This was no longer an experiment. I felt a huge responsibility not to let people down. Arenas of 20,000 and three-day gigs of 45,000 were no place to try out new material. I dabbled with changes, introducing a small addition or mutation here and there. But they were swallowed up by the echoing, cavernous venues. Though the audiences continued to grow, I experienced a concomitant depression caused by exhaustion, isolation, and creative ennui...The hour and a half I spent performing was still fun, but there were no band members, no others on stage, and after the show, I took a solitary ride back to the hotel, where I was speedily escorted by security across the lobby. A key went in a door, and boom: the blunt interior of a hotel room. Nowhere to look but inward.
I just finished Steve Martin's Born Standing Up, in which he discusses the nascence, evolution, and ultimate disengagement with his stand-up comedy career. Awesome, honest read.