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Allen Shadd - Contests
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1997 Walnut Valley Flatpicking Champions
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| I guess my first contest would have been the school
talent show in elementary school. I entered it every year, only to be
beaten like a rented mule each year by the same cute girl that could
perform a back flip with a full twist (she really was a good gymnast
though). Finally one year they divided us into separate categories and I
was able to win. So, I learned very early that some you win, and some you
lose.
I am often asked for advice about competing. So for those of you who might be reading this and considering entering contests, please allow me to pass on a few pearls of wisdom taken from my experience to help you. First off, be prepared to lose, and it doesn’t matter how well you think you played and how bad you think everyone else played. You will lose more than you win. Your best bet is to not worry about whoever else is competing or how they perform, you are actually not competing against them if you only try to do your best. That’s all you really have control over anyway, not how anyone else plays or how the judges like or dislike what everyone plays. Know that the judges are human, and who is really best is always subjective accordingly. If you lose, it doesn’t really mean you don’t know how to play and if you win, it doesn’t really mean that you are better than anybody else. It only means that the judges liked what they heard or didn’t. My motto during the three years that I competed with all the passion and desire to win, was taken from my all time favorite fishing personality, TV show host and winner of more bass fishing tournaments than I can count, none other than Hank Parker. His saying “ I’d rather be lucky than good any day” really fits contests perfectly. I, like most competitors I’ve known, feel like I won a couple that I didn’t deserve and also have felt that I lost a few that I played well enough to win, or at least had a better showing for sure. That’s just all part of it. Once I decided to take competitions seriously for awhile, it allowed me to compete at a higher level. It made me a better musician (at least in my mind) because it forced me to discipline myself to a scheduled practice regime, and to also learn new things during those practices, not just play through what I already knew. But more so, it affected my life in a bigger way. It gave me a confidence that I really never had before. It went beyond the music even. Once I became comfortable enough to just worry about playing my best and not what everyone else thought of my playing, it allowed me to truly enjoy music. I could now play with some of my own musical heroes and enjoy the moment, instead of being intimidated into a jelly-like state. Like the time I was asked to join Norman Blake onstage at the spur of the moment, that has to be one of my all time highlights in life. Sure, I was nervous, but not intimidated. Same as when Vassar and Peter Rowan asked me to join them onstage, the invitation coming from the stage no less. I borrowed a nearby D28 and had the time of my life. There was a time, before my competition experiences, when I could have done those performances, but not without being so intimidated that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy them, or even play at a level under the circumstances that anyone else would be able to enjoy what I had played. My role model for competing was easy to find. I only had to look to my friend Randy Howard. Randy lived for contests, and the tougher the competition, the better he seemed to perform. He knew about winning, and he knew about losing. But he always had that competitive edge, that confidence, that you must possess to do well under pressure. Randy inspired me to levels of confidence, and ability, that I would never have thought possible for myself. It was only natural that when you picked a tune with Randy, you arose to a level above what you would usually play at. But through so many long telephone conversations, or late nights in his living room watching music videos on TV (and of course, making fun of the ‘stars’ all the while) and talking about the next contest, some of his ideals about competition must have somehow rubbed off on me to some degree. So why do I compete? That’s hard to explain, to some people competing means different things. I don’t compete anymore with the same attitude I did before winning Winfield. Once that goal was achieved, I stepped back for a few years from contests, especially since a lot of the contests that I’ve won have a sit out rule (if you win, you must wait a determined number of years before competing again, Winfield is a 5 year sit out) and some bar you from a repeat ever (Merlefest). I think my reasons for competing evolved, just as I did as a competitor. At first, there was probably an ego factor, but after getting beat enough that quickly goes away. Then it became a matter of doing my best and hoping to win. There is also an adrenalin rush that you just don’t feel while playing within the safety of a full band. I have returned to playing in an occasional contest, and my reasons now are still to do my best, but also to enjoy the friends that I’ve made along the way. I can go to a contest now, and enjoy hearing guys like Robert Shafer, Robin Kessinger, Roy Curry, to name a few of my particular favorites. I’ve watched the young guns like Adam Wright and Cody Kilby mature into some of the finest musicians you could ever hope to hear. So I guess in a sense, I feel rewards now whether I place or not. Don’t get me wrong though, I love the feeling of winning a fine guitar and I’ve been fortunate enough to have won my share. I have won Fender Strats, Gallaghers, Taylors, Collings, Martins, and a Santa Cruz. Not bad guitars, any of them. I’ve also gotten Calton cases, strings, pickup systems, and a ton of other stuff. That’s all part of the cool factor. The only thing I’ll add is this. Never lose sight of the gift. I got wrapped up in winning contests and lost sight. A week before competing in Winfield in 1997, I attended a local church service that was preached by Doyle Dykes. Yes, that Doyle Dykes, the Taylor clinician, he is originally from around here and he is an ordained minister. He’s pastored several churches and is a man that not only talks the talk, but walks the walk too. We talked a little after the service and he asked what I was doing these days. I told him about getting ready for Winfield the following week, and he wished me luck. The next day, he called me before his flight left for Tennessee. He felt that God had laid upon him to pray with me, so Doyle prayed with me right there on the phone. His message the night before had been about gifts and knowing where they came from, as if he were speaking only to me. By the time I went to Winfield, I had thought enough about this and realized that I had lost sight of that over time. I could never pray to win a contest, only to play well. But Doyle did make that prayer, and I made that decision to play for the right reasons, and that is the year that I won Winfield. There will be pictures on here soon of some of those contests as well as a room full of guitars and trophies. Even a hat from Hatman Jack’s that was part of the prizes at Winfield. I thank God for these gifts. |
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