Why, just why, are we moths to the flame?
Artists are a funny breed. I am lumping myself into this previous statement because as a creative type, my urges to create, to elevate my potential, and hold my metaphorical baby Simba to the sky above the herd in a show of accomplishment is what pushes me to both pleasure and madness at the same time in the pursuit of our artistic selfish soul satisfaction. And long sentences. I ponder and re-ponder my creative paths a lot, as do most creatives I believe, and my mind wanders to not just the final results, but crackles around the rickety 20-in-1 Radio Shack electronic circuitry called my brain to attempt to dissect what ‘it’ truly is that makes us all do what we do, whatever that ‘it’ may be.
For this disquisition I will be speaking from the musical side of the creative world. Even though I consider myself a writer and accomplished finger painter, I will focus on the music, which is ironic because historically musicians have a truly difficult time focusing. There will be a lot of ground to cover (or as some therapists would call ‘unpack’), so go ahead and top off your Caribou Breakfast Blend, for we may be here a while.
Metaphors for living life to its fullest seem to be on everyone’s social feed, and you know, we can only ‘Live Laugh Love’ so many hours in a day. We work, we cook (or heat up something someone else has prepared), and we sleep. In between all of that everyday noise there is a small, constant sound being produced that nips at our subconscious. If I had to describe as a musical instrument, the closest I could get to it would be a didgeridoo, which resonates in low, droning tones that mimic a tiger on the hunt; eventually become one with the sonic landscape. This constant drone is…
The Reason
The Reason is why we do what we do. It’s why we feel called to the garage to tinker on project ‘A’, or why we are always online researching new places to kite surf around the world. How did it get here? Well, that was The Spark. The spark for a million kids on February 9, 1964 was watching The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. The spark for some could be as simple as a car show, a demonstration of archery, or a cooking class. The spark then gets nurtured and eventually becomes the Reason. The Reason can also become interpreted as passion.
My Spark was most likely my Uncle, who was a guitar player in a local band in Pittsburgh. I knew my family had musical inclination; my Mom played piano and guitar very well, and so there was a constant sort of hum around the house. I went to school one day and there was a lady who came in to demonstrate violin and sign kids up for classes. I was in. 8 years old. Of course, no one told me about the ridiculously strange and difficult journey that my life would become. Knowing that information at age 8, I probably would have forged ahead anyway, but made a better deal to keep more of my publishing along the way.
The Moments
When I lived in Mobile, Alabama, I had a 22 foot sailboat. Sadly, I can’t even remember the name of the vessel, but I know that it brought me a season of immense joy. My friend Jason and our tech Hambone helped me clean her out and sail her across the Bay to her new berth. There is nothing like the thrill of a new adventure, even if only 22 feet long and one bay wide.
One perfect afternoon I had a sail with my little brother that was the best time I ever had on my boat (conversely, and in hindsight, being stuck on the sand bar on a different day wasn’t the worst time, but more on that in a different entry). A storm was coming in, and we caught this beautiful gust just ahead of it all, and so we were enjoying some sandwiches, slightly rising above the water in our little vessel, smiling the whole time. It made all the trouble of boat ownership worth it in those moments.
The Moments are what fuel the Reason. The Moment could be that one golf drive that hit the fairway at the 280 yard marker as the rest of your drives visited the woods for extended vacations. Or the victorious, exhaust puffing turn of the ignition key on Grandpa’s pickup truck that you spent 2 years restoring. Or that intense inhale as your surfboard drops into one of the biggest waves you’ve ever tackled. Then riding it all the way to the shore. These are the small victories that keep us coming back. The knowledge that we are capable of greatness (relatively speaking) and we flash that brilliance fuels the passion for the next round.
The late jazz drummer Alan Dawson said that the definition of Groove is ‘The path of least resistance’. All of the Moments I mentioned above were just that. The Groove. When everything is working at once. And when musicians hit a groove, look out.
Musically, I have to reach back far into the vortex to remember some of the moments that have mercilessly punched me right in the soul. I remember having some shows where the band (King Konga) felt limitless, infinite. We pushed each other musically past the night before, and not quite as far as the next 24 hours ahead. I remember hearing my bass echo through the hallowed halls of famous theaters. I remember hearing my bass on the radio for the first time. I think of playing notes with iconic artists, and intimate jams with people you’ll never hear of. I remember the times I just sat alone and played and my heart was full. Which leads me to…
The Payoff
Money. Fame. Notoriety. A Jedi craves not these things. Yoda didn’t say a THING about George Lucas, however. In all honesty, there is a fine line to the starving artist cliché, and I am certainly not shattering any secret codes here, but musicians are human; we are typically struggling to make ends meet, and filled with just as much anxiety and existential dread as the next person, if not more.
Money vs. art? This is the age-old debate that attempts to find the balance for all of us creatives. Granted, there is a line. Are you a golf pro hopeful, or a golf hopeful? Then there is a small difference in the approach. Just one drive down the fairway per round ain’t gonna cut that mustard. And with music, well, we have to draw lots of lines in the sand. How far and how are we going to play this? All the way? Weekend warrior? Hobbyist? To quote the late, great Sean Connery from The Untouchables: ‘What are you willing to do?’
I heard another great saying once: ‘Music is its own reward’. It truly is. Those moments where I sit quietly and write songs no one will hear or finding new places for my fingers to go on a fretboard is almost a religious experience. My soul is fed by music, in every form or fashion, and whereas I may never be a rich man, my heart is full when I hear ‘the’ sound. When I am old and grey (or maybe even next week), chances are you’ll find me holed up in a back booth of a jazz club in New Orleans remembering that one note or that one show…
…and then I’ll go home and play music some more.
I don’t know if any of this can be scientifically proven, however, these excuses I use to play music may work. And maybe, somewhere in there you need a spark for your own path. Don’t forget to stop, listen, and act to that droning, sometimes nagging sound that beckons your curiosity. At the end of it all, money or no money, we all end up in the same place. We might as well have fun in between the dashes.
See you on the road!
Steve. Let me say I am as impressed with your writing as I am your music.