, like digestion. (Laughter)
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So your mouth gets dry, and blood is routed
away from your extremities,
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so your fingers don't work anymore.
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Your pupils dilate, your muscles contract,
your Spidey sense tingles,
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basically your whole body is trigger-happy.
(Laughter)
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That condition is not conducive
to performing folk music.
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(Laughter)
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I mean, your nervous system is an idiot.
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Really? 200,000 years of human evolution,
and it still can't tell the difference
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between a saber tooth tiger and 20 folksingers
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on a Tuesday-night open mic?
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(Laughter)
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I have never been more terrified -- until now.
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(Laughter and cheers)
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So then it was my turn,
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and somehow, I get myself on
to the stage, I start my song,
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I open my mouth to sing the first line,
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and this completely horrible vibrato --
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you know, when your voice wavers --
comes streaming out.
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And this is not the good kind of vibrato,
like an opera singer has,
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this is my whole body just convulsing with fear.
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I mean, it's a nightmare.
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I'm embarrassed, the audience
is clearly uncomfortable,
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they're focused on my discomfort.
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It was so bad.
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But that was my first real experience
as a solo singer-songwriter.
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And something good did happen --
I had the tiniest little glimpse
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of that audience connection that I was hoping for.
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And I wanted more. But I knew
I had to get past this nervousness.
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That night I promised myself:
I would go back every week
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until I wasn't nervous anymore.
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And I did. I went back every single week,
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and sure enough, week after week,
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it didn't get any better. The same
thing happened every week. (Laughter)
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I couldn't shake it.
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And that's when I had an epiphany.
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And I remember it really well, because --
because I don't have a lot of epiphanies.
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All I had to do was write a song
that exploits my nervousness.
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That only seems authentic when I have stage fright,
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and the more nervous I was,
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the better the song would be. Easy.
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So I started writing a song about having stage fright.
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First, 'fessing up to the problem,
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the physical manifestations, how I would feel,
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how the listener might feel.
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And then accounting for things like my shaky voice,
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and I knew I would be singing about a
half-octave higher than normal,
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because I was nervous. (Laughter)
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By having a song that explained
what was happening to me,
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while it was happening,
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that gave the audience permission to think about it.
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They didn't have to feel bad
for me because I was nervous,
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they could experience that with me,
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and we were all one big happy, nervous,
uncomfortable family. (Laughter)
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By thinking about my audience,
by embracing and exploiting my problem,
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I was able to take something
that was blocking my progress,
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and turn it into something that
was essential for my success.
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And having the stage-fright song let
me get past that biggest issue
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right in the beginning of a performance.
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And then I could move on,
and play the rest of my songs
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with just a little bit more ease.
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And eventually, over time, I didn't
have to play the stage-fright song at all.
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Except for when I was really
nervous -- like now. (Laughter)
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Would it be okay if I played the
stage-fright song for you?
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(Applause and cheers)
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Can I have a sip of water?
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(Plays)
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Thank you.
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(Plays and sings)
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I'm not joking you know,
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this stage fright is real.
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And if I'm up here trembling and singing,
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well you'll know how I feel.
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And the mistake I'd be making,
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the tremelo caused by my whole body shaking.
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As you sit there feeling embarrassed for me,
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well you don't have to be.
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Well, maybe just a little bit.
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(Laughter)
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And maybe I'll try to imagine
you all without clothes.
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But singing in front of all naked strangers
scares me more than anyone knows.
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Not to discuss this at length,
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but my body image was never my strength.
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So frankly, I wish that you all would get dressed,
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I mean, you're not even really naked.
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And I'm the one with the problem.
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And you tell me don't worry
so much, you'll be great.
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But I'm the one living with me
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and I know how I get.
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Your advice is gentle but late.
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If not just a bit patronizing.
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And that sarcastic tone doesn't help me when I sing.
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But we shouldn't talk about these things right now,
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really, I'm up on stage, and you're in the crowd. Hi.
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And I'm not making fun of
un-nurtured irrational fear,
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and if I wasn't ready to face this,
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I sure as hell wouldn't be here.
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But if I belt one note out clearly,
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you'll know I'm recovering slowly but surely.
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And maybe next week, I'll set my guitar ringin'
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my voice clear as water, and everyone singin'.
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But probably I'll just get up and start groovin',
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my vocal cords movin',
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at speeds slightly faster than sound.
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(Applause and cheers)