The Curse of Oak Island—Part I

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“There is an island in the North Atlantic…” So begins the introduction to “The Curse of Oak Island”, a reality television show soon to enter it’s twelfth season. Ostensibly it is a reality show about two brothers looking for a treasure on an island in Nova Scotia’s largest bay.

It has all the hallmarks of a thoroughly disreputable reality television series. It is brought to us by the producers of “Ancient Aliens”, Prometheus Entertainment. It shares the same cheesy narration and writing style. It seems primed to be the punchline of many jokes.

I watched it for almost five seasons, assuming it was a show about two brothers, wasting their time and money looking for a treasure that didn’t exist. Every season it performed it’s little line dance, featuring a cornucopia of conspiracy theories and pseudo-academic rubbish.

Every episode the questions were some version of, “What will they find? Gold, jewels? Priceless relics?” And the answer was, “Of course not you barmy bottlenosed lemming!” “They’re going to find *NOTHING*, *NADA*, *BUPKIS*!” But I kept watching. It might have been the domain of the lunatic fringe, but it was entertaining.

The relationship between the brothers made it interesting. The somewhat sick attraction of what appeared to be a slow motion train wreck made it difficult to stop watching. When will they run out of money and/or motivation? When will the show get cancelled?

Then, season five, episode ten, but who’s counting? Something completely unexpected happened—something that quite literally turned my worldview upside down. Something that shattered my personal smugness and conceit. Something that made me aware, especially as I processed what I had seen, that most of the history I had been taught, was rubbish, and so many theories I assumed were for the ignorant and gullible, were quite possibly true.

Gary Drayton, a metal detection expert, with the help of Rick Lagina, found a little lead cross on the Smith’s Cove beach on Oak Island. A lead cross that would fit into the palm of your hand, that could only have been of medieval European origins.

In episodes that followed it was proven, quite conclusively, that this cross was from a mine in Southern France, that was only worked during the early Medieval period, in an area dominated by the Knights Templar. The cross exactly matched a carving of a cross from a prison in Dome France, where it was carved by Knights Templar where they were held after King Philip of France and Pope Clement V attempted to destroy their order.

And it wasn’t a one off, accidentally dropped their by someone else, at a later date. Other pieces of lead, decorative and otherwise, have been found at other locations on the island, that also originated from that same mine in southern France.

So you want to be a professional?

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A lot of years ago I had one lesson with a real professional vocal coach. It was life changing. I probably learned more from that one hour long lesson than I learned from any other single hour in my entire life. Decades later I am still absorbing the lessons I learned in that one hour. This is one of those lessons.

What does it mean to be a professional?

It means that no one cares. No one cares if you are tired, or sick. No one cares whether you are having a bad day or a good day. Do your job. Do that job to the best of your abilities.

It means you are an adult. Stage fright is for children. Fear of heights is for children. Being “grossed out” is for children. Some day, if you reach that place in your career, someone may ask you about your struggles. You can talk about them then.

Right now you have a job to do. Do your job. Do that job to the best of your abilities. Your struggles haven’t magically vanished, but right now you have a job to do, and they are, for the most part, irrelevant.

Ask that person whose job it is to climb poles and work with the lines attached to those poles. They may tell you that they are afraid of heights, but they do the job anyway. Ask a nurse if they are “grossed out” by vomit and excrement. They may tell you they are, but they do their job anyway.

Your performance isn’t about you.

If you are a performer, and you are a professional, your performance isn’t about you. Your audience has payed to see a show, and your job is to deliver your lines, play your instrument, sing, or whatever it is you do on that stage, to the best of your ability, without excuses.

Your job is to be consistent, and to provide every audience with a show they will remember and talk about for the rest of their lives, no matter how you are feeling, no matter what kind of a day you have had. No one buys tickets to a show to make fun of the performers. Fans don’t attend a show to see their idols fail. They come to see a show and walk away with good memories.

Your job is to make sure they walk away with what they payed for, and it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve given the same performance, or how you feel about the material you are working with, or the people you are on the stage with. If you ever arrive at that place in your career, you can save those complaints for the tabloids.

But, but, but… Where’s the love?

That professional vocal coach didn’t say what I’ve said here out loud. But what I’ve said here was woven into every second of that lesson. When you learn that lesson, far from destroying your love for what you do, it empties your performance of everything that would distract you. It allows you to fill that space with your technical skill, and with your love for what you do.