In the performance workshop I went to with Jack Williams awhile back one of his most memorable comments was that you should never introduce a song by saying some variation on the words “this is a song.” (That includes “this is a song about . . .”) Although it sounds obvious when you say it (of course it’s a song!), just listen to how many times you’ll hear those words spoken by amateur singer-songwriters. But that leaves open the question: how should you introduce a song? I’m thinking about that question as I prepare to go to the Snowbird Mountain Music Festival where I’m playing as one of the finalists in the performing songwriter competition. I’ve been thinking about how I’ll play the two songs I’m playing there (Between the White Lines and Bigger, Faster, and More) and thinking about what, if anything, I’ll say to introduce them. In general I’m a fan of minimalist introductions. What’s behind Jack’s comments, in part, is a sense (that I share) that if you need to tell people something about your song for them to get the experience you want them to have of the song, it signifies a shortcoming in the song. When my songs are played on the radio, or someone listens to them on a CD, there is no introduction. And as an audience member I get cranky when the performer talks too much, unless there’s something particularly compelling or relevant about what is being said. Still, introductions can play a useful role. In a multi-song set, they can provide a transition. They can provide levity, or even framing, or fill the time when you’re tuning or adjusting. The song introductions I use over time have tended to come from something I ad-libbed on stage that seemed to work – that got the right reaction from the audience, or set the mood I was looking for. So I have some stories I tell or phrases I use to introduce some songs I regularly play. But in some cases I have yet to find a way that works to introduce a specific song. I’ve been having that trouble with Bigger, Faster, and More. It was inspired by the BP oil spill, but it starts at least 50 years before that (it fits, with Crawfordsville, into my “generational sweep of recent history” approach to songwriting). I’ve tried a few things to introduce that song that, depending on the audience, could work. It’s the first explicitly environmental song I’ve written, so in contexts where people know that my day job involves environmental politics making a comment about that might be okay. But I’m really thinking about how to introduce the song to an audience who doesn’t know me, and all the things I’ve come up with (“A year ago oil was still gushing from a hole in the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. But that was just the most recent in a set of disasters facing those who try to make a living from the sea”) just sound over-the top. And since I’d planned to play the song second in my Snowbird set, it really felt like I needed to say something – it would feel strange to finish up the first song and then just launch into the second without playing something. I even brainstormed with someone who was trying to find some connection of my experiences to the song, but other than the fact that I’m writing a book on global fisheries policy – something that really doesn’t make sense to bring up in a music set – I’ve got nothing. In this case, I solved the problem – I think – by deciding to switch the order of the two songs. I’ve learned from the Kennedys the advantages of starting a set by singing rather than by talking, and putting that song first makes not introducing it at all more realistic. There are other good reasons to do change the order (Between the White Lines is a less-heavy song, and ending with that might not be a bad idea; plus, if I do ask people to sing along, it’s a bit less presumptuous when we’ve already been together for one song by the time it happens), but I wouldn’t have thought of it if I hadn’t been concerned about the introduction problem. Of course, that then called my standard intro to Between the White Lines into question. I’ve been introducing that song when I play it first in the set by saying something like “I’ll start with a true story. It’s my song, but it’s someone else’s true story” – which a) gets a good response, and b) answers some weirdness about the fact that the narrator of the song is a man, which might confuse people. But (even apart from the fact that I’m no longer starting with it) if I’ve just finished singing a song in which I’m also not the narrator (and which I also wrote), it then sounds like the first one wasn’t a true story (it is, in fact, entirely made up, but in a way that is meant to ring true so I don’t want to imply “oh, this song is true but the last one was false”) or that it isn’t my song. So it’s back to the drawing board on that one too. In general, it’s probably not a good idea to overthink these things. But in the case where I have only two songs and am competing in a contest, some planning and rehearsing is probably not a bad idea. And it’s made me start to think generally about what works or doesn’t work in song introductions. I’d love to hear your thoughts!