Should We Wait Until We Are Ready?

How a phone call, a looper, and a leap of faith pulled me back on stage.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a holding pattern.

We sense we’re heading toward something—yet, by its very nature, a holding pattern loops around a fixed point, like a plane circling a runway.

The paradox is that, often, we need the storm.

It forces us to confront our choices:

Either we force a landing, or we risk defying the hurricane and flying to the next stop.

I had such a moment recently when a phone call came in like a bolt out of the blue.

It was from a wonderful man called Ralf.

"Hello Jim, I’d like you to come and play a small show in Schwelm."

I was chuffed to get the call, but under no circumstances would I be playing a gig.

Or would I?

It struck me:

What does ‘ready’ even mean for me right now?

I was sure of two things:

1. I was not ready.

2. Even the idea of a gig felt two months too early.

And yet, something stirred.

"Well, Ralf, I’m really grateful for the call, but I’m 100% not ready. I think I’m several months away from being able to perform in public."

Ralf, a reader of this newsletter, was having none of it.

"Jim, I’ve been following you for years. I think you’ll have a great time. We have a pub of about 60 people, and they’ll love you. We just want to hear your songs!"

It was deeply moving—to be wanted.

As I’ve written here before, I’ve been walking through a kind of Shadowland when it comes to my musical life.

In mythic terms, Ralf arrived as a threshold guardian.

He was both an encourager and a catalyst—someone who, in his own way, challenged me to step beyond where I was, to undergo the necessary transformation.

I was torn.

I wanted to do the gig. But the last thing I needed was to stand in a room feeling completely unprepared.

I was aware that there’s a certain fragility to where I am on this journey. To overcommit too soon could be a psychological landmine.

And yet… and yet…

When are we ever ready?

A month ago, I bought a looping pedal and have been trying daily to work out how to convert my songs—written, recorded, and played live with a full band in mind—into a solo show.

This has brought up all kinds of challenges I hadn’t expected.

First, most artists who use loopers write on loopers. My songs were never designed to be played this way.

Second, using the looper means transforming my own playing—essentially taking on the lead guitar role instead of my usual rhythm guitar (even if I typically carry the hooks).

I’ve been enjoying these challenges—but I am miles from being ready to play them live.

But again, the question surfaced:

When are we ever ready?

Ralf, my threshold guardian, represented an opportunity.

I knew that taking the gig in Schwelm would be like stepping into a vortex.

However unready I felt, doing the gig would catapult my ability to play live again.

Not only would I have to focus unlike ever before, but I would learn things that only experience could teach me—things I’d never know unless I put myself on the line.

And so—I took the gig.

Last weekend, I packed up my van—looper and all—and drove seven hours toward Düsseldorf.

In one night, all the best and worst of gigging happened:

• Sing-alongs that sent shivers down my spine.

• Catastrophic guitar solos that still contained glimmers of hope.

• Requests for songs I hadn’t played in years (yup, I played them!).

• A great sound system… but no sound guy.

• Hefeweizen sent to the stage in great quantity (my resolve not to drink lasted a single song).

• Broken strings, forgotten lyrics, unexpected eureka moments.

• A guy grabbing my acoustic and jamming along.

• And amidst the madness… happiness.

It reminded me of something I’d forgotten during my long break from live shows:

It’s not what chords you play—it’s how you play them.

A crowd wants to go with you. They want to go with you through the blemishes, the fuck-ups, the imperfections.

One man came up to me right after and said—

"Jim, you must not lose the anarchy. You must NEVER rehearse too much!"

It was the most wonderful thing to say.

Ah yes, that’s why I love rock n’ roll.

Because while you aspire to be your best, what matters so much more is that you give your best.

Whatever was good or bad at that gig—the crowd knew I meant every word.

I have no capacity to get a band on the road at the moment.

But I got a band on the road anyway.

What a strange life:

Six weeks ago, I thought I’d played my last show.

Then trolls goaded me into buying a looper.

No, this will not be the end for me. Not like this.

And then, a threshold guardian came along and literally pushed me back out there.

"You must come, Jim."

It was like an instruction—but offered as a choice.

Looking back at the past few weeks, I see the entire reality of life in the arts reflected:

• The dark demon who ridicules you.

• The threshold guardian who brings what you need.

• The resistance to the call.

• The allure of the adventure.

• The moment you must ask yourself:

"Even if I’m not ready—am I doing this, or am I not?"

Last weekend, I stepped forward into the next phase of whatever this strange, uncertain chapter of my musical life is becoming.

Driving home, the sun shone brilliantly.

Something had lifted.

I was walking in the uncertainty itself.

And it felt good.

And then—another phone call.

An artist I love, Sir Boyfriend, called me up:

"Jim, would you like to support me at a little gig in Berlin on Saturday night?"

Damn.

Yes, I would.

And so—tonight, Saturday 8th March—I will play a 40-minute support set at It’s a Bar in Berlin.

At 11pm you can find me there, somewhere between eureka and breakdown.

But I’ll mean every word.

With love,
Jim

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A short documentary on my desperate preparation for the gig!
20 Minutes.
Click on the picture to watch!
(Yes, my thumbnails are getting worse not better!!!!!!)

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First Picture from Berlin Show in 2019