Nobody warns you that touring is mostly sound you didn’t choose: the van’s drone, the opener’s soundcheck, the bar’s fridge. By week three, silence stops being empty and starts being a place.
Programming the quiet
I rebuilt my set around it. One full stop mid-show — no talking, no tuning, ten seconds of nothing before the saddest song. The room learns to trust the quiet, and the song lands twice as hard.
Now I guard silence like a headliner guards an encore.