By Dave Mangene
The first thing I did when I moved to Holland, after arranging life's essentials, was to start a band.
I put up an ad in a local music store and a guy called. His name was Donnie, a fellow American living in Eindhoven. Donnie and me hit it off immediately. Although we had different musical tastes and backgrounds (he is classically trained, I couldn't read a note to save my life), we found common ground in a love for the guitar.
We jammed at his place a few times. It worked.
We went looking for a bass player and a drummer, and found Irene and Eugene; both Dutch, both enthusiastic, skilled musicians.
Just like that, we were a band. We called ourselves Grinn. We wanted to be called 'Grin' because that word has a mischievious ring to it, but Nils Lofgren had a band in the seventies called 'Grin'. So we added an 'n' and became 'Grinn'.
We immediately got to work, practicing 2 nights a week, three hours each time. We committed ourselves to writing original songs and playing as many gigs as possible. Without taking ourselves too seriously (humor was always a part of our schtick), we took the band's dream seriously: work hard, play live, get better, get bigger. It was a good plan.
Within 6 months Grinn had a solid repetoire of original songs, a few covers, and live shows in and around Eindhoven on a regular basis. Our very first gig was at a bar called 'Cafe de Buut'. The bar happened to be located in the neighborhood of Ad van Meurs, aka 'The Watchman', a gifted songwriter, guitar player, and band leader. In those days, in that scene, Ad was The Man (still is). He had a Monday night residency at Cafe de Buut called 'Manic Monday'. Every Monday night, a new act, preceded by Ad's own set.
It was a beautiful thing. The place was packed every week and people, most people anyway, actually came to hear the music.
Ad took us under his wing and became an unofficial, if somewhat reluctant, mentor to us. He let us play at de Buut whenever we wanted and it was those shows that allowed us to slowly build a local following.
As one year turned to the next, Grinn had momentum building both on stage and in the studio. Things were looking good. One Sunday afternoon, we played a show at Cafe de Groot, another legendary Eindhoven watering hole owned by the late, great Hans Sanders, a successful and accomplished musician in his own right. Hans liked Grinn too, and welcomed us to his corner of the world with open arms.
On that particular Sunday, everything went well. Good crowd, good sound. Lovely. After playing, the band and friends went upstairs to the restaurant for dinner. As we sat drinking, waiting for our food, a young Dutch woman who had just been at the show, came to our table. Donnie knew her and asked, "what did you think of the show?" She answered, completely seriously, "I think Grinn sucks."
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
While the woman continued to carry on a normal conversation with Irene and Eugene, I sat ashen at the table. Even though some of us laughed at the comment, I didn't think it was funny. I thought it was really rude. It hurt. I immediately questioned myself; did we suck? Were we wrong to think things were going well? Her words stung.
I sat quietly, staring at my dinner, for several minutes. The woman jabbered on for a while and finally left the table.
It took me the rest of the night to get over it.
Americans, as a people, don't take criticism very well. There are a few possible reasons why.
First, The United States, as well as all Anglo-Saxon countries, has a long tradition of politeness. As my Grandma Norma used to say, "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." We are taught to protect other people's feelings above being fully honest, because it is nicer to be that way. Although this approach does have merits when it comes to simple human interaction, it backfires when it comes to using criticism to improve one's performance. Americans rarely develop the resilience needed to withstand, or learn, from an 'attack'. As happened with me when that woman said our band "sucked", we Americans tend to take the criticism personally.
A second reason is the American culture of 'self-empowerment'. There's a lot to be said for the power of positive thinking. Think of the developments made in the field of sports psychology in the last 40 years. If you need a mental coach to help you win golf tournaments, America is a great place to find one. But there's a dark side to that coin, too. Because Americans grow up believing the best way to navigate the jungle of life is to 'think positively', we get lost when other cultures don't share the same mindset. When we encounter people that don't necessarily make empowerment their first priority, we don't know how to handle it, and write off the criticism as "mean". Again, the muscle needed to deflect the perceived negativity hasn't been properly developed and we end up crumbling.
It must be said that there's a fine line between constructive criticism and downright destructive feedback. I have seen Dutch people cross this line and give others negative feedback, just to give negative feedback. They say something nasty to provoke a reaction, and cloak their remark under the guise of 'just being honest'. Gordon, as a judge on 'Holland's Got Talent', comes to mind. He is entitled to his opinion, but his approach to criticism is boorish and it rarely makes a performer any better. Nobody should have to endure that kind of bullshit for too long and it should, for the most part, be ignored.
But if critical feedback is heartfelt, constructively expressed, and intended to help someone improve, we should listen. It's an opportunity to grow. To write it off as simply 'nasty', is to miss an opportunity. It will make us better, and what self-respecting American doesn't want to get better?
Personally, I've come a long way since that woman attacked our band all those years ago. First of all, I'm twenty years older, and aging does help with growing a thicker skin. I'll never be as thick skinned as most Dutch people, I fear I'm a little too sensitive for that, but I have learned to take a punch, as long as it's intended to sharpen my skills. There will always be assholes, and they will forever get me down, but I'll still survive and live to tell the tale.
~ DAVE
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