A Letter to a Musical Artist

This is a letter written for a musical artist. One I will not name. I can’t name. I am afraid to type the name. For typing the name reveals more about me than it does the artist. Placing their name makes this direct. I can’t be direct. I wouldn’t want to ruin a relationship. I would like to be in this artist’s good books. I want to keep on playing in their world. Oh dear, I’m lost in the oeuvre. And now I’m afraid to go on. Silly me.

Dear Musical Artist,

Where were you that day, truly? Where were you that day before, truly? Why weren’t you where you were supposed to be? You made a promise, Musical Artist. You made a statement, multiple times, in multiple forms, that you would be in that location at that time. You even requested money for your presence. Or your label did. Or the venue did. Or your wife did. Or your financial advisor did. Or you all did. Making a declaration, demanding payment, and then not appearing! The audacity!

I read your “reasoning”. Actually, it wasn’t your reason, was it. It was the venue’s. The show will not be going ahead “due to illness”. Illness. What illness? Was it the ever-present illness of the moment? Maybe. BUT.

See this is the main problem, Musical Artist. This is where the real, true, honest, deep, intrinsic problem lies. I can handle a cancellation. Just about. It’s within my grasp. I can see it, try to clench, try to console. But. The problem. *The* problem. You played on Wednesday night, you played on Thursday night, you cancelled someone else’s night, the Friday, and then you cancelled this one, my one, the Saturday, but then, then then, you played on Sunday, you played on Monday. What sort of “illness” did you have, Musical Artist?

Cancelling a request is a serious action! It must be a serious illness! But a serious illness lasts more than two days! The agony. The destruction. The chaos. The confusion. The. And on.

Oh. I get it. The South isn’t as exciting. Just stick to the capital. Just stick to the North. Okay. Sure.

What makes me laugh is the lack of acknowledgement. The Musical Artist beckons for us to join them on the earlier date, then there’s a gap, and then they beckon us to join on the later date. The audacity! Oh, Musical Artist, you.

The truth is I am not so unhinged about this twist of events. Not seriously. It makes me laugh. What a twist! This collection of moments. The fact that we travelled all the way to a different city for that surprise. Now what to do with the night in the random location! Honestly, it’s something to laugh about. There was laughter. Winces, too. But laughter.

It’s a story. It’s a funny story. Musical Artist, you gifted a funny story. So really I should be thanking you. You subverted expectations! It’s a power that erupts less often these days. Surprise dies with time. But here, in between the cracks, was one.

Musical Artist, damn you, thank you, curse you, see you soon.

From Sam

PS Can’t wait for the next album

PPS Your stage name isn’t very good, change it.

PPPS What date are you rescheduling the gig to? So excited to see you live. (Also, I like your stage name, it’s very good. Love it, even.)