talent isn't enough for success, in fact it's most likely a trap
sometimes it's better not to find a passion, or to be good at anything! ha ha
I’m currently sitting in an attic while it rains outside in the Southland, considering releasing all the songs I’ve hoarded, unmastered. I’m also considering never making music again. Both seem like the end, anyway. It used to be there were at least two paths before me; I was obligated to choose one. Really it’s a glorified sandbar, gradually sloping into endless ocean. You either wait for a tide to pull you in or do it yourself.
When I was younger I had a habit of lying about not being a ‘musician’—even worse: an artist—or merely a guy who liked to make songs. How many times did so-and-so come up to say another so-and-so told them I recorded music, how I’d hem, even haw, ‘Really, they said that? ‘Cause they’re fuckin’ with you. Ha ha. They must like lying or something. I don’t even listen to music.’ What was it that made me so uncomfortable, so ashamed? Not wanting to be truly known?, or being found out for having such a clichéd identity?, or not having one at all? If Dr. Dre came to me with a record deal, I’d probably laugh awkwardly, ‘You must be thinking of some other me ‘cause I’ve never once recorded a song. Never heard of music!’
‘Wrote anything new, lately?’, people will ask. What I hear is, ‘Has your amygdala finally developed yet or are you still a loser messin’ with all that horseshit no one cares about?’ Sitting on hours of new music, I respond: ‘Nope! Haven’t done anything.’ Heck, maybe they genuinely want to know. But I’m incapable of admitting to myself anything. Why’s it so difficult? Anyway, this was back when I still interfaced to humans.
Talent is a curse. It’s also overrated.
When I think of music I think about how much it’s taken from me, all the experiences and opportunities I missed, and how it’s led me nowhere. But that’s myopic. Without writing songs and putting them out, I would have never been able to connect with some people. Would have never found love and companionship, even if they were ultimately lost. How wild is that when you truly think about it. My average face and bod could never! I crossed time and space with music.
me vibin after a shower “All I wanted was to sing to God. He gave me that longing. And then made me mute. Why? Tell me that. If He didn’t want me to praise Him with music, why implant the desire? Like a lust in my body! And then deny me the talent?” —Amadeus
“Everyone’s blessed with one special thing…” —Boogie Nights
But it’s luck, grit, plus luck, and this other thing scientists call luck. Talent is the trap that sucks you in. It’s the casino that gets you hooked on winning that one time before you’re on a forever losing streak. Talent catches your attention and lies to you about who you are. It looks like goldstrike but it’s really a prison. You die in it, or you do your time, or you break free. I want to break free.
Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.
If it didn’t come naturally, or if I didn’t receive external praise, would I have kept making music? Imagine if someone had told me I was awful and I needed to stop. I often wish someone did. I wonder how different my life would be. Everyone encouraged me and look where I am now! Maybe I wouldn’t have given a shit and pushed on. Don’t know. I sucked at rollerblading so I stopped rollerblading and earth survived.
It is the desire or the talent first? Would I have kept going if I didn’t quickly notice I had the knack for music? (It continues to be a struggle to make good music. But my growing up was conducive to creative arts: I was sick a lot, had a hard time making friends, etc., so I had plenty of free time to experiment with the piano, guitar, computer, immerse myself in the fantasy worlds of books, movies, and records.) I suppose it’s really a question of grit and self-validation. I think of all the things I’m terrible at and if I still pursued them. I didn’t. Never made it past the first level. The desire was there but not the talent.
I must have written ten songs the first week I taught myself guitar. Open chords, of course, and ‘riffs’ would be more apt, on the cheap classical my brother left unused in the corner. One finger on the low E for the bass note, the other five strings open, thinking I discovered a new musical method no one had found. It was thrilling. I remember the excitement buzzing in me, how my hands hurt reaching across those cavernous gaps between nylon strings.
the famous guitar now dusty So my introduction to songwriting wasn’t trying to emulate a song on the radio I liked. I started immediately with my own ideas. That’s how I learned. But I had a leg up. One: I had piano lessons already. The foundation was there (granted, I spent more time getting yelled at than practicing). Two: the guitar was also just there. I didn’t have to beg my mother to get one. I’m sure it was another sick day and out of boredom, loneliness, I picked it up.
At this point in my life it’s pure routine. 1: Oh yeah, no life. 2: Nothing good to watch. 3: Open Logic Pro and drag things around. 4: Email myself an idea I never get to while I’m driving. 5: Sleep. It’s like how animals innately know how to procreate, how to lay eggs, how to hunt. I just do things. I don’t know any better.
Frankly, I don’t want to do it anymore.
i honestly relate more to this post than i'd like to admit. i've spent many years toiling away at music (or really toiling away at the *idea* of making music) with nothing to show for it. particularly with the state of my mental health, my persistent exhaustion/lack of motivation, and just general despair at the state of the world, i find myself on the verge of giving up on a weekly basis. i even decide, depending on the day, that none of the hundred or so songs i've worked on (not a single one in a releaseable state) are even worth salvaging. other days, i'll go back over some of my demos and think i have something unique and interesting to share with the world, but without the time, energy, or mental stability needed to really hunker down and finish something for once in my goddamn life, what's the point? talent *is* a casino, that's an analogy i feel in my fuckin' bones. some of the most joyous times i've experienced in my life have been making music. recording for hours and hours at a time, spending the whole day in the studio (which is what i call the decrepit macbook pro set up in my closet), and then a couple days after too. thinking about music practically every minute i'm not recording. getting through most of one song before getting an exciting idea for another and jumping to that. all of this in the course of a few days or a week, finally feeling like i've settled into a groove, like i know how to do it now, like i've got it all figured out, like *this* is how it's going to be from now on.
then it stops. hot streak's over. desperately chasing that high again, to no avail. still being haunted by the steps i had already mapped out to the finish line that are moving further out of reach, as every time i boot up ableton (on the rare occasion i have the energy) it just leads to more frustration and depression, or otherwise i can't even bring myself to pick up an instrument just to prevent my muscle memory from atrophying any further.
the fucked up thing though, is that the desire returns so persistently. sometimes it's seeing other people perform, sometimes it's a spark of inspiration (without a fuse to light, but a spark nonetheless), sometimes it's an earworm that gets lodged in my head which i realize is of my own creation. the passion remains. the passion brings me back. and eventually the hot streak returns, and is spent again. i just wish i knew how to make it last.