20 Years Playing Bars: Secrets to Understanding Audiences
After two decades spent playing music—more often in dimly lit bars than on large, prestigious stages—I’ve learned a profound amount about audiences.
One of the biggest lessons is that what audiences say they want is often very different from what they actually respond to. And perhaps most crucially, they respond deeply to authenticity.
This might sound contradictory, but the reality is more complex than simply pleasing expectations. When it comes to live performance, familiar songs reliably draw a bigger crowd. When you’re playing a cover, casual fans often want note-perfect versions, and some simply want you to act as a jukebox.
Yet, the true connection happens when you do something different. I’ve found that the real fans—those who genuinely love music—are most excited when an artist transforms a familiar song into something uniquely their own. They love getting to know the singer, and they love the connection between the artist and the audience.
This raises an old musical paradox: why do we respect a blues singer who can sing three chords for a hundred people, but joke about a jazz musician who plays a hundred chords for three people? The answer lies in context and connection.
When performing, the goal is to find that sweet spot: giving people what they want while ensuring you stay engaged. It’s about finding the “one for them, one for me” ratio.
For instance, covering a song like Chuck Prophet’s “Summertime Thing” might seem like a gamble since most people have never heard it. But when it hits, and a crowd member stops raving, that moment transforms a casual listener into a devoted fan.
Similarly, in a solo residency, you might think you need to stick to classics like Stones and Elton John to keep the barflies entertained. But I found a magical exception when I performed Warren Zevon’s “Hit Somebody (The Hockey Song).” The unexpected joy of that moment, when a drunk fan screamed every lyric along with me, is what keeps the music alive.
This dynamic highlights the power of genuine emotion. When you are genuinely excited about what you are performing, the audience senses it. If you are singing something that means a lot to you, and you let that emotion show—even singing with your eyes closed—the performance elevates. Honesty is key; acknowledging nervousness or letting down your guard creates a connection that transcends mere performance.
The audience doesn’t need you to fulfill every request; they need to believe you mean what you are doing. They need to feel that you know what you are doing up there, not just what they asked for.
This philosophy mirrors the journey of any great artist. It takes time to develop a unique voice and act. Whether you are a comedian or a musician, it takes years to find that authentic delivery. Eventually, you stop trying to guess what the audience wants and start focusing on becoming the person the audience genuinely wants to hear from.
After twenty years, the pursuit of perfection shifted. I am less interested in figuring out audience demands than in figuring out who I am on stage. And in that shift, I’ve discovered that knowing yourself is the most powerful performance of all.
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