Tag Archives: art

The Ups and Downs of Life as a Performing Artist

For every spectacular live stage performance you watch that seems like it was seamlessly evoked from thin air, you can bet that there were hours and hours of time spent in dark, crowded practice spaces going over those same songs again and again and again.

The performing life is odd. I don’t even know how to describe it. Especially for a person like me who is a library assistant (pretty much a librarian without librarian pay because I don’t have my MS degree) by day, musician by night. Most days I spend sitting in a quiet, old, dusty building in the middle of a semi-rural neighborhood in the Bay Area, helping old people find books about how to not die and kids find books about farts and diaper superheros. I have to make rent somehow.

library rockstar

My sister drew this for me, to describe my life.

At night, I am in a practice space with other musicians (the members of my band Kyrsten Bean, and the members of Nicky Garratt’s band Hedersleben), working on either songs I wrote or songs my band mates have written and we have all collaborated on. There is a lot of drilling of the same parts over and over again, debating about what works and what doesn’t. We record our practices and then I listen to them while I’m driving to the library the next day, to work so I can buy food and gas to fuel my life.

On Thursday night, Hedersleben had our first little sampler show at the Oakland Metro. It was a blast. I met a lot of awesome musicians in the bands that played after we opened, and in the audience of people who had come to check out this krautrock thing we are doing. It felt very good. I didn’t sleep much that night. The next day was the slowest day ever at the library. I sat at the reference desk or in the back room staring at the walls or ceiling, catching up on library projects, helping patrons, but mostly sitting. Staring. Wondering if the night before had really happened.

hedersleben***

That night after work, I went over to see the launch of my friend Joe’s book, Junkie Love. I helped with the trailer for that one by playing a junkie. My friend Joel was the star. It was filmed in my bedroom.

I was nervous to finally watch it for the first time in a room with 81 people, but when I finally saw it I was impressed. It’s a little love story. About what a junkie thinks love is–about dope being love and love being dope.

Here it is, anyhow:

***

It was the same thing that night. I went to the book launch, it was exciting to see my friends kill it with their readings and to watch the trailer I had been a part of.
After the reading, I bumped into Alan Kaufman, who had come to support Joe. We ended up having a conversation about performing life. I don’t know why I felt compelled to vent to him about it, he merely asked me how it had been filming the trailer in my bedroom. I told him that it had been heavy, and I’d felt like crap for a week afterwards. He totally got it. Alan is a beat poet, wrote the book Drunken Angel (which I am just now cracking open and is amazing). He’s been there.

I told him about how I’d just had a performance the night before, how exciting it was. We had a guy from a record label come out to see us, everyone loved it, I was on cloud nine. There are tours being booked, details being finalized. We are recording an album at the end of the month. I have a show with my own band being worked on for May 30 as we speak. So much of what I love. So much awesomeness. Then I spent the next day sitting at the library.

“That’s awful!” said Alan. I looked at him, and I knew he meant that exactly how it feels to me. That it’s not working at a library or being around books that is awful, it’s the contrast between being in the middle of a cosmic synergistic excitement hub of splendor and then having to drive to work the next day and sit and stare at books.

I’m not complaining, don’t get me wrong! I love libraries. It’s just a strange, deflating transition. I find myself sitting there asking myself if any of the excitement actually happened. Which of these scenarios is my real life? The one where I am on stage in my element, doing what I love, carting gear in and out, talking music language with fellow musicians, or the one where I am sitting still at a reference desk at a library in the middle of nowhere, a city most people don’t even know exists in the Bay Area as it’s unincorporated.

It’s enough to make me feel stark raving mad sometimes, the ups and downs. I love my life. I love doing music. I love that I took my dreams of childhood and am finally bringing them to fruition. But there are things I got to talk about with Kaufman that he just got immediately. Doing performances and then sitting in your room for days trying to decompress. Having your ego fed, having it inflate, and then having the pin stuck in the balloon as the air fizzles out over the next couple of days. Our conversation blew my mind, was just what I needed.  Joel, who had rode with me to the event, didn’t need a ride home, so then I went home to my diet coke and gluten-free cookie and stared at Facebook. Then I went to sleep, and got up to go work at the library.

The Quiet Times (Boredom Kills Me)

“I hate the quiet times. I need some company. I miss the noise of life. The silence deafens me.” – The Sound UK/Hour of Need

Real life is getting in the way of me having constant excitement, attention, joy and stimulation and it’s pissing me off.

I’ve been pretty quiet here, I know. It’s been one of those interstices where everything was fun and interesting for a while, seemed like it was picking up/going somewhere, and then all of a sudden I found myself waiting again. For something. In the interim margins.

It’s been a weird year in general. In many ways, I’ve been happier than ever before. In other ways, it’s been a major overhaul of almost every stupid ineffective coping mechanism I unconsciously acted on in the past that gets in the way of me being a happy fulfilled artist people are attracted to.

Dull days. That’s where I’ve been. I had that writing and music work-related road trip, and it was great, I did a lot, I got things accomplished, I scored a great amp. But then I got back and everything that was exciting fizzled out. None of my bands got together to practice because one is out of town, the other I missed, being out of town myself, and my own had problems meeting up for whatever reason. I feel like things are going at a glacial pace. The only things consistent sometimes are the things that drive me absolutely nuts, like working for other people during the day part-time, and sitting and facing my own emotional baggage. I feel like I’m partially on my path and partially stuck.

I’ve been bored and restless and looking for a fix. Which sucks, because I had a while there where I was making huge strides and felt very peaceful and positive. I’m mostly making some progress in personal areas that affect my being in the driver seat of my own life. Like I said in a previous post, I used to just ride along with what everyone else wanted from me. I played victim/passenger for many, many years, waiting for my life to happen, and I’ve been working very hard to change that, because no one is going to live my life for me or make the things I desire to happen, happen. And I was tired of being surrounded by people who wanted to run my life. These days, not surprisingly, I’m much more positive and accepting of people, because I’m much more positive and accepting of myself.

This past week I’ve had to take action in two instances. One was with a person I was hanging out with who ended up not being what I thought, and I had to step back. Another incident was when a fellow creative snapped at me in a way that freaked me out and made me think she didn’t want to be my friend anymore.

In the first instance, I could have kept hanging out with the person who wasn’t what I expected, hoping they’d change.

But based on recent past experience, I took note of red flags, looked at my goals and realized that no matter how amazing this person seemed (and this person is amazing), they weren’t what I wanted and they weren’t going to be healthy for me in the long run in the way I wanted them in my life, because they were telling me, blatantly, they didn’t want to be there in that way, yet I kept hanging out, even though I said I wanted something different. So I set my boundaries and have (mostly) stuck to my guns. Because it’s not about other people and what they do, necessarily. It’s about what I allow.

I chose in this instance to go with uncomfortable feelings in the short term as opposed to sticking with something that would make me more uncomfortable in the long run, was distracting me from my artistic goals because it felt good in the moment. Mostly, I was in denial of reality and bullishly wanting to pursue what I wanted when I wanted it, because I felt I deserved it now, on my terms. I ended up learning, essentially, that sometimes things come along that are ALMOST everything you want, but aren’t everything you want, and you have to let them go, even though it’s hard.

In the second instance, when my artistic friend snapped at me in a way that made me shut down immediately, I could have huffed away. I could have sat staring at the menu inside the coffee shop were were sitting in, in total shutdown mode, like a dog who is about to get beat, acting like I was invisible, feeling victimized. Instead I confronted her and asked why she was upset with me, in between both of us acting as if we were gonna huff away or get in a fist fight because of our similar fear of confrontation. Eventually, I told her how her actions made me feel and we ended up talking for another hour, becoming better friends in the process. I realized she felt left out, even though she seems like she’s the coolest girl in school. I was shocked…and learned a lot.

As far as my band, I’ve been trying to find another guitar player. It’s a weird process, and it’s taking forever because we only meet once a week and we sometimes don’t meet during the week because of scheduling conflicts. And I’ve been feeling aimless, anyhow, not sure where I’m going/what I’m doing with any of this. I want to finish working on my songs, record them, and perform them. It seems like it’s taking forever because I have to rely on other people, but I am super glad I have other people to rely on, because I didn’t even have THAT a while ago.

So really, my problem is a matter of impatience. Life is quiet right now. It’s slow. Not much excitement is happening. Things aren’t feeling good all the time. There are lots of lessons to be learned, many ways in which the universe is testing me, and I, like a junkie, just want to feel good. I want a quick fix. But I know that nothing quick will fix me, so I’m waiting, regardless of how I feel, and sitting with the boredom, hoping it won’t kill me. I really hope someday that I am fulfilled in a way that I’m not watching the hours tick away on a clock, and for me, that means doing more music, writing, readings and performances, working with other artists, not having a day job anymore. But there’s an upward climb to being a self-supporting artist. It’s hard, it takes time. Patience. Stamina. Not giving up.

It Takes A Village

A thought struck me while I was cooking breakfast this morning: I would never be where I am today without the things I’ve been through and done in the past. And where am I now? Stoked on life. Having so many amazing moments I didn’t think were possible.

What did it take to get me to lower my expenses, be honest about the fact that in order to pursue my art and be true to myself I couldn’t live the life I was living anymore? It took losing my health and my sanity and my marriage, that’s what. I had to be at a point where I had what seemed like absolutely nothing before I could take the reins of my own life and go after what I know I came here to do in a way I never have before: Music. Writing. Being Me.

Nothing to lose. Everything to gain.

I used to be the world’s worst invalidator–of myself. And because I was constantly putting myself down I attracted people who criticized me in subtle ways that were corrosive and toxic. Then I internalized the beliefs of the people I’d surrounded myself by, as well as my own, that I couldn’t do what I wanted and survive.

It’s just so wack the way the universe works. I had to go through some terribly hard shit to get to the point where I realized life is short, I could die tomorrow and I will be bloody pissed if I didn’t do my damndest to own being the performer and musician and writer I’ve been working at being my entire life. It’s what I’m here to do.

I also used to be really good at playing the victim. I would blame circumstances or other people for my lot in life. It was the doctor’s fault for putting me on horrible back pain and anxiety medications that destroyed my health and nervous system and made me face the bowels of hell (it wasn’t. I sought him out, and I had a pre-existing addictive personality). It was my husband’s fault for wanting a more conventional life and not understanding that art is not and has never been a hobby for me (we were different. That’s all. Neither his way nor mine was “correct”). It was my full-time job’s fault for making me work so much (I chose to work 9 – 5 through my early twenties so I could go on more trips and buy more material things).

And I was real jealous. I had a hard time accepting other people’s successes because of my own lack of success at going after what I really desired. I also thought there wasn’t enough to go around. I held onto an American society competitive market attitude.

So what changed? I got off pills, first of all. Then, I acted as if I already was what I believed I was. I told people I was a musician instead of saying, “Er, sometimes I kind of play some songs and stuff.” I surrounded myself by people who would call me on my shit and demand I take action, instead of supporting me wallowing in reasons I couldn’t do what I believe in. I started taking control of my life instead of being a passenger in it drifting this way and that.

And I continue to do other things. Daily meditation. Journaling for hours a day to find out who the hell I am and what I really want. Making sure that if I’m not happy with my life I make tiny goals to move me towards my bigger goals. Giving myself credit every day and not looking for it in other people as much. Writing gratitude lists.

And eventually I ended up where I am now. Surrounded by people whose lives I respect and admire, people who are successfully doing what I want to do, therefore don’t naysay the possibility of doing so. If you talk to someone who hasn’t tried, they’re going to likely tell you you will fail. I intend to stick with those who have succeeded, and remain teachable. I have faith that if I was given  talents I will be able to use them in this life.

***

Last night, I got to jam out with some amazingly talented musicians doing krautrock style music (irony after all the krautrock stuff I posted a few days back, eh?). I lugged my keyboards and guitar out to my friend’s practice space; a musician girl friend down the street let me borrow her pimped out Fender Twin Reverb Amp. I got to sing, and play piano and guitar. We had an electric violinist and classical pianist who were trying out a jam, like me, alongside one of my oldest friends on drums, and a guitarist and bass player whose creds go back through a ton of amazing bands and decades in the music industry. They’re all paid, working, gigging musicians, amazingly talented, and people I want to be more like.

I came home and face planted on the bed, deliciously exhausted. Tomorrow, I have band practice for my own songs, we are working on seven of them right now. Friday, I’m going to go try out as singer for another band project, we are going to cover some PJ Harvey songs to warm up. This is how I am going to continue working my life. Music, music, music.

You know, mostly in my former life, I was afraid to be myself, and afraid to be happy. I thought I had to be negative and tough to protect myself. And I kept attracting people who reinforced this belief system. But I’ve learned in the past year, after leaving everything that was comfortable to me and starting all over again, that I don’t need to have people near me who make me feel small. I want to be around people who make me feel good and believe in me, so I started believing in myself. I deserve that.

I am grateful to be alive and doing what I love on a daily basis. I’m also grateful to all of the people who have helped me every step along the way. I read a quote the other day that said love is good when given, but better when shared, and I do believe it takes a village to raise an artist. We need each other. And I look around me and am so proud of my kick ass friends, writers, artists, musicians, who have walked with me through this past number of years. We are all doing amazing things with our lives. Success is how you define success. To me, success is managing to do so much of what I love, with or without validation from society. I told one of my friends last night that this has been an amazing year so far. “This will be a year to remember,” he said.

You never know what you can create if you believe in yourself.

Assuming the Best For Your Art

I’ve had two incidents in the past few days that have made me think about my automatic default mechanism of thinking the worst about people’s reactions to my art when I put it out there. It’s made me decide to start assuming the best instead, no matter how weird it feels.

I’ve been pushing myself to get out there more, this year my goal is to have two musical projects I’m a part of, ideally two bands, more ideally, two bands where I am the singer in the band, and one that actually tours. Since I made that goal, I’ve lined up two singing auditions and apparently started my own band and a very hilarious punk tongue-in-cheek side project is in the works. But more on that later, don’t want to blow my wad too soon. The key here is to keep lining things up.

When I was younger, I used to try something once, get rejected, and then bury my head in the sand. I knew I was talented, but I was so bloody sensitive, if someone didn’t get my songs I would run away. Far away. Sometimes across the country. Literally. Ask my parents.

Happy_Ostrich_is_Happy

What are you lookin at?

Ok, example number one. I got an email for the latest issue of PoV Magazine and in the body of the email was a description of the great new issue. My first immediate thought was, “Damn, I didn’t know they were putting out a new issue, I should have submitted something.” Then I closed my email and forgot about it.

Tonight, I was killing time and opened my email again and it dawned on me that this issue was a compilation, and I seemed to recall being told a few months back one of my pieces would be in it, but had forgotten. So I opened the issue and saw some of my peers and my immediate thought was, “Of course THEY are in here, they’re so much better than me. Why would my anything be in here?” The little fourth grader who always felt not cool enough started to freak out and then I saw my picture and a story I’d worked years on. Duh. My story is in there too. Silly rabbit. It’s here: http://www.povmagazine.co.uk/

Another example. Someone I know posted a question about needing a person to play a certain instrument in one of their band projects. I immediately turned to my notebook and wrote, “Damn, I wish I was better at that instrument. I would love to do something like that.” Not more than five minutes later this person texted me and asked if I COULD do something like that and gave me the contact info for the person in charge of the project. So I called that person, but assumed since my skills in this particular instrument were not at virtuouso level it was moot, even though I was open to give it a shot. We started corresponding by email, I sent some clips to my work and I was honest about my abilities to the point that when I shot off one particular email I avoided checking my email again for about eight hours. That’s it, I thought. I tried, good shot chap.

When I checked my email that night the dialogue was still very open and it was a very positive response. And it continued on that way, until I was invited to drop in on a jam session.

I don’t want to talk too much about it, anyhow, because it’s still an open dialogue, and I’m a little superstitious about talking too much about things that are in the process of coming about or not but haven’t yet. Doesn’t matter either way. One shot here or there is not going to make or break me because my goal is to keep putting myself out there and not run away like a weirdo ostrich.

The bottom line being that each time I had an assumption about my own creative abilities, put myself out there, and assumed the worst, based on seeing through the filter of my past experience of putting myself out there and being rejected before I spent years and years honing my crafts, it was actually not the worst, not even close.

PS: I read this piece the other day that calls bullshit on the whole “be careful what you wish for” myth, the idea that the universe is out to get you and will punish you for asking for things: Be Careful What You Wish For! And Other Fairytales, so I think whatever happens happens, and if you think positive, work hard and believe positive, you can attract positive and that’s not just hippy dippy bs. Being in the right place at the right time with the right skills does happen, the key is to keep your nose to the grindstone regardless of external validation, because you believe in what you’re doing.

On a random note, this song popped up in my dream last night and I can’t stop listening to it today. It’s so seemingly simple but profoundly amazingly poignant and perfect. That’s good songwriting. The fucking Rolling Stones, man. I’m not even a huge fan of the band, but there have been a few songs I’m just enamored with and have covered based on how beautiful and deceptively simple and perfect they are.

Doing the Daily Routine Thing

routine

I think a lot of people have the misconception that for artistic people, creations just fly out without any forethought, planning or daily routine. Maybe if you are Billy Childish (a prolific musician, poet, writer), but not so much for the rest of us.

I know a lot of writers, musicians and artists. The Bay Area, especially Oakland and San Francisco, is a magnet for us. Of the ones I know who are successful, there is a daily routine, whether it’s sitting down every morning to write a number of pages, or getting into a practice space alone or with a band to work on music.

I think we get this idea that creating music, writing or art is something that just POW happens. I assure you, it’s not. Sure, I’ve had many moments where I’m on a long road trip and some tiny little line comes into my head, for example, today as I was walking to my car to go to work I was thinking about how punk in Oakland has become this glam thing all around (what happened to cutting your own hair and sewing on your own patches? When did all the punks become fashion models?) and I thought, “Well, fashion punk is not dead.”

Inspiration comes in random bits. And the bits are what we make of them. If I scribble stuff down when it pops into my head, I can pore through all my scraps of paper later and maybe cobble together a song or poem.

But in the interim, I have to do things like wake up every morning, meditate, throw some tarot cards and write a page in my writing notebook. That way, I have a center, and a notebook filling with writing. A page a day doesn’t seem like much, but at the end of the year, that’s 365 pages to choose from. Two pages a day is 730 pages.

Same goes for music. Right now, I practice music once a week with other people, and work on songs in whatever spaces I have, usually late at night from midnight until 2am. For the once a week practice, that’s 52 days of practicing songs with other musicians. Twice a week is 104. And on it goes.

So, even if those morning pages or that band practice is shitty on that day, you are showing up on a routine basis for the muse to strike when ready, and while you’re not looking, you’re getting better at your craft. If you have a routine, you don’t have to stress the fuck out all of the time, because you know every morning, (or night for you night owls) you can go back to whatever you’re working on, pick up where you left off. It becomes a habit, and if people ask, “So, what have you been doing lately with your art?” you can validly say, “Oh, just writing (practicing music, painting, etc) every morning.” It also makes that crazy passion and intensity a bit less like a firework waiting to explode.

And now, when you look back in a few months or years, there’s actually going to be something to draw from. Of course, you still have to make sense of what you created, but…it’s a start. It’s harder for random life stuff to knock you off balance when you’re strong in your own center of gravity, and that strength can come from something as basic as showing up for yourself in a simple routine.

I’ve been doing real good with a morning routine in general the past eight months, but the past few weeks I got sick and then in desperation to get out of the house I went out to shows and to the city and did social shit, which kind of knocked me off my routine because I drank coffee and stayed up late and got all manic from interacting with dozens of people, and then couldn’t sleep because I had to process all the interaction. Another routine I got out of because of being sick is hiking and kettlebell, both which serve to calm my mind dooooown. So, as much as I hate anything seemingly stagnant or, god forbid, boring, I cannot wait until I am feeling well enough to kick some hiking and strength training ass and get back on some sort of stable routine in other regards.

Day of Tea and Documentaries

I spent the other day watching cool documentaries about music while drinking PG Tips. I have a friend I’ve known since I was about 5 years old who lives a couple blocks from me here in Oakland. He’s basically more obsessed with music than I am. Maybe not more obsessed, but more focused. He’s been able to collect a shit ton of amazing records over the years, and has played in bands with some very cool indie musicians.

Basically, since I’ve been back in Oakland, him and a few of my old-school punk friends have filled me in on years of post-punk and punk I had missed out growing up, plus a bunch of crossover bands such as Neurosis and Amebix, thus spawning my interest in learning more about their roots. Since I’ve been listening to other music, the music I grew up on starts to sound more and more like mainstream watered-down dookie, even though I still appreciate and enjoy the sentiment and emotion behind it.

***

Anyhow, I started with a documentary about Norwegian death metal that talks about this death metal band, Mayhem, where the lead singer killed himself and the guitarist was murdered. It also talks about how they got caught up in the image of what they were trying to portray so much the didn’t separate reality from fantasy, which led to the burning of churches by fans and some really dark cult shit. But from the outward appearances, below the myth, their families knew them all as these nice boys and the band members all seemed like pretty intuitive sensitive souls.

The second documentary I watched was about the anarcho-punk project from the early 80s called Crass, which existed right before Amebix, a more metal-influenced band with punk ethics, began. Crass had an open-door commune (I think it still exists) in England. It was cool to watch the documentary and fantasize about running away to England and having my own little commune, barring the reality of doing something like that these days.

I don’t know. Watching it I was filled with this idealism, really wanting to just get out of a society where everyone is too busy for each other, too focused on working and themselves and being raging egomaniacs to build something as necessary as community. Watching the members of Crass trim plants in a beautiful outdoor setting while making room for all sorts of DIY projects, all the money from Crass going to fund these projects, made me a bit teary eyed, the punk-hippy in me coming out I guess.

The documentary also talks about other anarcho-punk bands of the time, but the next documentary I watched kind of picked up where Crass left off, talking about the squats in Bristol and how Amebix got started after the idealism of the anarcho-punk bands was being stifled out by, as Rob Miller, vocalist of Amebix put it, another type of conformity, all these rules within a punk society that was supposed to be independent and liberal and different from all the other conformist movements out there.

The band members wanted to create music as poignant musically as Black Sabbath, without the shit instrumentation of punk and without the shit lyrics of most metal, and they wanted to carry on those core ideals of the movement but they also had a darker backbone. They ended up creating a cult following band that many independent bands, including Neurosis, trace their roots back to this day, before they ended the project.

Lest I pigeonhole Amebix, here’s a snippet from an essay on the band that explains them a bit better:

“Amebix were never just playing the music that would become crust punk and death metal. Unlike their successors, who have worked within the parameters of a very specific stylistic niche, Amebix truly belong to a long history of British electric guitar music, alongside everyone from The Fairport Convention to The Smiths to fucking Oasis. Listen for it – while their songs are the exact opposite of “rock n roll,” they also do everything a good rock n roll song does. Lyrically, Amebix were unlike anything in punk and metal before or since, and their mystical worldview has defiantly resisted reduction to any stock ideology. If anything, they fall into a tradition of British visionary literature that runs from the ancient epic poems through singular figures like John Milton, William Blake, Aleister Crowley, and David Tibet. My chief aim in this interview, aside from the simple satisfaction of my own curiosity, was to bring out the neglected aspects of Amebix’s work.” Interview here at Lurker’s Path.

One thing that struck me about the Amebix documentary was the honesty of the band members, namely Rob and Stig Miller who are interviewed throughout the film. The band lived for near four years with a bunch of other punks in serious squats in Bristol. The focus was on freedom and art, but in reality, it was also very dangerous.

It’s easy for me to idealize my old short-lived squatting days, until someone like Rob says something like this in the documentary:

“It wasn’t good. What I’ve said to people before…the whole thing about Bristol, it’s something that, it would’ve been much better if we had…a season instead of four years. The longer it went on, the more deeply mired we became in this mud. It’s unpleasant talking about it, because it was just like, increasing despair really. We had something going for us in the fact that the band (Amebix) was going somewhere, but looking back on it, we were just getting deeper and deeper and deeper in this sludge.

The image that I sometimes use is a dead city. Walking around and in between different squats, everybody’s asleep, everybody’s fucking gouged out. Drugs pulling out the souls of the whole place, the whole creative impetus of the Bristol scene just getting drained away by the perpetual fucking erosion of drugs, by smack culture, of the selfish nihilism of the whole thing. I don’t have much sentimentality towards Bristol at all, it was a very, very hard time…constant insecurity. Constant trouble.“

***

Rob and Stig both talk about the focus on the music above all else, Stig specifically speaking to how he has no idea how others perceive him, but it’s really about making the music the best it can be. I also totally related to the story of how Rob, when the band ended, had to go work in a factory to support his child and this relationship he had gotten into. After spending most of his life up to that point being unfettered, it was soul crushing for him and when he had a window, he got out of the grind after crashing his motorcycle, losing everything, and going home for six weeks to live with his parents. I believe he decided to work on Amebix again at that point.

For some of us, the grind kills us. We’re just not set up for it. And people judge and judge, but without the fighters among us who are willing to experiment with surviving in non-traditional modes of living environments in order to get our craft out, there wouldn’t be the music and writing we clutch on to. At least for me, music is what keeps me afloat a lot of the time.

Good shit. I would definitely check out the Amebix documentary. I will be watching it again for sure!

Never Alone

It’s Saturday. I’ve been updating this more than usual lately mostly because I feel like I can write here to a specific audience and not waste my breath trying to say these things elsewhere. At 31, I’m tired of trying to talk art to people who don’t give a fuck about art.

I finally finished a book my friend Kirsten recommended, “The Chronology of Water” by Lidia Yuknavitch. I’d read the acknowledgements while I was visiting her in Portland: “If you have ever fucked up in your life, or if the great river of sadness that runs through us all has touched you, then this book is for you.“

I knew after reading those lines I had to get the book. And I did. It just took me a while to finish. But I finally did last night. The last four chapters made me cry like a little baby.

I don’t like admitting that out loud. But it’s true.

The book is about the life of a woman (Yuknavitch) who comes from a (you guessed it) dysfunctional family. It’s not a poor-me story. It’s not a sequential story that goes from A to Z or explains the why of anything. It takes you on a ride. It makes you feel. It’s brutally honest, poignant and beautiful. I dog eared many pages.

I quote: “You have to forgive women like me. We don’t know any other way to do live than to throw our bodies at it. I was the kind of woman whose relationships were grenades and whose life became a series of car wrecks–anything to keep the girl I was and the girl I had–tiny daughter dolls–safe from this world.“

The book feels like a dedication to any sensitive souls out there who have lived hard lives, but are fucking strong in spite of it and perhaps because of it. Who have found a way to cope, some sort of peace in things like swimming or hiking or art, a way of being real that is constant, in spite of failed relationships and families and bumbling through years of our lives not knowing what the fuck or why.

We can write our own stories. We have that right.

The part that resonated with me the most?

“Listen, I can see you. If you are like me. You do not deserve what has happened or will. But there is something I can offer you. Whoever you are. Out there. As lonely as it gets, you are not alone. There is another kind of love.

It’s the love of art. Because I believe in art the way other people believe in god.“

When I read that part, I got chills up and down my skin. Because that’s exactly what the hell I’ve been trying to say here for years. I’m not alone, ever. Even if I think I am. I have my writing and I have my music. Somehow, these things transcend. These things are like church for me. When I get scattered and lost, I can come back to my art and find that thing I’m missing. But first, I have to sit down with my art. Again and again and again. And trust it. Trust the process. Trust that it matters and means something. And if it only means something to me, that is perfectly OK. But likely, if it means something to me, it will mean something to someone else.

And sometimes, I’m faking it. I’m saying, “I know you’re out there. I feel you.” But Yuknavitch also said: “I feel you,” and it got across to me. So. There’s hope. There’s power in believing, or fake believing. Sometimes these things actually do get across. We are all connected in this invisible web. If we knew how connected, we’d probably start quaking in our boots.

***

I’ve got another cold plague virus, joy of joys. Working at the public library is simply lovely for catching everything under the sun. Last night, I had a number of things I could have done with friends but instead I stayed in and finished “The Chronology of Water,” and watched a movie. Right before I went to bed, I listened to a recording of a new song I am writing.

I was outside on the patio looking at the stars, listening to my new song, all bundled up. In a moment of stillness and space, I got what I was trying to say in the song crystal clear.

A lot of times, my songs tell me what I’m feeling about something. I’m no good at the whole one on one, “This is how I feel” shit. It’s too forced. But this song kind of explained to me perfectly a situation I’m going through and where I stand on it. And it was a beautiful way to understand it, a way of reaching closure on a situation that may never in real life reach closure.

The point being that I’d sat down with my guitar and written something straight from my subconscious when I was feeling some ambiguous feeling a couple of days prior, thinking I’d never make sense of the situation and always be flip-flopping through analytical stuntedness in my head, and now here I was, listening back to it and understanding what I was going through, and that there was an ending of sorts.

I’m not sure if other musicians and writers have the same experience: Learning about themselves through their own songs. Epiphanies about their own feelings/conclusions based on what they’ve written. I’m sure they do, I’ve just not heard anyone talk about it.

It’s probably too weird.

But most of my life, I looked for other musicians and writers to tell me I was OK. That what I’d gone through in my life made me who I am. That my creations mattered and made sense. When really, the only musician/writer I needed validation from was right here. Inside me. Never alone. Always have my art.

How bizarre.

What We Believe is What We See

“So it is better to speak
Remembering
We were never meant to survive.”

-Audre Lorde “A Litany For Survival”

I saw this quote today in one of those literary tattoos people are getting these days. I’m sure in the context of the poem it’s meant to say, “Speak up, because we’ve survived things we weren’t meant to escape from.” The way I interpret it, however, disembodied from it’s larger context, is to mean literally, “Speak up. Life is one hundred percent fatal.”

There are times I regret being so open and vocal and expressive, reflecting my own inner world in my writing for random people to peruse and assimilate or desecrate according to their whims.

There are times I also regret not speaking my truth. Because life is short. And I’ve worked so hard for so long to even be where I am now. My path is different from your path. Your path is different than another person’s path.

A lot of times, we exist behind our own blinders of should’s and shouldnt’s. I grew up believing I could never in this life be perfect, was always wrong, was fallen from grace and would never until the second coming obtain anything like glory.

My father taught me growing up that imperfection is perfect in its own weird way. Because the world keeps going on, regardless. And we are each on our own individual paths. And somehow it all works out even though we bumble along, making mistakes. But is there really any such thing as a mistake? We all have to learn our own lessons for ourselves, by ourselves.

When I was growing up, I was taught I had to teach people by example, that I should be a good example, which meant following a prescribed code of conduct given to me by an external fear-motivated system of a religious institution. Everything in black and white lines.

I’ve come to the conclusion lately that nothing at all is black and white. Society exists as it does because we’ve agreed as a community up to this point that a lot of the things we do to keep it functioning work. When things break down, we overthrow it, usually, and try something new, whether it works or not. When I make a decision, it’s usually based on the person I am at the moment and the lessons I’ve assimilated up to that point.

I am not better than another person because of the choices I make. There is nothing saying that I am a teacher if I follow a certain path. People teach me all the time, people doing things that I’ve been told were bad or wrong or only lead to heartache, things that I myself have chosen not to do based on them not working for me in my life. What’s good for one isn’t necessarily good for another. One belief system doesn’t fit all.

So you tell me, who is teaching who here? In all our glorious imperfections, in all our madness, we are still moving along trying our hardest to each eke out a margin of space for ourselves in this world, a place where we belong. Battles are fought over time. Slowly. Each step moving us towards or away from our current conquests.

I am striving in my life to speak up and not hide things anymore. Not in the sense of confessing like religions tell you you must do in order to be a decent person. I mean more that I want to tell the people I love how I feel about them while they and I are still here. I want to share my creations with other people more than I have up until this point. I want to keep learning to not protect others from my truth, even if it is different from theirs.

Because life is short. I could die tomorrow. I want the people I love to know I love them, I want the music I made to be heard, and I want the words I’ve written to mean something to someone. But first, I have to put it all out there, no matter how difficult and raw and nerve wracking it is.

I think one meaning of life really is simply to become our own selves. And who that is is buried underneath conventions and instructions and condescension and should-have could-have would-haves we’ve been indoctrinated with our whole lives through family, friends, systems, churches, advertising, etc.

Another meaning of life, if we choose it, is to be happy. And happiness is often an internal job. External circumstances inevitably change. People change. Places change. Things break or fall apart. Money comes and goes. But striving to see past our own internal belief systems, seeing the beauty in the little things every single day, whether our life is currently where we want it to be or not…these are things I’m noticing help with the anxiety of not knowing about what our art means or how it will connect with those around us. Everything starts within us and branches out.

I don’t think we even realize the power we have to connect and affect people through our creations. If we knew, we might hide under a rock. That shit’s kind of scary to think about. I’ve talked to people who’ve had the same experience as me: Hearing some music they loved and seeking it out to the point they ended up working with the people who created it. Fantasizing about something and finding it’s suddenly become reality. This stuff happens every day. What we believe is what we see.

Why I Write This Damn Blog

I write this blog for both altruistic and narcissistic reasons. I want to help others. I also want to help myself.

Mostly, I write it because in spite of being born to artistic kin, I still struggled for many years with being true to my own artistic abilities and actually believing in them. Took me much longer than others around me. I was surrounded by prodigies and success stories and always felt behind and slow and why couldn’t anyone else see my secret hidden talents. The main reason? Because I didn’t share them. And I wanted it all NOW. I have never been a patient one.

It’s the little things that get us through. I was telling a friend whom I love dearly the other day that if I died tomorrow, I would be happy I’ve lived the life I lived up to now, that I’ve gotten to experience the things I’ve got to experience.

“I don’t even know what my path is,” I said, “but I enjoy the little things.”

“You’re happier than most people,” said my friend.

That comment has been sitting with me. Because I am pretty happy. Sometimes I have to work on playing victim and being moody and a little cynical and jaded, but in general, I have more happy moments than not ever since I stopped seeking solace in unsustainable things like jobs and drugs and other people. Not that other people don’t make my world go round. They do. But now, I’m learning to let go of expectations in a way I’ve never had to before.

I was kinda bitching on Twitter about what the point of continuing to write this blog is. It’s so unpredictable. I get traffic every day, which is good, but not a lot of interaction and I often don’t know that I am actually affecting anyone outside of a handful of people who are very awesome for continuing to subscribe and read this. A guy who discovered my blog about a month ago responded that since he had found my blog he had gotten himself together, joined a band and had a great first show.

Kinda made my day.

I was talking to a friend about that, how I keep writing this thing, trying to connect to this quantum wavelength out there even though I get little feedback on if what I’m doing is working. I’m trying to connect with this unseen consciousness through my art. I write this because I actively believe in something bigger than all of us, something that connects us together, be it particles or light or shards of glass, I dunno, whatever. So what I am trying to do is tap into that thing that defies all the constructs and logic of structured society and the illusion of what is physically here in front of us. I don’t care about the material things, the money, the conventions. I want to transcend what appears to be real and probably isn’t.

Sure, I have some structures in place in my own life to keep me from getting into trouble, but in my mind, and in my own weird way, I am trying to defy preconceived constructs by channeling my energy and art into something bigger so that it can fulfill the role I think it’s meant to fulfill. When I take an emotion or an experience and put it into my music, it’s not a passive thing. It’s a conscious effort on my part to take one little human person’s experience and throw it out into the universe, magnify it, and to ask the universe to make it matter somehow, whether to another person or merely to myself.

I know, I sound like a pagan or a punk or a hippy. Whatever. Maybe I’m all of those things. And none of those things.

I know why I’m here–to help other people with their art and path. That’s the meaning I have ascribed to my life. I have friends who feel the same about their path. So when I happen to affect one or two people, it keeps me going. I do this blog and music and writing thing because I feel compelled to do it no matter what little I get back. But every time I hear that I’ve actually helped someone with their own art, it makes me super happy. Because I needed to read something like this when I was struggling the hardest, and I couldn’t find it, I decided to write it for myself and others. Fuck it.

***

When I did that recording in front of a bunch of high school students a few months back, one of the girls was inspired by my songs, because they weren’t conventional. She thought, “Hey, I can do this too.” She’d been depressed with her own path, wanted to do music but didn’t know what to do or how to do it. When she came and took that class at the recording studio she decided to pursue her music and ended up taking a consultation to figure out how to push forward. And she’s doing this as a teenager, already light years ahead of me. It’s great! Sometimes, because you didn’t “succeed” in your own life how you thought you were supposed to, you can take those experiences and turn them around to help others get forward where you didn’t know how.

It’s not just about ourselves. In this narcissistic American culture we tend to focus on only ourselves as the bottom line, but if you think ahead, we are affecting things in tiny little ways and helping or hindering future generations, not merely our own little lives and worlds.

Seeking Transcendence

sobriety2

First off, it looks like my Subversion post got a lot of traffic through Facebook. That always weirds me out, because I can never tell if it’s good or bad traffic or who shared what with whom and what they thought of it, but this is the nature of blogging. Anyhow, I hope people liked it, because they sure came to read it!

Sometimes I write about drugs on here. I’ve been pretty open about phases of my past and the fact that I stopped drinking, etc. by personal choice in 2002, when I was 21. I’d already lived enough of the party life, and moderation wasn’t for me, though I think a lot of people do better with moderation than abstinence. I fully believe that addiction is a choice, not an uncontrollable brain disease like modern propaganda purports in order to endorse religious programs. That being said, whatever works for you, drugs, no drugs, religious programs, your own strong will–do it.

So, that aside, I live in California, home of drugs. Drugs are everywhere. They are a major part of people’s life and lifestyle. Psychedelics, pot, alcohol, they’re like a religion here. For years, I stayed away from most situations that involved any sort of drug, even on the periphery, but after so much time with my own commitment to sobriety as a form of transcendence in my own life, I am OK with being in bars or going to shows or spending time with friends who use, only because I know how committed I am to my choice. I’ve proven it to myself, and I have so many people in my corner who know my past and support my decision to seek spirituality through meditation, yoga, hiking, writing and music rather than through substances.

Mostly the battles were in my mind and body due to years spent seeking a cure to anxiety and depression (my tortured artist lot, I suppose, the genetic card I’ve been dealt) through pills that ended up causing more harm than help, left me staring down an abyss. After that debacle of years, I was the loneliest I had ever felt in my life, an experience and feeling nobody who hasn’t been there can really relate to, and I don’t expect them to. I came to some conclusions about how short life is and what really matters to me.

All these little things, the structures I’ve built: Part-time county job, rented room in a Victorian in Oakland, plenty of time to spend on music and art, being completely sober of all mind-altering substances, exercise, lots of time to reflect and process so I don’t struggle too much with anxiety or depression–these things may not seem like a lot to others. They may seem boring, even. But to me, they are all I have. They are my foundation.

***

I dated a guy once, when I was 19, who was trying not to drink so much. I was sober at the time, due to being a crusty punk street kid earlier in my teens and almost dying out there due to excessive consumption of whiskey daily, fights, elements, etc. I knew in my heart how close I’d been, and I was scared shitless, so I went straight edge. No sex, no drugs.

And I was happy. I enjoyed things more than I ever had before. I was working on music constantly, I was fit, I had awesome friends, I trusted myself. I looked and felt great.

But this dude came along, my soul mate I believed, a musician, passionate, intense, real, deep, successful, everything I thought I wanted, and basically he systematically worked at me until I decided to cave, because I thought love could conquer all. I thought if I drank with him, moved in with him, changed all my values, that our love would make it work.

I was so wrong.

And anyone who truly loved me would never have demanded that of me. But I was young. And I learned an important lesson which is this. No matter what your values are, whether it’s drugs or no drugs, sex or no sex, religion or no religion, if you change them to satisfy another person, you become hollow inside. You are not living up to your own convictions. You have to be true to yourself or shit just won’t work.

And no truth is static. We all ebb and flow in what we believe in. We change daily. Some of us are stubborn in our convictions, like, for me, I will not budge on the no drugs thing for another person EVER again. Doesn’t matter what comes. I believe in myself more than I believe in love or any other person. That doesn’t make me a narcissist, it makes me strong. Our own selves are all we ever have. If I make a choice, it has to be something I am doing for myself, because it feels right. And drugs don’t feel right to me now in my life.

***

I’ve been on some strange personal journey lately. I bring up the drugs thing because a couple things have happened to test my resolve, and I’ve found that I’m stronger than ever in it. I just don’t want those things in my life. I watch my friends use them constantly, and to be honest, I am not jealous  and it doesn’t look like fun to me. My life is subtle and simple and slow and takes time. I’ve accepted that. I love to be excited and learn new things, I love to feel good, but for me, quick fixes never last. The only thing that lasts is me, day to day, for however long I last as a conscious person. And I can transcend through many other means.

I write music in order to transcend this mortal coil. Because I can’t have some of the things I want, because I am sensitive and feel everything sometimes, I try to put it all in music so that it can be larger than me, and affect on a plane I can’t access through any other means. Same with writing. I transcend through art. That’s enough for me. It’s what I have and what I choose. Anything else distracts me.

I met a musician recently, a few months back, who was real excited about some of my songs. He was up front with me after reading my blog and told me he hadn’t realized I was “so straight edge.” I wouldn’t really call it straight edge. Some of my best friends use substances, a lot. I love them, and respect their decisions, and listen to their stories. That’s enough for me. I try to be as open as I can. It’s not black and white to me what others do. Only what I choose to do right now.

This guy decided not to work with me because I don’t drink or use drugs. He was admittedly a big burner (Burning Man), and I felt like what he wasn’t saying was what I’ve heard a few times since then. If I couldn’t be in his world, on the same page as him, then he didn’t want to work with me on music.

I was bummed and pissed, because I don’t ask that of anyone. I don’t cut people off because they use substances. I just don’t use with them. And I don’t put myself in situations that are too much for me, depending on where I am inside myself at the time. But I am finding it works the other way around. People can and will reject you as an artist and a friend because you’re sober. It cuts both ways.

I was talking with an artist friend last night, and was saying that a lot of people try to change me. They say I’m too reflective or morose or depressed or think too much. She struggles with depression and anxiety, and she was saying that when someone close to her is suffering, she wants to take their pain away. She feels like for some reason, she could handle it better, because she’s well equated with pain in general.

I feel like that with those of my friends who are using drugs to cope with this world, that they are completely justified in doing so. Some of them may be using drugs for other reasons, they believe they take them to a higher plane or whatnot, but I have many who use them to simply numb themselves out, or to fill the empty spaces. If I could use something to numb myself out, sometimes I feel like I totally would, if anyone needs to take a chill pill sometimes, shut their brain up, it’s certainly myself.

But for me, I got tired of the endless empty hunt for something outside of me to make everything better. I think I have all I need inside. I can handle the pain of life, how hard it is, how much loss we all feel. I can put it into my art. It’s not easy, but it’s what I’m here for. I truly believe that, for whatever it’s worth.