It's Lonely At The Top
The audience is seated, chatting over candlelit tables, a low hum of anticipation in the air. The lights dim. The widely-acclaimed band leader, immaculate in dinner suit and bow tie, strolls onto the stage, fully expecting the band to follow. He raises the microphone, smiles to acknowledge the packed house, and … nothing. He turns, expecting to see his musicians seated, drummer with sticks in hand, but no one is there. No front line. No drummer. Not even a banjo player. The stage is empty.
A few nervous chuckles bubble up from the auditorium and the bandleader forces a smile. Slowly - very slowly - it dawns on him that his band must still be in the pub, enjoying a little pre-concert refreshment.
For a second, he freezes. His eyes shift to the wings. Still no sign of his band. His heart skips a beat. He coughs with embarrassment, forcing a smile. Clearing his throat, he takes a step forward, and raises the microphone once more … "Well,” he says, somewhat awkwardly, "It would seem to be just me tonight. You know what they say... it’s lonely at the top!" More laughter ripples through the audience, this time entirely genuine, and he shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot.
"Er... ladies and gentlemen, it seems that my esteemed colleagues have - er - taken the scenic route on their way here tonight." A few more chuckles ripple through the audience. "I’m sure they’re enjoying some very important musical discussions, probably a cup of hot chocolate." More laughter.
"So, er…anyone here play the trumpet? No? No? Never mind, just checking…"
He starts pacing, warming up to the idea of improvisation (after all, jazz is all about improvising). "Did you ever notice," he begins, in classic stand-up style, "how drummers are always late? Actually, they call it ‘keeping time’, but there we are – that’s never been a drummer’s strong point!” Even more laughter.
"At our rehearsal earlier," he continues, gesturing towards an empty chair, "our trumpet player - mentioning no names - happened to say: ‘We’re just popping down to the pub for a quick drink – just the one, mind’ … ONE drink! … “But we have a gig in an hour!” Laid back as ever, the same trumpet player asks me: “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The bandleader pauses dramatically. "Well... this!” he says, gesturing towards the empty stand, “This is the worst thing that could happen!"
Now the audience is really with him, laughing and nodding in sympathy, all tension melting away. He starts sharing more stories - each more ridiculous than the last - about the band’s various antics, like the time they were driving up the M5 and the bassist’s instrument flew off the roof rack - straight under a large truck … or when the banjo player accidentally played an entire song in the wrong key because his instrument was so out of tune anyway … or how their driver managed to lock the whole band out of the truck with all their instruments still inside it …
The spotlight is all his, and in a strange way, he’s really beginning to enjoy it. He’s still glancing nervously toward the wings, half-hoping the band will stumble in at any moment, yet part of him is thriving on this unexpected solo performance. He even throws in a few jazz jokes: like the banjo player who turns up with a 12-string banjo, in the hope that one or two of them would be in tune, or the standard definition of an optimist - a trombonist constantly checking his Voicemail …
As the bandleader looks out into the packed theatre, he realizes the truth: tonight, he’s not just the leader of the band, he’s the whole show. And maybe, just maybe, this is what being at the top really feels like.
Later, as the band finally appears on the stage, grinning sheepishly, their illustrious leader just shakes his head and laughs. "Nice of you to join us!" he jokes into the microphone, "I hope you’re all on top form because my solo set’s going to be very hard to follow!" He winks at the crowd as the band members shuffle into position and pick up their instruments. A slow hand-clap begins in anticipation. Before he launches into his eight-bar piano intro, he picks up the microphone once more. "You know," he says, with a grin, "I think I’m going to stick to comedy. It’s far easier than keeping this lot in time."
With that, the music starts, the slow hand-clap turns into applause, and the concert finally begins … but for just a short time - a very, very special time - the bandleader had held the spotlight, proving that even when left hanging, he could still steal the show.