Zack Live at the White Owl

To prepare myself for falling into new situations, I decided to take a bold step and play at an open mic night. I mean really, I stand in front of people all the time, how hard can it be to play and sing music to total strangers?

We scoped the place out, and watched the open mic, run by a great friend of ours, Melanie Own Padilla, at the White Owl in North Denver. It started slow, with only three of us at 8:00 watching to start with, and I thought, “I can play for three people.” After 9:00 the place got rolling with great musicians and many regulars. But I decided I could play before anyone came in, and then sit and watch others and feel the warm glow of satisfaction of doing something outside my regular sphere of safety.

So the next week, twenty strangers were staring at me when I sat down to play my slow songs, specifically picked for the few friends I was anticipating to be there. And I looked up, saw Mr. Sanchez, a guitarist whom I greatly admire, and promptly forgot absolutely everything. My fingers stopped moving, my voice started sounding like a little girl’s, and I froze. I squeaked, “I’m done, that’s good for me.” And Melanie, from the back of the room said, “Nope. Keep going.” It is what every performer must push through or never do it again. I finished the set, then picked up the cello, and jammed with Mel while she played and sang. That part turned out great.

So I decided to do it again. One failure at playing the guitar was not going to stop my goals of playing for friends.... Well, okay, I was not going to play again until Melanie convinced me to try one more time. For this event, I put an invitation on Facebook, practiced some faster songs, worked on improvisation on the cello by having Honey pick random songs for me to play to, and played again last night.

So many people came to see me that I was again intimidated. Most of them drove across the city, came into a strange place, and went outside of their comfort zones. I was honored. We took a picture outside with them. (Not pictured are Erin, Jennifer, Monica, Scott, and my parents. Picture by Honey Varvel.) The reward for trying again was watching everyone sing “Tie me kangaroo down, sport.” That was why I started playing guitar in the first place—to get people involved in music with me. Cheesy I know. But music doesn’t have to be simply a solo on stage. One of the people who knew me said, “Varvel is great. He invites underage people to bars.” Even scarier was seeing people drink who I remember as 14 and forgetting their homework, who are now 22 and traveling the world. That made me feel old.

I accompanied Melanie again on the cello after that. It is a pleasure to play with a professional. She gave me little solos, communicated keys, and trusted me to find my own way around the songs.

Honey spoke with a regular who noted that I attack the guitar like I’m angry at it, but play the cello with love. Huh. I’ll have to think about that one.
It was good to see everyone one last time before we leave. I figure this last month will go fast and keep us busy… well, keep me too busy to really practice songs on the guitar for another gig. But Honey and I will probably keep going on Wednesdays to watch Mel and all the other great musicians who play. Someday I might be in their league on the guitar.

So the lesson learned is that stepping outside my little box is a good thing. So is a supportive wife who just smiles as she is stuffing boxes while I am practicing instead of helping.

Thanks to Brooke, the owner of the White Owl. She is awesome.

Thanks to Melanie and Eddie.

Thanks to my parents for making me practice the cello an hour every day. I still have it!

And thanks to everyone who drove an hour across town to watch me. For one brief moment, I felt like a rock star. Without the rock part, or the stardom, or the torn jeans, or the long hair. You guys are awesome.