In the late 1970's I video taped a 30 minute recital for the community college. When it aired my friends, relatives, and students all watched it. Being on cable seemed like a pretty cool thing at the time and for a brief time I was treated like a minor celebrity. To be honest it felt pretty nice.
A couple of weeks later I was invited to a small "get-together" ("party" suggests more than it was) by a student of mine. When I arrived I soon discovered that they had all watched the recital on TV together and I was the "honored" guest. Although they were disappointed that I hadn't brought my guitar to play for them we had a pretty good time still.
A short time into the evening the guests remembered that one of their group played and sang so they ganged up on her and convinced her to go to her apartment and retrieve her guitar. She was reluctant because I was there, but they persisted and I reassured her that it would be appreciated. While she went to her place down the hall I secretly wondered what I had gotten myself into.
She returned a moment later with her battered, old, discount store guitar. Sheepishly she asked me if I could help her tune it. I took it and began to tune it. The strings were old and brittle and very rusty. I was concerned that I might break one. I also wondered if I would need a tetanus shot. This was one nasty appliance.
She took the in-tune guitar and strummed it a few times, smiled, and announced that she would play "Tom Dooley". Really??!! Tom Dooley? Two chords and 719 verses (give or take). This was going to be as exciting as a high school graduation commencement speech. I suddenly wished I had brought my guitar so that we could have some "good" music.
She began to strum softly and simply. And then she began to sing. She had a surprisingly pretty voice. It was pure and (I hesitate to overuse the word) simple. As she settled into the song there was a clarity in her tone and an honesty in the way she sung the words. Every note was right and every word was true.
The song is a tragedy and written in the first person. She sang as though it was personal, that it had actually happened to her. And those were the only two chords in the universe that mattered. I was mesmerized. She sang every verse and when she was finished I was a little sad it was over so soon. And relieved that I hadn't brought my guitar. I couldn't have competed with that.
Later as I drove home I reflected on my evening. I had become arrogant in the preceding weeks and had just had my ego handed to me. I felt ashamed. With all of my skills I had never played music with that much conviction. I learned a valuable lesson that evening. Great skills do not a great artist make.
I suppose the moment could be more deeply analyzed but I'll just say that, in this instance, honesty and humility prevailed. And every once in a while I need a booster shot.