We played a 15-minute gig to open up the Homey Award Show on Friday.

Jill was awesome, and I say that with as much objectivity as possible. She nailed it. Me, I was eh. Made only one "mistake," really, and it wasn't major (of course, I nailed it in rehearsal). But I wasn't particularly on - I was a little too self-conscious to really play.

But I've certainly been a lot worse, and on those occasions I never gave it any more thought than "hey, they can't all be your best show" or "sometimes your fingers have minds of their own" and other musician clichés. For those who've never seen us, there's a lot of "act" in our act, which gives us a little cover, making it easier to fake-till-ya-make. So a flub here and there is no big deal, right?

Well, maybe it's because we were in a room of fantastic musicians, or maybe it's because my panic attack last week was the first strike of a deep-seeded, long-planned Revolution of the Brain, but my first thought after taking our bow (to a semi-standing O, no less) and running off stage was, and I quote: "I am a fraud."

Not "I  kind of sucked tonight," or "that was disappointing," but "I am a huge fucking fraud, and everybody knows it."

Not exactly fair, brain. 

                                            You used to be cool, dude.

Look, those aforementioned clichés are true - little flubs happen, and no one cares. I'm experienced (read: old) enough to know that although my guitar acumen is just barely strong enough to justify my presence on a stage, my strength is in performing, in connecting with the crowd, in being Kage to Jill's Jables. But when we tell people "what we lack in talent we make up in cheap theatrics," we're only joking about one of us. I can write, but I lack the performance skillz; cheap theatrics is all I got. 

Before I go further: this post is not a plea for praise and attention. That's not why I'm sharing this, I promise. In fact, I fear such responses, well-meaning and sincere as they are, can sometimes make my problem worse.

So to be on the verge of tears of humiliation after an ultimately successful, borderline triumphant gig - especially considering how few people in the room were even interested in live music - is to know that some neurotransmitter ain't transmittin' right. And to have that "FRAUD" feeling only triple in size and volume after winning the "Best Live Act" award means this might ultimately be a job too powerful for Xanax. 

Speaking of: after we won that trophy, I texted this to Joe Trainor (who was happily sharing our table): "I seriously cannot shake the feeling like I'm a fraud" (apparently whatever synapse zapped my confidence was also responsible for grammar). He walked up next to me and gave me a "what the fuck!?" look, telling me the show was strong (I trust him to be 100% honest about that) and I was being ridiculous. I explained the feeling the best I could, asking him if he'd ever felt that. 

He thought about it for a bit, and said "not really. But I think I'm objective enough to know that I'm a good player and singer, and subjective enough to really like and believe in my songs. So, fraudulent? I've had moments where I felt like I wasn't performing up to my own standards, but I never felt fraudulent. Disappointed? Sometimes. Disillusioned? Definitely."

He's right - he's one of the few musicians/actors/writers I know with an accurate assessment of his own talent, which is a rare but vital skill for those of us in the biz. But I think I'm pretty good at that too, and that's not an entirely comforting feeling right now. 

I dunno. I got over it before the night was over (one Xanax! Two Xanaxes! Ah, ah, ah!) and ended up having a great time. Our performance earned us at least three potential gigs, and I could not be prouder of Hot Breakfast! and all we've accomplished. And even though I'm writing this on maybe three hours of sleep, leaving my filter filled with holes, I'm still having a hard time conjuring up that "fraud" feeling I keep talking about. So maybe it was fleeting, and this, like All Things, must pass. 

But still, I'm gonna keep one eye on my brain for a little while. Just in case it's up to some old (and new) nasty tricks. I'm too happy for this nonsense.