Into Life

"A Body of Work," no. 7 - 100% Improv

Jul 12, 2022

Hi! Welcome to “A Body of Work.” It’s the occasional Tuesday space here on “Living in a Body” where I dig deep into Hal history and pull out a musical gem. Don’t miss the Soundcloud imbed at the bottom to hear the song, “Into Life.” Thank you for being here! Please share. Hal

Into Life

I’m not proud of it, but there was a time when I couldn’t get onto a stage without first heading out to the parking lot to get a couple hits of marijuana. I had falsely convinced myself that I was somehow a better musician when I was high. I relied heavily on a performance technique I proudly called “100% improv.” It wasn’t truly 100%, but it’s true that I made up a lot of the music right there on the spot. It makes me chuckle and cringe to think of it now. I see how “100% improv” was a code for chronically unprepared and unrehearsed. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered the sober art of performing a concert — crafting the songs, creating a set list and rehearsing the list until I was ready.

For a full year in 1989, three Fridays a month, I played a “100% improv” show at Brady’s Cafe in Kent. JP and I would set up the microphones, turn on the reverb machine and get the stage all ready to go. Then we’d head out to the parking lot. When we returned, with a heightened perspective of what’s possible, I would jump right in to make the magic happen. For at least a little while, I was wide open to the amazing adventure of music happening in the moment. It’s true that some magic happened in those shows, but I clearly recall the extreme self-consciousness and paranoia that accompanied the high. I remember facing the mid-concert break with shame and fear of the audience. Listening back to the recordings the next morning usually proved that a certain percentage of the magic was happening just in my own brain. I still have all those Brady’s tapes in a box and I can’t really bare to listen to them. I cherish that young man, but it’s painful to witness his self-centered confusion.

“Into Life” was a song born out of “100% improv.” In about 1994, I was performing a solo show at the North Water Street Gallery in Kent. The reverb was all set, a friend was running the sound and after a quick trip to the parking lot, I returned to the stage. I improvised this song from my heart and off the top of my head. I find it remarkable that this gem came into being so complete on the very first singing.

I don’t know what the lyrics mean, but the emotion speaks to me even today. More than ever these days, with ME/CFS always looming in the background, it’s been a great challenge to “relax into life.” Also, I remember my dad questioning the reference to a gun and asked what “shoot that gun” means. To be honest, I have no idea. I have almost no experience or interest in things related to guns. At the time, I just thought it sounded cool. (see lyrics below)

It’s interesting for me to think about the pride that I held for my ability to wing it. Maybe I had a sense that it was counter-cultural and revolutionary. I remember once when I was at a David Wilcox concert at the Wildcat Ranch. I was a little bit high during the show and I actually had the nerve to call out “100% improv” as a request. I think David may have actually taken the challenge, but I’m still cringing to this day.

As I said, years later, I learned to love the sober craft of rehearsing songs and the easing comfort of having a setlist. Before the pandemic hit, I felt like I was just coming into my own as a concert performer. I love connecting with an audience and the thought of standing up on a stage high on marijuana is terrifying.

I hope one day I get to perform live again. I miss it so much.

Into Life

You have the shotgun, you know that it was too sharp
but you had to shoot it anyway after dark
You felt kinda peaceful today, spent most of the day in the sun
Your wrist was bothering you all day long, but that’s alright, it was still fun.
You know the difference or maybe you’ll never know.
and you’ve seen the changing face that you held in your sorrow
Well I’ve been at the same place for sometime now
Maybe room for a change, maybe time for going away,
but you love you’re baby too much, shoot that gun then
You hold your honey so much
come back unchanged and then
Hold your hand in his. Hold it forever.
And ride those changing winds
I’ve known it forever.
She’s breaking her back for you.
She’s loved you all year.
And I’m growing older.
And one day you’ll know.
You see yourself standing in the same place,
You keep on racing.
You’re racing your heart,
It seems you can’t relax.
And you move in your heart,
It seems you can’t relax.
And you feel in your heart,
It seems you can’t relax
Into Life.
Hal Walker - 1994