The Only Pirate at the Party

by Lindsey Stirling

  A MESSAGE

  FROM PHELBA

  I’d like you to meet Phelba, my number one fan. She came into existence one day in New York when I was only a few tickets shy of a sold-out show. Tired of the constant self-promotion, I decided to let someone else take a turn. That day, she went out on the town and told as many people as possible about Lindsey Stirling. She’s basically the ten-year-old version of myself—socially awkward, bold, and uninhibited. Since that day in New York, she has followed me around the country trying to promote my music and meet me face-to-face. We’ve never met, and we never will, but I know I can always count on her to love and support me, no matter what. She is shameless, pathetic, and nearly impossible to dislike. It would be like hating a puppy with three legs. I’ve included a letter she wrote below.

  Dearest Lindsey,

  I’d like to apologize for our earlier misunderstandings, and don’t worry, I’m no longer upset about the restraining order. Sometimes ya just gotta be the bigger woman. Anywho, I hear you are writing an autobibliography, and as your #1 fan I feel it is my responsibility and due diligence to lighten the load. So please feel free to include the following with proper citation:

  Hello all Secondary Fans,

  If you’re reading this, it’s official—I am better than you. For any of you pickle-brains out there who don’t know who I am, my name is Phelba. That’s spelled P-H-E-L-B-A. Most people refer to me as Queen of the Stirlingites, aka Lindsey’s #1 fan. Here are the reasons why:

  First of all, I’m practically Lindsey’s understudy. Do I play the violin? Absolutely not. But do I know every step of choreotography? You bet your Benjamins I do. I could jump onstage and perform in a moment’s notice. Put me in, coach! Secondly, I’m responsible for over half of Lindsey’s YouTube views. 503,455,012 views to be exact. Yes I’ve counted, haven’t you? No you haven’t, BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT A NUMBER ONE FAN! Thirdsies, I only wear Lindsey Stirling Merchandise. By the way, if you buy a T-shirt four sizes too big and tie a shoelace around the middle, it becomes a dress. I wear mine to weddings and churchy stuff. It’s a huge hit and people are always staring. Fourthish, I know where Lindsey is at all times. I bet you’d like to know how I know . . . I’ll never tell. Fifthly, all the security staff at the venues know me by face, name, and fingerprint. And Last but not least, I heard it from someone somewhere that Gavi thinks I’m hott. Don’t make me say it again, I’m blushing so hard right now.

  So to anyone reading this, I think it’s clear that you’re not cut out to be a #1 fan. That seat’s taken. However, feel free to take notes because the #2 slot is wide open and I’m accepting applications. You better be ready to work hard, soldier.

  Humbly your favorite,

  Phelba

  FIRSTS

  Joining the entertainment industry comes with its fair share of “firsts.” I could pretend I floated into the music scene flawlessly, and you might believe me. But if I’m being honest, I felt more like I was wearing sweats to the prom. In preparation for my first tour, my manager got me several press opportunities, the first of which was on Marie Osmond’s talk show.

  The most surprising aspect of the experience was that Marie and I didn’t meet each other until I sat next to her on the stage. We were given approximately ten seconds to say hello before the cameras started rolling, and then we had to act like we were already good friends. This was easy to do, since Marie is one of my idols, but after the cameras stopped she thanked me for being on the show and promptly vanished. It was a whirlwind. So I guess this means we’re not going out to lunch together?

  I’ve since learned that this is how it goes in showbiz. I had a similar experience when Amy Poehler interviewed me for her web series, Smart Girls at the Party. She was incredibly nice, we did our interview, and then—like Marie—she disappeared, leaving me to eat my lunch alone. In addition to not eating together, I was also disappointed that she wasn’t hilarious on the set. I guess I expected her to have everyone in stitches the whole time, but that would be like her expecting me to answer every question with a violin melody. There is no doubt about it that Amy Poehler is one of the smartest and funniest girls at any party, but like every other human on the planet, she has a complete range of emotions and lives her own version of a normal life.

  Just when I thought I was starting to get the hang of doing morning shows and guest performances, I was introduced to a whole new experience with European television. The first time I appeared on a German morning show I was given an earpiece with a real-time translator. As the interviewer spoke in German, I had to feign interest while trying to catch what my translator was saying in my ear. After every question there was a five- to ten-second delay while my translator finished the question in my ear, and I just sat and listened, and smiled, and felt stupid. It was a little awkward, but I can think of worse things. On that same trip, I also did a late-night show where the host acted as the translator. He talked to me in English and then turned to the crowd and spoke in German. Several times during this process the crowd burst into laughter, and I remember thinking, What I said wasn’t funny. I deduced that he was either making fun of me, or making me seem more fun. I still don’t know what he said, and part of me doesn’t want to. I felt very uncomfortable, but again, I can think of worse things—like the time I accidentally told Josh Groban I had bad gas. Moving on.

  One of my most anticipated performances was on Conan. When the stage managers came to give us our fifteen-minute call, I got out my violin to do a small warm-up and realized the tension in my bow was shot. I twisted the end and instead of getting tighter as it should, it spun loosely in my hand. I was going to be on live TV in less than fifteen minutes and I didn’t have a bow! My manager, Adina, immediately found a stagehand and asked whether there were any other violinists in the band or on the whole Warner Bros. lot from whom we could borrow a bow. The stagehand disappeared and returned several minutes later holding three bows he’d dug out of the prop closet. One was completely fake and one was missing nearly all the bow hair. This left me with no choice but to use the last—an uneven fiberglass bow. I held it in my hands and said hesitantly, “I think it’s real.” In the remaining three minutes before my performance, I rubbed as much rosin as I could on the dirty bow hair and played a few scales to warm up.

  I looked around at my band and crew. “It sounds okay, right?”

  “Better than it would without . . .” Adina replied.

  When I finally watched the replay on TV that night, I was mortified by the scratchy sound of my violin. For the next few days I dodged all phone calls from my family until I was ready to face the performance. When I solemnly confided in my mom, she laughed.

  “That’s hysterical!”

  I’m glad she thought so.

  Dipping my toes into the industry also meant occasionally brushing shoulders with other performers. One of the first times this happened, I was performing on Dancing with the Stars on the same night as Michael Bublé. At my rehearsal the day before I joked with the producer that I wouldn’t mind if she put me in the dressing room next to his. When she walked me backstage the next night she smiled and nodded as we passed the sign above Michael’s dressing room, which was conveniently next to mine. Later that night, she came into my room and told me it would be a good time to take a stroll down the hall (wink!). I opened the door and there he was, mingling with some people a few feet away. When I finally got up the courage to go say hi, he was so charming I actually thought he was enjoying our conversation. Then I remembered I was talking to the king of charisma and that he could vomit onstage and make it look magical. Regardless of whether or not he was really interested in my life, he acted the part well, and for that I will always love him.

  Not all my hobnobbing opportunities ended as well as my conversation with Michael. In fact, I’ve botched quite a few first impressions over the years. Since I had a hard time narrowing it down to just one, I decided to include a few of my favorite celebrity run-ins.

  JESSIE J

&nbs
p; I love Jessie J. In fact, I think she is one of the best live performers ever, like ever ever. Unfortunately, my encounter with her was an epic fail. I have seen Jessie perform twice now, and most recently I played on an Australian morning show right after her. Of course she killed it, and when her set was over, she walked offstage and cordially thanked all the stagehands for their hard work. As she approached Erich and me, I hoped she might say something about my music. Instead, she looked us in the eye and said, “Thank you for your help with the set.” Because I was surprised, I nodded and said, “You’re welcome.” She passed and I walked onstage, avoiding eye contact with Erich.

  ASHTON KUTCHER

  Another impression I wish I could erase took place at a Google event in London. After using the restroom, I was waiting for the elevator when I noticed a small table of complimentary mints, gum, and floss picks in the hall. Why not, I thought, as I grabbed a pick and began flossing. I was almost finished when the pick got stuck between my teeth, and of course that was also the moment the elevator doors started to open. I frantically tried to loosen the pick, with no luck. When I looked up, Ashton Kutcher was exiting the elevator in front of me. He nodded with a closemouthed smile, and I just gaped back at him—partially because I was looking at Ashton Kutcher, and partially because a floss pick was preventing my mouth from fully closing.

  RICK ASTLEY

  I grew up listening to Rick’s smash hit “Never Gonna Give You Up,” so when I saw him on the red carpet I was determined to get a picture. Adina pulled out her phone, and I politely asked Rick for a photo. As soon as we were standing side by side, a swarm of photographers attacked, like ducks on a breadcrumb. They shoved and shouted, until Rick raised a hand and said, “That’s enough,” like the seasoned superstar that he is. He walked away, and the photographers cleared, leaving Adina standing alone. Her head hung in shame. “I didn’t get it,” she whimpered. A few minutes later I poked my head into Rick’s dressing room and asked for another picture, because I was never gonna give that up.

  Adina and me in Tokyo for press.

  Although I wish some of my first impressions had been a little less uncomfortable, I don’t get starstruck very often. Seeing famous people is always neat, but I also know they are just people. Whenever I run into old acquaintances or family friends, I hear the same things.

  “I saw you did a video with Josh Groban. Looks like you made it!”

  Or, “I watched you on Conan. You finally made it!”

  I appreciate the enthusiasm. These experiences are always exciting for me, but I’m just hustling like everyone else. I’ve never thought of any one moment as a sign that I “made it.” That is, until the night I met Taylor Swift.

  She was hosting an after-party for the Billboard Music Awards, and somehow I got an invitation. I expected it to be a huge event and was worried there might be a cap on the guest list, so after the ceremony I packed up my things and went straight to the party—on the roof of Caesars Palace. Brooke and Adina were with me, and when we arrived, the doorman checked our names off a list and then gently told us we were the first to arrive.

  “Oh, is Taylor up there?” I asked.

  “No. But you are welcome to go up and wait.”

  “How embarrassing,” Brooke said under her breath.

  I’ve never felt so uncool in my entire life. Everyone knows you’re supposed to be fashionably late to a party, especially an after-party! I turned around, grabbed Brooke and Adina by the arms, and said to the doorman, “We’ll be back later. Don’t tell anyone we were here!” He laughed and said he wouldn’t, but I think he lied—little weasel. I can picture it now. Taylor Swift arrives at her party and asks the doorman if anyone has come by yet. He looks at his list.

  “Of course not, that would be humiliating. Wait a minute . . . Yes, a girl named Lindsey Stirling was here an hour ago. . . .”

  Oh, great! When we returned later, we walked out onto a patio and not more than twenty feet away stood Taylor Swift, Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, and Ed Sheeran in conversation. We were making our way casually to a fire pit on the other side of the roof when Taylor stopped midsentence and yelled, “Lindsey! Get over here!”

  Adina, Brooke, and I emitted a collective shock wave that nearly leveled Las Vegas. We all froze, looking around for a different Lindsey who might cut me off the moment I began to run toward Taylor Swift with outstretched arms. When no one else appeared, I concluded she must have been talking to me. I walked to where she stood and we talked for several minutes, about what, I couldn’t tell you. As she walked away to greet another guest, I looked back at Brooke and Adina with wide eyes.

  “You never told me you knew Taylor Swift!” Brooke chided me under her breath.

  “I don’t,” I whispered back.

  “Oh . . . she’s still behind you. Be cool.”

  She paused until Taylor passed, and then said in a whisper, “Oh my gosh, Taylor Swift just yelled your name across a room of famous people. You’ve made it!” She was half joking, but a little serious.

  I would now like to take a moment to thank the doorman for outing me and putting my name on Taylor’s radar. I would also like to point out that being thoroughly uncool can sometimes turn around and make you feel very cool indeed.

  For the record, I didn’t think it was possible for Taylor to be any nicer than she appears to be on camera, but she is. I wish I could tell you the nice things she said, but my mind was busy racing. I can’t believe I’m talking to Taylor Swift. How does she know my name? I’m so confused. And wow she’s tall. I was starstruck.

  On the flip side, I was not starstruck by Snoop Lion inviting me to smoke weed in his trailer at a YouTube gala. I told him I had to finish ironing my underwear. I think he totally bought it.

  NO-MAN’S-LAND

  I know my lifestyle isn’t exactly average, but I still consider myself very much an everyman. I drive a used car, rent a small house with two other girls, and I fly coach unless someone else is paying. I live as normally as my lifestyle will allow, yet my line of work makes it difficult for most people to relate to me on a social level. I don’t have a normal nine to five; work never starts or ends. It just goes.

  I was at a social gathering when someone asked me what I did for a living. When I told her I was a performer, she responded, “Wow, your life is so exciting! So what is it like to be famous?”

  It’s moments like this that I realize how uncomfortable I am in the social scene. I know my day-to-day is very different from most, but I don’t feel famous. I feel like me, doing my job.

  Most people find my life incredibly amusing, which also makes dating difficult. More often than not, my dates turn into unofficial interviews, and the longer I talk about my life, the less I feel like a normal human and the more I feel like a novelty. Even if a date does go well, a follow-up date is difficult when I travel several months out of the year. During one work trip, a boy I’d been out with a few times sent me a text that read, “Have fun in Japan!” Unfortunately, by the time I got the message I was already in New Zealand. Most people I meet can’t keep up, even if they want to. Relating to people with more stable lifestyles is difficult for me, too. I am frequently told I need to date people in the entertainment industry, who can understand me and keep up with my crazy schedule. Unfortunately, being a Mormon in the industry puts me on a whole new level of unrelatable.

  Exhibit A: the social gatherings. I get invited out for drinks all the time. I don’t drink, and although it doesn’t bother me when other people do, going out for drinks and not drinking isn’t all that fun. I don’t mind doing it from time to time, but it’s not my favorite go-to activity.

  Exhibit B: the common ground. Apart from our shared line of work, most of the people I meet on the job don’t have a lot in common with me. A while back, I did a recording session with a well-known writer who spent half our time together talking about topics beyond my comfort zone. Sometimes (but not always) the stereotypes are true—sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. I felt like an ou
tsider in my own sphere. Most of the people who relate to my values can’t relate to my lifestyle, and the people who relate to my lifestyle can’t relate to my values. I’m in No-Man’s-Land.

  Even with the gaps in my social life, there are two places I feel completely comfortable. The first one is being on tour with my crew. They understand my lifestyle, because they experience it with me on a daily basis, but they also respect my standards and allow me the security of being myself. On the road, I have everything I need (family, friends, and work) on one or two buses, and I love it. When I’m back “home” in LA, I miss all my tour comforts, and I often feel out of place. When my work life slows down, I usually feel lonely and sometimes even a little lost, which leads me to my second comfort zone: my parents’ house.

  My parents still live in the same house we moved into when I was eight. My room is now violet instead of green, but it’s still the same cozy sanctuary it’s always been. When I have a gap in work, my impulse is to travel home to visit my family for a few days. My mom spoils me with her homemade refried beans, we stay up till 1:00 A.M. watching musicals, and I catch up on several months’ worth of lost sleep. During my last break between tours, I had a few days in which work was slowing down and, as usual, I booked a flight home to Arizona. I was all packed and ready to leave when the voice of reason in my head told me I should stop running away. As much as I love my family, I was using my frequent trips home to avoid the task of creating a normal social life. Begrudgingly, I canceled my flight. It was time to build some relationships in Los Angeles.