"Yes!" and we headed off to find a spot with a pair of empty chairs.
I didn't have any idea whether she was good, bad, or indifferent and, frankly, any of those would have been fine.
She was, it turns out, a terrific fiddler, who rosined up her bow and launched, immediately, into a blazing rendition of a tune I'd never heard. I can play along with tunes I've never heard without getting too much in the way, and I can play fast enough to keep up.
When she finished, I asked her to pick another tune, but added, "Can we do one at a more moderate pace?" I hadn't picked up an instrument in days, and wanted to work my way up to playing fast.
She found a slower tune without any trouble, and we went on to play a bunch of fun things -- mostly fiddle tunes I'd never heard, often crooked. But mostly very, very fast.
Suppose I'd been less experienced? Suppose, for example, I'd been a beginner? I'd certainly have thought, "She's really good." I'd also have been intimidated, wandered away, started the day with a flop, and perhaps gotten back in my car and gone home.
Start with a nice, moderate pace. You don't have to play fast all the time. Honestly.
This is especially true when you're playing with others. The preposition to focus on is "with." It brings to mind someone's description of a contest-winning, bluegrass-banjo player: "He can play faster than you can. If you play a tune with him, he'll always finish first." Also, "He knows every lick, and puts them all into every tune."
Later in the day, I went to the slow-jam workshop one of my friends was leading. I sat down next to a first-rate guitar player, who turned to me after a couple of tunes, smiled, and said, "It's like taking a nap." I smiled back and nodded. I needed a relaxing nap, too. As some of the folks struggled with how to find the notes for Over the Waterfall, I was experimenting with ways to make them -- not me -- sound better, and to make each time through the tune sound really different.
I've gone on stage with string-shredders who fill entire sets with back-to-back, burn-up-the-fretboard flash. I look out at the audience and wonder, "Maybe they're just here for the pyrotechnics, and this is impressive, but unless they're musicians how can they even tell the difference between the tunes?" It's like listening to auctioneers: sure, talking like that is hard, but why would you want to?
Keep thinking, "Contrasts." Painting a big purple spot on one wall is interesting. Painting all the walls of your house purple is ugly.
Kicking off a set with a barn-burner wakes the audience up. Continuing like that without a change of pace numbs their senses. When your set is one, long, race to the finish line, what will you do for your victory lap encore, and why would I want to stick around for it?
Mike Seeger says, "Don't play too fast. It makes people think you're nervous."
Or on amphetamines, or something. As Frank Zappa says, "Speed will turn you into your parents."
