I’m watching the sixth episode of K-ON! and it’s at the part where the band is onstage for their live performance at the school festival. Mio is frozen with fear under the spotlight.

My breath catches in my throat. Because I remember what that’s like.

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I’ve talked about my shyness, and about performing for an audience in a previous Manifesto. One of the things I’ve had to do was sing in front of crowds. It started innocuously enough. I was a choirboy. (Try not to look so shocked.) With my unbroken pre-pubescent voice I usually sang soprano. Our school choir would join (and win) inter-school competitions, go caroling around town to raise money, and sing for student masses (which in a Catholic school is at least once week).

But singing in a choir is ‘safer’ because your voice is lost in the chorus, and although the training is still exacting, because a stray voice causes dissonance, you’re surrounded by your peers, all of whom sing exactly the same way you do, at least ideally.

Then I started to sing solo, first at masses, then at programs celebrating the rector’s birthday or the founder’s death anniversary and similar events. My voice would tremble from the nervousness, but at least I was singing simple mass hymns or following ‘minus one’ tapes. I was expected to sing. I wasn’t expected to perform.

Then my voice broke, except it broke into a voice that was well-suited to rock, heavy metal, and grunge. These were the early 90s, and Nirvana and Pearl Jam had only just begun to wrest the crown from the rock gods of the day, Guns n’ Roses and Metallica. I’d discovered that unlike the glam stylings of my classmates (who preferred the ballads of Bon Jovi, Nelson, and White Lion, mostly for the express purpose of wooing girls), I liked more rebellious music. Even then I was otaku, but I was otaku for Metallica, Pearl Jam, U2, and Iron Maiden. I saw rock as an expression of my non-conformity (especially considering that the teachers and half my classmates believed I was listening to ‘devil music’), and when I sang their songs I sang for myself, not to please the crowds. When I sang “Jeremy” I was singing about myself. When I sang “Holier Than Thou” I was singing about my teachers and classmates. And when I sang “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses”? Well… I need to keep some secrets.

Trouble was, I still looked like a choir boy. I looked more like Doogie Howser than James Hetfield or Eddie Vedder (never mind Bruce Dickinson or Slash). I even had a white sidewall haircut because I joined the officer corps. So when me and my geek friends walked on stage for the high school battle of the bands, people whispered incredulously and giggled and pointed at the silly boys who thought they were a heavy metal band. The nun on the judges panel was sure we were just five nice Catholic school boys who would sing a nice little ballad for all the girls in the audience. The MC announced our band as “A.C.T.” which actually stood for “Association of Computer Terrorists”, further highlighting how geeky we all were. (Why we had that particular name is a story for another day.) We were the first act. The curtain rose.

I stood there for a moment, frozen. This wasn’t like choir or karaoke at all. This was just me and my band in front of the audience, and we would live or die on the basis of our performance. My heart was in my throat. I wasn’t that nervous during the science quiz bee on TV. I wasn’t that nervous at the National Press Con. I had never been so nervous in my life. All eyes were on me.

I took a deep breath. I looked at our drummer, Bert, who nodded and counted off.

We tore up the stage with a rough but spirited rendition of Metallica’s “Unforgiven”. I sang my heart out. I shut out the crowd and I sang like I was singing for myself, like the lyrics were my own words. There’s no room for self-consciousness when you’re performing anything, whether you’re a high school band or a top act at the Budokan. The crowd feeds off your energy, and you feed off theirs.

Seeing our band launch into the song with reckless abandon, the crowd forgave our lack of polish and totally got into our performance, screaming and roaring and clapping their hands, stomping their feet. As for the nun… not so much, considering we smashed a guitar during the solo and a large chunk barely missed her head. But we barely noticed her as we finished our song, shooting devil horns and sticking our tongues out at the audience. We only finished 5th out of 7th that night (although I got top marks for my vocals) but none of us really cared about how we placed. Besides, flying guitar debris had more to do with our poor score than the actual performance.

We came out of the experience changed, and everyone’s perception of us changed too. I wasn’t choirboy anymore. I was ‘Rocker Boy’. We all had street cred now. The other bands kept congratulating us like we’d won. You don’t put yourself through something like that in front of so many people without coming out changed and people recognized that. People kept talking about the guitar smashing, keep talking about it even at reunions. We had guts, and people respect people with guts, no matter what they end up doing because of it. And we would never be ashamed to be onstage ever again.

Most of the other bands that followed had more polished performances. The band who won did Ugly Kid Joe’s ‘Everything About You’, which was also the guest band’s song, by a strange twist of fate. (I ended up being recruited as the guest band’s vocalist for one night at a local club. Story for another time, too. ) Another band did G’n'R’s November Rain, and the vocals were so painful that the vocalist’s sister, who was in the audience, hid her face in shame. We didn’t even care. Every single band on stage deserved credit for being up there.

Besides, we were first. Everyone had a tough act to follow. And the nun was prepared to dodge shrapnel now.

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As the Light Music Club finish their performance of FuwaFuwa Time, I find myself applauding the TV screen. Sure it was still kind of rough. Sure Yui’s voice was still wrecked from over-practicing. It doesn’t matter. They did it. They got through it.

And they’ll never be the same people they used to be, ever again.

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