I’m pretty sleepy. I think I’m still gonna try to capture some thoughts. It’s 1:06 AM the night of a Beach Bunny show I’ve returned from. After the show, I got a burger at my new favorite burger spot in Indianapolis. There was a gentleman playing classical guitar pieces outside of it, and as I walked up, he was playing a piece I’ve practiced in the past. He got a dollar.
As I’ve veered hard into the “live shows” sort of category of monetary focus, a few things about music are unfolding. Music has always occupied kind of a weird place for me psychologically. Band was a thing I “did” more than “enjoyed.” I never got the inclination to practice outside of the classes I took. That’s not to say it wasn’t gratifying being a bigger fish playing-wise in the small pond of high school or that I don’t like we won 1st in jazz band competition. But overall, it was more that I “did” music, not growing to appreciate it and feel it for its many layers.
I don’t know if it’s a function of getting older, or just my general curiosity peaking deeper into music as a whole, but my relationship to it is evolving. When I first started listening to music in a more active way, I did kind of the same thing I’m doing now. I downloaded everything I could, ripped all of my friends’ CDs, and began building my library. I took pride in the mix my Ipod would spit out. Now, I’m buying as many shows as I can fit on a calendar, and opening every article cluing me into new bands. I’m watching shows that dissect songs and interview artists.
A few things are becoming apparent. I’m hesitant to keep “going hard” on the music line. The “magic” of amazing tracks or emotionally evocative pieces I’m starting to conceive of as the work or process that brought them to life. It’s starting to feel accessible, and like I might want to write and record songs. I don’t really like how that feels, and I don’t really think after I’ve steered myself into thousands of dollars of recording equipment, I’ll start pumping out appreciably decent tracks.
I think about how popular or deeply felt certain tracks are that I don’t care about. I think about all of the songs and artists I’ve connected with that others don’t like. What’s the nature of the connection? It’s as though no song is particularly “great” or “iconic” more than different types of songs are going to find pockets of timing and promotion that thrust them deep into the collective, at least in your language, consciousness.
I get tired of hearing what a “genius” any given artist is. When you hear constant fawning over the instrumentation, phrasing, or tone, I just feel like there’s a tendency to redundantly overstate what is the same technique any good to great musician is going to have to learn. How many times can you talk about an athlete’s motion before you point out, “Yeah, their arms and legs have to do that to run fast.”
The Beatles’ documentary was illustrative. Playing things at random, throwing out phrases here and there. Just like that, a hit single is born. Getting its first taste of public perception after being sang by The Beatles, of course. At a certain point in an artist’s popularity, it’s like giving too many props to the hedge fund manager’s kid for “starting his own company.”
When I listen to artists talk about their work, it often feels empty and cliché. You mean, songs evolve over time and mean different things to different people? You’re shy about sharing what the song actually means or how it was actually inspired because it’ll ruin it for someone else? That chord progression came from ripping off an old beat or rhythm previously ripped off on another song? You spent days in Pro-tools trying to make something that didn’t sound quite right sound good? You hate your own voice? Those words came from a low and lonely place and you really wanted the background noise to make the listener as disoriented and uncomfortable as you felt, or the opposite of that? You’re a stickler for good and personal lyrics?
These things aren’t unique. There’s an inherent “magic” to your individual experience or capacity, perhaps, but the story of how you exercise or display it is old news. Add what’s happening in modern times where few are really learning their instruments more than mixing sounds together and the superficial depth of the expression screams a little louder.
I like that I’m seeing these shows and learning of newer artists. I like that I have more points of reference and inspiration. I like that I am getting more to think about than other people’s problems or work-related bullshit. I like the suggestion that maybe my life is actually trending towards me being able to play or otherwise engage music in a way I’ve dreamed about when I was younger. I like that I can connect to so many shows and songs in spite of what I guess would sound like a pessimism for how they were conceived.
The concerts serve as a provocation. Are you dancing hard enough? Do you know the words? If you’re not having enough fun, trying to distract yourself from the pain in your back or feet from standing, what are we to make of the power of the music to take you outside of yourself? I’ve had two girls at two different shows make it a point to ask and/or apologize if they bump into me while they’re dancing or having fun. Are you fucking kidding me? WE’RE AT A CONCERT. If your anxiety or politeness is working harder than your “I fucking vibe with this song!” I think there’s something wrong. My first concert was Ozzfest, Warped Tour a week or two later. This was 2006 or 7. No one was apologizing for throwing themselves into you or fighting their way closer to the stage or kicking you in the head from crowd surfing. And that’s how it was supposed to be.
I make up rhymes or poems or goofy words for songs that lend themselves to improvising over. Most are duds, but when I can capture a moment or a feeling or my brain’s working really well, sometimes it’s really funny or flows easy or hits a chord in a satisfying way. Whatever the medium, it’s like there’s an eternal baseline we’re trying to return to via creative expression. How do you find that vibration? How do you stay there? Why, if it connects with millions, doesn’t it with millions or billions more? What makes it wax and wane in popularity or relevance? How many singers can have “the most beautiful” voice that just speaks to your soul if you’re listening close? Why are we paying the less than brilliant producers just as exorbitantly as any other with an occasional hit?
I want some things to retain a “magical” sense. I don’t want to know that a part in your song that gave me chills was an afterthought. I’ve had songs get “spoiled,” at least briefly, with new information about what they were about or in noticing something about the lyrics or artist. Ultimately, I let the songs connect because I want them to. A line from Fall Out Boy rings in my head often. “The songs you grow to like, never stick at first.” That was, in fact, a song I had to grow to like. I’m letting many more “small” bands occupy more of my listening time and effort than my “favorites.” I’m still debating investing the time and energy to see Rise Against, Senses Fail, and The Used in Cleveland, and all of those bands I’ve rocked as hard out to as any I’ve ever. I know many of their songs. I’ve also seen them all before, twice with Rise Against, and that appears to tell me I don’t “have” to work that hard to do so again, even if I’ll enjoy them like any other band I don’t skip when the shuffle plays them.
This is definitely my first pass in thinking about music in this way. All technical and exploratory like the docu-series and Rick Beato extrapolations I watch. What makes a song great? You do. How, when, and why? That’s more interesting to me than following the artist in their process. Maybe I’m just envious or deeply suspicious about the nature of a musical connection as much as I am of any other. I don’t know.
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