Has anyone tracked more mind-blowing, finger-crippling solos than Brent Mason? Photo by Ariel EllisJust before Thanksgiving, I lead the band
for The Scotty McCreery and Friends
Christmas Special on the GAC Network. We
played songs from Scotty’s recent Christmas
album, including a jazzy version of “Let It
Snow” that featured a mind-blowing, finger-crippling
solo originally recorded by Brent
Mason. The opening two bars of the solo
consisted of an almost impossibly fast lick. I
woodshedded like mad trying to play it up
to speed, increasing my metronome one click
every five passes or so, but I always felt like I
was behind the beat. Throw in the pressure of
a room full of cameras, crew, and a live studio
audience—this riff had me as nervous as a
hooker in church. I felt relieved to get through
the taping but had some anxiety about my
not-quite-fast-enough performance. I feared
that everyone would hear my fat fingers struggling
to keep up with Brent’s epic riff.
At Christmas, I finally watched the show.
I was on the edge of my seat, holding my
breath as the killer solo approached. The
playback astonished me: Turns out, I actually
rushed the fast riff. It sounded goodish, but
would have been way better if I had set it
back in the pocket like Brent did in his studio
take. It didn’t even seem possible that:
• My sluggish fingers actually moved
that damn fast?
• I perceived time so inaccurately?
When you think about it, the concept of time
can seem abstract. Our perception of time
changes with context. I know, I know, 60 seconds
equals a minute and all that, but honestly,
the first three minutes on a StairMaster in a
dank Best Western hotel “gym” feels longer
than three hours spent eating Ben and Jerry’s
while watching Breaking Bad on my couch.
Sure, time flies while we’re having fun and drags
during mild torture, but that does not explain
my time-expanding TV recording session.
My somewhat annoying, know-it-all
friend Wikipedia told me that stimulants
can lead to humans and rats overestimating
time intervals, while depressants have the
opposite effect. That seems wrong: Speed
should speed up time, depressants should
slow time down, and how do the Wikipedia
scientists know what rats are thinking?
As it turns out, stimulants (both natural and
synthetic) awaken our brains so we notice more
details. Because our excited brains process an
abundance of data, this gives us the impression
that lots of time has passed. A natural adrenaline
rush caused by a nerve-racking riff played
under pressure has the same time-stretching
effect. It almost sounds like a physics puzzle or
the equivalent of traveling through a wormhole,
but the rush to my system slowed down
time, which actually gave me enough room
to rush the fast lick. When I practiced the riff
under calming circumstances, time moved at its
normal rate and I could not fit it all in. Crazy,
right? So if nerves negatively influence time
perception and performance, what’s a musician
all jacked up on adrenaline to do?
I recently read two different articles about
classical musicians taking beta-blockers to
battle performance anxiety. Doctors usually
prescribe beta-blockers to treat high blood
pressure, but they work equally well for high-strung
musicians because they block receptors
that tell your body to kick into fight-or-flight
mode while under pressure. Less highfalutin
musicians playing popular music often try to
achieve the same affect by self-medicating with
a pre-gig shot of Jack Daniels.
I’ve found a semi-effective alternative. I’m
not one to fall for any new-agey nonsense. I
don’t keep my bread under a pyramid, I don’t
put magnets in my shoes, I don’t attempt to
unleash the power of crystals, but I have taken
a few yoga classes to decelerate my body’s
decline. I started yoga for the cardio workout,
but unexpectedly gleaned something that’s
helped my playing a bit. Now when I feel
overwhelmed at a gig, I stop and take four or
five deep, six-count breaths through my nose,
filling up my belly like a happy Buddha, then
slowly releasing through my nose. I try to do
this as covertly as possible because I’m sure I
look like I should be wearing a tinfoil hat, but
it’s worth the embarrassment because it actually
helps. It’s not a dramatic difference, but after
this breathing exercise I feel my mind clear and
heart rate drop. I don’t care if I look like an
idiot if I play a bit better.
The word “rhythm” originates from the
Greek word meaning “flow.” That makes
sense. Playing with a good band is like riding
down a river on a raft, the groove carries the
players and the listeners on a journey. Next
time you feel stressed about a performance,
take three deep, Buddha belly breaths
through your nose and go with the flow.
And while I’m irritating you with hippie/
folksy advice, here’s one more thought: Do
things that give you a little adrenaline rush.
Getting excited about life will slow down
our slow death march to dust. Years race by
unnoticed if nothing happens to stimulate
our brains. If we don’t wake up and live,
we’ll be dead before we know it.
John Bohlinger is a Nashville multi-instrumentalist
best know for his work in television, having lead the band for all six
season of NBC's hit program
Nashville Star, the 2012, 2011, 2010 and 2009 CMT Music Awards, as well as many specials for GAC, PBS, CMT, USA and HDTV.
John's music compositions and playing can be heard in several major label albums, motion pictures, over 100 television spots and Muzak... (yes, Muzak does play some cool stuff.) Visit him at
youtube.com/user/johnbohlinger
or
facebook.com/johnbohlinger.