Last night, I had the distinct pleasure of spending an evening out in New Orleans, my first time to the beloved city. After some event related stuff, Sean Power and I a few other folks headed over to the Maple Leaf Bar for some socializing and to listen to a phenomenal brass band called Rebirth.

Music is in my blood, so I’m always moved and inspired when I hear something really outstanding. But this morning as I was headed home to Chicago, I got to thinking about how the band and the audience’s interaction can teach us a few things about the communities we’re trying to build.

Shared Dance Space.

I was struck by something subtle, but significant to this city-bred girl. There was a tiny dancefloor in front of the stage, maybe 10 feet across and not much longer in the other direction. But no one jostled or threw elbows when it got crowded. No one got rude or pushy or obnoxious about getting near the stage. They just all made room and shared the dance space, communally, enjoying the performance together. And it seemed like no matter how many people made their way in, the crowd found room for them somewhere.

We get awfully territorial about our turn in the spotlight online sometimes, and fight to be heard over the din and stake our claim to our little pieces of web real estate. But there’s more than enough room to go around. It’s a big dance floor out there.

Call and Response.

The band fed on the audience. And not in just the way of “thank you, Detroit!” shouted at the end of a rock concert. I mean these guys really felt like an extension of the group they were playing for, and the proximity of the stage to the crowd definitely helped. Many of their tunes included some call and response, and interaction and singing with the crowd. It was so clear from the very start that they were really playing for the audience’s sake, not their own.

As businesses, we want so badly for folks to look at us, that we forget to let people be heard. To ask them in, to hear them when they speak, to have them participate and be part of the experience we’re building, not just the “target” for it.

No Rockstars.

In a band, there’s always a leader, or someone who helps give cues to the other players, calls out audibles on the set list, stuff like that. But in the best bands, the ones like this one, every player gets his or her turn to shine. The leader is functional – someone to keep everyone together – but he’s not the one in the front of the spotlight every time.

The lead trumpet guy was outstanding, awfully reminiscent of Louis Armstrong, and he was clearly running point (if you watch for that sort of thing). But the entire band was in the spotlight. All the brass shared the front line of the stage, with equal billing. The percussion guys and the sousy (the sousaphone player) got their moments too, even from the back of the stage. No rockstars. Just collaborators.

Microfame and the ease of being seen on the web often lure us into thinking we need the spotlight, and that everyone needs to be watching us to see how awesome we are. But as businesses, we’re not the rockstars. We’re as much a part of the community as the people who build it, and we’d fare better if we learned how to make everyone feel important and valued.

Fun = Win.

Wow, do these guys love their gig. It’s so obvious, from the way they interact with each other on stage to just the sheer awesomeness that is their music (you don’t get that good if you don’t love it). They jam. They dance. They smile, and they pour everything they have into that performance. I’m not sure how these guys had the chops to play for several hours straight the way they did, but they were having a good time doing it.

Yes, business is about growth, profit, results, goals and objectives. These guys make their living doing this, so the dollars at the door matter to them, as does the traffic up to the bar. It all makes it possible for them to do the next gig.

But the thing that separates the humans from the balance sheet is our capacity to think, feel, emote, and do more than function like a machine. The work we do is important, but the communities we hope to build need to have an element of enjoyment. Of satisfaction and purpose, of something we’re sharing and building that makes the experience better than doing, well, something else.

So that’s a little of what I learned last night. Well, that, and that a few hours of dancing with a brass band at close range can wreak havoc on your ears, and your feet. But boy, thanks New Orleans and the boys of Rebirth. It was worth every crowded, loud, happy, soulful minute.

image credit: Rebirth Facebook Fan Page

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