Audience Performer Mixer

by Mike Kane

I recently told a story during SpeakeasyDC’s Story Showdown and on opening night, not a single person showed up specifically to see me.  I mean, there were the Speakeasy regulars who show up to every event, who I have gotten to know well, and it was great to see them and all, but they didn’t come out to see me.

Insecure crybaby, line one.

Just kidding.  Well, I am insecure, so, not kidding, I guess.  But that’s not the reason I mention this.

No, the reason I picked this topic to write about is because I brought this on myself.  Amy Saidman, the show’s director, is all about self-promoting.  “Post to Facebook.  Tweet.  Use your comp tickets.  PACK. THE. HOUSE.”

But I never do.  Not because I don’t want a full house.  I want all the success in the world for Amy and SEDC.  But in my own head, I replay this irrational fear over and over that I am going to bomb on stage.  That I will forget my lines, freeze, and ultimately exit off stage sobbing, “I hate this place and I’m never coming back.”  And then all weekend long I will get a string of text messages from friends and family with messages like, “I thought you said you were good at this.”  Or, “Well, that was embarrassing.  Don’t come home, Dad.”

And though this irrational fear of mine has never once even come close to fruition, I obsess about it basically from the moment I agree to do the show.

So, wait, I guess insecurity is the reason for this post.  Shocker.   Well, wait, no, insecurity is the reason I didn’t invite anyone.  But the message of this post?  Invite people.

After Speakeasy shows (not open mics, but actual shows), they invite the audience on stage to come and talk to the performers.  And this, my friends, is where not inviting friends and family to your shows can come and bite you in the tuchus.

Immediately a crowd of people gathered around Kevin Boggs.  They were complimenting him.  Laughing at his jokes.  So happy to see each other.  Then I looked over at Diane Ivey.  A group of her friends were in a tight circle.  “You were fantastic,” and “what a great job!” and so on and so on.  Adam Ruben, Mike Boyd, Kate Shuler, the whole cast, all surrounded by people they had invited to come out and see them.

Then there was me, frantically scanning the crowd of people for one familiar face.  And I couldn’t find one.  You know that feeling when you walk into a party and it’s packed and you quickly go into social-survivor mode, and you’re like “I’ll talk to anyone, God, just don’t leave me here by myself.”  And everyone is staring at you and you begin to cry and run out, sobbing, “I hate this place and I’m never coming back!”  Well, it was kind of like that.  Except I couldn’t run out because Vijai Nathan was supposed to be my ride home and I’m scared of the neighborhood that Dance Place is in.

In four years, I’ve told stories on stage 17 times. Not once have I blanked.  Not once I have utterly bombed.  But of those 17 performances, I’ve only invited people out four times.  The other thirteen times have all ended like the previous paragraph, with me looking around for a familiar face in a crowd of other people’s friends.  And the following day at work people ask me how it went and I say, “Great.  You should have been there.”

So while insecurity is at the root of every one of my posts, the real moral to this story is this: invite people when you perform.  It always feels better to play to a packed house, and in the end, support, real support from friends truly invested in you, makes the closing moments of a show worth all the irrational fears.