Facilitator/Thief

I have benefited so much from what technology has enabled me to do, much of which was unthinkable not that many years ago.

Take recording.  Having had the privilege of recording in some great studios, I know the magic of being in a room with other musicians and creating something together, playing off each other.  On the other hand, the freedom and accessibility that software has given to a vastly larger number of musicians (me included) has been, I believe, a great thing.  I recorded a solo album in the late 90’s.  It was a daunting proposition to rent a studio, hire musicians, and complete the project.  Trying to compete qualitatively with the big dollar major label albums on a shoestring budget was challenging.  Even if you did get through those hoops, trying to make your album available to the public was virtually an insurmountable obstacle.  If you didn’t have a distribution deal, forget getting your album in stores so people could buy it.  That shelf space was the exclusive domain of the majors.  Now the only thing stopping a musical artist from making a recording and distributing it world wide is her own resolve and imagination.

All to say, I am an unapologetic proponent of the capabilities technology has afforded artists.  There is, however, a rub.  We have in front of us unprecedented opportunities, but they come with unprecedented challenges.  Both require us to enter our work with a heightened discipline. Technology, the great facilitator, can also be the greatest thief.  The same tools that give us revolutionary means of connection, production and distribution can also steal our time and attention, which can undo the very creative life we’re seeking to exercise.

The challenge of utilizing these amazing tools while guarding our time and attention is no small feat.  At any minute, during our creative work, we are vulnerable to having our time sabotaged by an email alert, a text ding, or a notification that someone has mentioned us online somewhere.  I wrestle with these distractions every day.  I know this:  nothing yields a greater harvest from my creativity than to do the creative work.  It seems more than worthwhile to consciously and deliberately build in healthy boundaries and safeguards to insure that we reach our creative potential, and not just become information consumers.

Here’s some articles that have helped me with this daily challenge:

Staying Grounded in the Age of Information Overload

How Effective People Handle Email

How I Gave Up Email and Reclaimed 3 Hours a Day

 

Meeting Stevie Wonder

From my senior year in high school through four years of college, I had a dream gig playing piano in a staff band for one of the country’s longstanding live country music radio shows, the WWVA Jamboree in Wheeling, West Virginia.  Starting in 1933, the show broadcast every Saturday night. During my tenure, the show’s home was the beautiful Capitol Music Hall in downtown Wheeling.  The 50,000 watt radio signal beamed throughout the northeast US all the way into Canada, bringing tour busses that routinely filled the theater for two shows every Saturday night.

Every week our staff band would back up regional artists for the first hour, followed by a current hit maker the second hour of the show.  Sometimes I even sat in with the stars, if they needed a piano player.  It was a magical, special chapter in my musical life, and an invaluable training ground in many ways.  I’ll always be grateful for the real world musical education I received there and the friendships that remain to this day.

One summer, the radio station sent our band and some singers out on a 29 show/30 day truck stop tour, promoting on-air host Buddy Ray’s all night radio show, which was very popular with long haul truckers throughout the northeast.

I was halfway through college, chomping at the bit to do music full time. This was my first taste of going on the road, and I ate it up. In addition to playing in the band, we were the drivers, the setup crew, and the teardown crew (the traveling stage was on the back of an 18 wheeler truck).  I was living the dream and loving every mile of it.  I was young and possessed almost limitless energy.  I remember having some powdered donuts one day before a sound check, and showing up with white powder still on my upper lip. For the rest of the tour, Kurt, our road manager, was resolutely convinced I was doing cocaine.  Good times…

One night we played a truck stop in Gary, IN. There were about 1,000 people in the audience, covering the parking lot. Before the show was over, we saw police lights in the rear of the crowd, back by the port-o-johns.  Turned out a lady had shot her husband back there during the show.  As soon as we finished the last song, Kurt said, “Tear it down and let’s get outta here.”  As producer Tony Brown told me once years later, “Country music ain’t pretty.”

We were staying at a Holiday Inn in Gary, this one with bars on the windows. Arriving back at the hotel lobby, we heard a rumor that Stevie Wonder was staying there. Determined to find out, three of us instantly began encircling the floors, searching for any sign of Steveland Morris.  After covering about three floors, we came upon two large black men standing guard in front of one of the hotel rooms.  The sight of these guys ratcheted up both our excitement and curiosity, to the point where we got up the nerve to approach these two big dudes and ask them (in the whitest, least cool dialect imaginable), “Is Mr. Wonder around?”

Neither dude said a word, just slightly shook their heads dismissively.  But just as we were about to walk on, we heard a soft voice come through the crack in the door:  “Let them in.”  In complete disbelief, we walked through the doorway…

To this day those next 15 minutes seemed – and still seem – like a dream.  There sat Stevie Wonder on one of the Holiday Inn twin beds.  My two bandmates sat on the bed opposite him, and I sat down, on the same bed, right beside one of the most creative singer/songwriter/musicians in American musical history.

I’ve met a lot of famous people in my life, many of them very nice.  But none have surpassed what I can only call the LOVE that exuded from this man.  I’ve never confirmed it, but we were told later he was in town to attend his father’s funeral.  If so, he said nothing about it.  Rather, he began the conversation by inquiring about us; about our reason for being in Gary.  No sooner did we tell him we were a country band, than he started sharing with us the history of the banjo, how it had origins in Africa.  To personally meet an artist who is regarded as one of the few true geniuses of pop music is an encounter not easily forgotten.  But when that artist’s humility, authenticity, and sincerity undeniably equal his creativity,  an imprint is made on your soul that becomes a touchstone.  For me, Mr. Wonder has been a standard of measure that still comes to mind when contemplating an artist’s ethos.

Meeting Stevie Wonder at the onset of my creative career showed me that true greatness doesn’t need to build itself up with hubris.  His art did all the talking, enabling the artist to remain humble.  I will always be grateful for those 15 minutes of taking in the heart, soul, and spirit of an artist that created some of the most enduring and culturally resonant songs in the key of life of the last 50 years.  In fact, I think I’ll go take some in right now.

 

Chasing vs. Creating

If you’re hoping your creative work may have value in the marketplace, be careful:  there’s always the temptation to bend/twist/contort your song/script/book to resemble something what’s currently popular.

Chasing what’s presently successful is not without its advocates.  Cashing in on current trends has sometimes proven successful – at least in the short term. As always, it depends on your definition of success.  Word to the wise:  if cash is your only goal, there are lots of easier ways to make money than selling your art.  Lots of ways.

If you’re chasing, you’re simply not creating.  Chasing is about impersonating; imitating.  Creating is about digging, finding.  No way around it: it takes hard work to create something of value.  Looking for shortcuts is a waste of time.

It should also be said that being too preoccupied with originality can be a trap, too.  No one is 100% original.  Everyone is influenced by songs, books, movies that have inspired them at some point.  Trying too hard to be original can send your inner critic into hyper mode and roadblock your progress.  Part of the reason we wanted to be artists in the first place was because someone’s work inspired us.  No doubt, imitation certainly has its place in our early development.  Painters begin by copying the works of the masters.  We musicians start out in cover bands, trying to sound as close to our heroes as possible.  But hopefully, there comes a point in our development where we mature out of imitating our heroes and instead incorporate their influence to find our own voice.

Singer/songwriter/musician/steamboat pilot John Hartford wrote profoundly about emulation and creation in the liner notes of a Flatt & Scruggs compilation album:

“After years of copying Lester and Earl (even to the point of hair style), I learned that the ultimate form of imitation was to be just as original as they were.  This meant finding my own form of music – the hardest thing of all, for it seemed that they had already found the best ways of doing so many things.  But the concept persisted, and I can now thank them for the greatest musical lesson of my life.  Still though, you will always find a lot of their music and inspiration in what little I try to.”

Inevitably, the best bet is to be yourself.  Of course, this involves vulnerability. Putting yourself out there is to risk being ignored, panned, or rejected.  But at the end of the day, it’s all you’ve got.  The only alternative is to try and be someone else; someone you’re not.  It never works.  In the long run, people see through it.  More than ever, we need to hear authentic voices that will risk being real.

 

It’s Easy (?)

Recently I heard two songwriter heroes of mine use the word “easy” to describe their creative process.  Both times the word jumped out because of both the sincerity behind it and the formidable bodies of work these two great talents have amassed.

Late last year, I stumbled onto (and shortly after purchased) the documentary “The Making of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” the classic Elton John album.  It’s always boggled my mind that coming off an already impressive run of albums, Elton and company (Bernie Taupin’s lyrics, the band, and producer Gus Dudgeon) delivered not just another album of quality work, but a double album of stunning songs that still endure.  In his recollection of making the album, Elton, with utter sincerity, simply says, “It was easy.”

I finally caught Dave Grohl’s documentary on the legendary LA studio “Sound City,” which features a jam with Paul McCartney at the end, and evolves into the song “Cut Me Some Slack.” As the band was calling it a night, someone remarked, “That was easy!”  Sir Paul casually replied, “It always is.”

I think it’s worth noting that both of these prolific artists used the word “easy.”  “Surprise” and “magic” are also terms both these English lads refer to in relating their approach to songwriting.  It’s safe to assume by easy they don’t mean effortless.  But neither, I’m betting, do they mean an agonizing, angst ridden effort.  The approach they describe seems less about bearing down hard and more about getting into a mind/heart/soul place where creativity is able to flow more freely.

In Lewis Hyde’s scholarly book on creativity, “The Gift,” he does a nice job differentiating willpower from imagination:  “For when the will dominates, there is no gap through which grace may enter. . . for an artist, no moment of receptiveness when the engendering images may come forward.”  A great songwriter once told me, “You can’t will a song into being.”  I’ve found that to be absolutely true over the years.  The good ones always seem to come through more of an attitude of discovery, even play (ever wonder why that’s the verb used to describe making music?).  Work is involved, but work that proceeds from a light handed, open minded, unforced endeavor, that seems to allow creativity to flow. . . easily.

Vulnerability is Sexy***

***As long as you’re reading or hearing about vulnerability – yes, it can sound sexy.  Just try Googling “vulnerability and sexy.”  I get it – and I’m grateful to folks like Brené Brown, Seth Godin, Todd Henry, and others have championed the benefits of this undervalued state that invariably accompanies creativity.  Their writings have been great encouragement to me.

But the difference between contemplating vulnerability and being vulnerable is the difference between reading about skydiving versus jumping out of an open airplane door at 13,000 ft.  The warm glow of the idea of vulnerability evaporates in the wake of the actual being vulnerable.  The starkness of the blank page, the risk of a live performance, the unsculpted, uncrafted block of raw marble that is the first stage of creation is often more intimidating than inspiring, more immobilizing than energizing.

At some point in the creative process – whether in the initial blows of the chisel, the long middle stretch of rewrites, or during the final polishing stages before releasing the work – odds are you will experience self doubt or disillusionment.  Even the temptation to chuck it all as self-delusion, not worth another minute of your time or energy is more probable than possible.  Any songwriter, author, or startup entrepreneur familiar with going from nothing to something has had to grapple with these dogged opponents.

Again, watering holes, places we can go for encouragement and support are great.  I’d be lost without them.  The aforementioned authors have pulled me out of a slump more than a few times.  But don’t be surprised when all the great advice and encouragement you’ve taken in completely abandons you.  It’s par for the course.  Again, it’s the difference between the dreaming and the doing.  Scott Belsky drives this home powerfully in his classic book “Making Ideas Happen,” based on Thomas Edison’s famous quote: “Genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration.”

The outcome of creative vulnerability can also be wonderful and rewarding – but, again, that’s not vulnerability.  An outcome, by definition, happens once you’ve “come out” of being vulnerable.  Completing work, when you know you’ve dug down and given it your best, can be immensely satisfying.   The endorphin rush of a particularly high risk night onstage, the gratification of knowing you’ve honed an original idea to completion are great pleasures, however fleeting.  My heads up is:  don’t be surprised by the down sides.  The disticntly unglamorous, unsexy vulnerability that accompanies creativity can arouse your every insecurity, dredge up quotes from your harshest critics, heckle and harass you until you render it powerless by simply not giving up.

Bottling Inspiration

You’ve heard the lament “if only we could bottle this up!”

I believe inspiration can be bottled up, but you have to be ready. It’s elusive, like a leprechaun or a butterfly. Now it’s here, now it’s gone.

Although there are practices and habits that can facilitate inspiration, it’s the least predictable part of creative process.  It doesn’t respond well to commands or subpoenas.  It usually comes unsummoned, on its own terms, according to its own schedule.  It can be captured, but you have to be ready.  You have to act fast.  A few seconds of jotting down will spare you endless frustration trying to reconjure a great idea has eluded you.

Seasoned creatives know this.  They carry a butterfly net with them at all times to capture fleeting inspiration. It might be a notepad by your bed for that idea that wakes you up at three in the morning; a pocket notebook you carry with you through the day for that unexpected lightning strike; a voice mail you send yourself.

I am capturing this idea about capturing inspiration right now by dictating it onto the notes app of my smart phone. Your choice of net is irrelevant. It can be analog or digital; high tech or low tech; notepad, iPad – doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you capture the idea or even the germ of an idea when it is within reach.  If it wakes you up at night, don’t tell yourself  you’ll remember it in the morning.  You probably won’t.  Write it down, record it.  You may be walking, driving, doing a mindless task.  Get in the habit of capturing it. There’ll be time to hammer it out at your workbench later.

What’s It Gonna Take?

What’s it gonna take for you to create?

What’s it gonna take for you to sit your self down and begin to create something?  That book you’ve always dreamed of writing.  That piece of music that wants to get out.  That painting you have inside you.

I’ve always loved the title of John Mayer’s first EP, “Inside Wants Out;” his very first release, before he was a star.  That title underscores a truth for every person with a creative urge.

It’s not about riches.  It’s not about fame.  It’s about expression; converting something inside you – an experience, a dream, a feeling, anything – into a tangible piece of art.  As writer Anne Lamott has so effectively stated:  creating is its own reward.

I challenge you:  Before this day is over, take 10 minutes (or more).  Turn off your smart phone.  Turn off the TV.  Sit with whatever is your blank canvass… and begin.  I promise you it will not be time wasted.

Distrust Desperation

There is a fear that’s present in every creative endeavor involving your true voice.  By your true voice, I mean that form of expression that is uniquely you; that draws on your own experience, has an opinion, involves honest likes and dislikes.  In short:  you’re not hiding.  Succeed or fail, soar or crash, you are out in the open, totally vulnerable.  You could be laughed at or affirmed, hated or loved, dismissed or embraced.  This fear is legitimate.  I know of no way around this.

There is another type of pseudo fear that can show up in creative pursuits.  I say pseudo because it’s based on lies; lies that can sound awfully convincing. Another word for this pseudo fear is desperation.  Desperation tries to persuade you to forsake authenticity and opt for imitation, which, it argues, is a surer way to success.  Be careful with that word success, by the way; its definition varies wildly depending on which mindset you are operating in.

Legit fear says:
“Not everyone may like this.  You may be misunderstood, mislabeled and misjudged.  There’s real risk here.”

Desperation says:
“Who do you think you are? (Desperation’s classic opening volley.)  Nobody cares.  You need to sound/write/look more like __________ (current successful flavor of the month).  You screw this up – and you’re finished.  You’ll be exposed as the fraud you are and expelled from the creative community forever.  First, get approved by the taste makers and gate keepers by parroting a successful (watch that word again)/proven/known artist; then worry about ‘finding your voice,’ whatever that means.”

There is a vast difference between these two fears.  One is healthy and can actually spur you on to great work.  The other intimidates you by discounting your true voice and offering a short cut to fame and fortune.  Learn to tell the difference between them.  Embrace the one and distrust the other.

I believe it’s possible to experience legit fear without becoming undone. Remember, courage isn’t the absence of fear.  More often than not, one accompanies the other.  Let fear become a validation that you’re digging in the right place.  Of course it’s risky – but that’s where the good stuff is.

The world is crying out for authenticity.  We need to hear your true voice. Apart from presenting a false self, it’s all you really have.

The Age (Window?) of Creativity

A lot of people are saying we are in a new age of creativity.  I tend to be apprehensive over such grand claims.  However, based on many years of creative pursuits, I tend to agree.  If we’re not in a new age of creativity, we are certainly in a new window of creativity.  How long that window will stay open, I don’t know.  But open it is.

One of the chapters in my lifetime of creative endeavors was as a major label recording artist.  I even scored a few hits.  It was a wonderful time; a time of dreams coming true.  Hearing my songs on the radio, touring with big name artists were great thrills.  Absolutely, and I am grateful for those experiences.

I was fortunate to be signed to a record deal during a window of time when the creative environment in Nashville was wide open.  Widely diverse artists were being signed; and they were scoring hits.  I remember playing the New Faces Show at the Country Radio Seminar that year (1989), and no two artists sounded anything alike.  It was an electric, invigorating, special season, and we all knew it.  It was anybody’s guess where the music was headed. Creativity thrived.

When some of the horses broke away from the pack, achieving unprecedented altitudes of sales, the environment shifted.  Understandably, the labels wanted artists who sold multi-platinum (millions of units).  Of course: labels were in the business of selling units.  The surest – and shortest – route to multi-platinum was to sign artists who sounded like the artists selling multi-platinum.  It’s short term thinking, yes.  But in defense of the labels:  they’re held captive to a corporate business model that’s tied to quarterly returns.  If their quarterly returns are lower than Coke, Apple, Exxon, whoever; investors yank their money.   Alas, the marriage of art and commerce is tenuous at best. If push… no… when push comes to shove, commerce calls the shots.  The bottom line mission of these companies is the bottom line:  monetary profit. Judge it however you like, it is what it is.

The problem for us creative types is obvious: my investment in the work may include, but extends beyond, a cash outlay.  It demands heart and soul, time and energy.  As a father of two (both presently in college), believe me – I don’t want to lose money!  But I want my creativity to mean something to someone.  And the best way I know to insure that is for it to mean something to me.  It may or may not mean monetary gain, but I have other criterion I measure success by.

Which brings me to now.  All I know is this:  for the past decade and a half, the tools that have been available to me as an independent artist have given me the keys to the artistic highway.  Capabilities that were once unthinkable are now within arms length.  The cost of production, once prohibitive to indies, is now a (small) fraction of what it was.  Distribution (making your art findable in the marketplace) was once the sole dominion of major labels with the muscle and catalog to leverage shelf space at Walmart, Target, etc.  Now global distribution is a few clicks away.

The only limit we artists now face is our own willingness to learn the tools of our trade and discipline ourselves to Do The Work (a title by one of my favorite authors on creativity, Stephen Pressfield).  I know these realities have been in place for several years now, but for someone who spent (did?) time in the old model, I still look upon this new landscape with awe and gratitude.  So much is available to so many.  The biggest impedance to creating and distributing our art has become our own apathy and cynicism.

These unprecedented opportunities do come with unprecedented challenges… But given the choice between these and the old barricades with scant opportunities…?  I’ll take now.  Every time.  I hope this new window of creativity lasts.  While it’s a reality, let’s take advantage of it.  Let’s create. We’ll all be the richer for it.