Freddie Jackson

One of the things about New York that takes some getting used to is just how much talent is here. I'm not talking about starring-in-your-school-play-and-your-mama-thinks-you're-wonderful talent, but jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring talent. It's a beautiful thing, but also a lesson in swallowing your pride. And forcing yourself to find confidence in an intimidating world.

I got my chance to grit my teeth and stare intimidation in the face within the first six months I was here, with a moment of weak-kneed glory at the Sugar Bar. You might know the place -- it's that bar on the Upper West Side run by R & B legends Ashford and Simpson. (Now that's a whole 'nother lesson in learning your place and your genre. But hey, I blame naivety.)

Sugar Bar hosts a famous open mic with a back-up band of top-tier talent, a luxury for New York songwriters accustomed to slugging through dungeon after dungeon in search of a beer bottle to vibrate with their vocals and give a halfway fuller sound.

The Sugar Bar house band is no joke.

The story goes like this ... I was in the very packed bar, watching Ashford and Simpson wander around (and sing backup) for a pretty impressive lineup of regulars. I'd made a point of making it to the open mic in the name of getting to know the New York music scene, and I'd put my name down on the want-to-sing roster. I watched the minutes tick by, and my hands get sweaty. Any second, I knew, my name could be called.

But nope: Suddenly, somebody made an announcement. Mr. Freddie Jackson, the voice said, was in the house. (Freddie Jackson? Remember him? And those parachute pants that seemed like a good idea back in the '80s?) The voice invited Freddie up to sing a song or two. So he hopped up on stage, said something about his upcoming album, then (smooth as silk, of course) breezed through a couple tunes.

Freddie Jackson is all pro, and it was obvious. He worked the crowd. He loved the crowd. And the crowd loved him. When he sat back down, he left them wanting nothing but more.

So. You can guess who got called up next, right?

When I finally came to and realized that the sound I heard was my own name ringing in my ears, I found myself standing at the back of the room, still dazed at the fact that Freddie Jackson had just passed by four tables in front of me. I think the next thing I did -- and I'm still not sure about this -- was start to almost choke.

Me? I thought. They wanted me?

I understand that I had a lesson to learn, but really. I had to follow Freddie Jackson? What a cruel, cruel world.

I won't bore you with details of my actual performance. It was, by any stretch of the imagination, less than stellar. I was petrified. But I started and ended with the band, and I got through it.

When I walked away, I knew more than ever that the music industry requires nerves of steel. I reckon it was as good a time as any to learn.