Musical Shift

"You're on in five." The stage manager shut the door, muffling the sound of the rowdy fans. My insides were doing cartwheels.

My mind drifted to the first time I ever performed. I was six, playing Bach's Minuet in G. As we walked from the parking lot to the auditorium, I could hardly breath. "Mom, I'm scared," I croaked out.

She squatted, took my hands, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Lily, that just means your heart is working. You can do this. You know your music. I'll be proud of you and give you hugs afterwards no matter what."

I made it through just fine. Playing classical music came easy to me. After that first recital, even performing became second nature, as long as I knew my mom was there.

Put me in a room with peers, and I'd hardly say anything, and my eyes were frequently focused downward. I was out of my element. But give me some Chopin or Liszt, and I was different - a show person. I would sway when the music was soft. I would pound the keys when it was called for. It felt like a dance. People responded, which encouraged me to enhance the alter ego.

My senior year in high school, my mom got cancer. She was gone in a blink. No more telling me that the nerves proved my heart was working. No more words of encouragement or hugs after performances no matter what. My dad did his best, but he was hurting too.

I got a music scholarship for the local university. I wasn't sure if I wanted the life of a classical pianist, but I didn't know what else to do. Music was my comfort zone.

My freshman year, one drizzly September afternoon, I was in a practice room, avoiding both humans and weather.

Three people barged in, crowding in enough to shut the door. The girl spoke as she fingered one of her many piercings, "You're good on that thing. Wanna join our band?"

I felt my mouth drop open as I glanced from her purple hair to the guy with spiked hair, to the bearded guy with long hair and a torn shirt.

I shut my mouth and started shaking my head, when "Spike" pleaded, "Come on, it'll be fun! You'll meet lots of people and get out of this closet." He sneered at the drab walls.

"Yeah," the bearded guy added, "We can help you. Clearly, you have potential."

I thought about my mom trying to encourage me to get out more. I shrugged my left shoulder and said, barely above a whisper, "I'll try."

That's how I joined a metal band. The guy with the spikes, Raz, and Jody (JJ,) and Alex (beard guy) helped me grow into the part. Before long, I had a new hairstyle. I had a new wardrobe, mostly purchased from secondhand stores and ripping things in my closet. I also got some piercings, though not as many as JJ. I was building confidence. I even got brave enough to sing, and I helped write some original tunes.

We called ourselves "FITH" (F'd In The Head.) It took a month before we were ready for dive bars, but I had to admit that I was having fun. Our local following grew, and we actually started making money. A couple of videos of us went viral. Then, we got a huge break. We were asked to open for Disturbed.

In my mind, this was the second time I was undergoing a "first" performance. I was nervous, but I knew from experience that I could be a performer.

All of these memories flashed through my mind in just minutes. Just before the big show, I put my hand on my chest and whispered, Mom, my heart is working. I hope you are proud. I got goosebumps. It was a hug before the show. I knew she was with me.

The stage manager returned.

To my band mates, I exclaimed, "Let's rock!"

Author's note: The blonde girl, Brittany, is one of my former music students. This piece is dedicated to her musical journey; beyond the basics to which I introduced her. This video earned them Best Rock Song and Best Music Video for the 2025 Spring Music Songwriting Awards.

All the best, Limberlost. Rock on!