Last night at Coda Tremont in Cleveland was, to put in charitably, a lose one.

Especially with solo acoustic shows, I think it’s important acknowledging the inherent ridiculousness of the thing - you’re sitting there, minding your own goddamn business, sipping on a gin and tonic or whatever, and some weirdo starts singing about his feelings via songs you’ve never heard before. But it’s a fine line being endearingly versus distractingly self-effacing, and last night I strayed too far into the latter category. The crowd had a good time, but I came away thinking ok, do you want people to recognize your being a good songwriter or mediocre standup comedian? Ross Livermore, my talented friend who I often do these mini tours with, called me out as well. “Dude, you know your songs are good, right? Maybe, you know, sing more of them next time.” In other words, you’re funny, but not that funny. And he’s right.

I love playing these shows - my old self-defense mechanisms are falling to the wayside. Somewhere, underneath the veneer of apologetic nerdiness, is a James-Bond-with-Scoliosis sorta swine, waiting for his turn with diminishing patience. I think it's time to give that guy the floor.