Fun
New QOTW + Ep 4
I got into music in my teens because it was fun. It was fun hanging out with my friends in actual garages playing loud guitars poorly, getting stoned and eating snacks. It was fun going to rock shows and imagining I might someday play my own.
Music could quite literally heal the universe, if done correctly.
In college, I met the person who would become my mentor and inspiration – Anthony Braxton – and dedicated myself fully to music. While it was still definitely fun, it took on a lot of other weight also. (I’m avoiding calling that weight, “baggage,” in an attempt to not judge my younger self too harshly.) What made Braxton so attractive to me was his grand-unified-theory approach to music. It was everything. Music could quite literally heal the universe, if done correctly. Such importance implied that it ought to be all-consuming. Braxton modeled and applauded single-minded focus and hyper-productivity. He was also hilarious and probably high most of the time as he toured the world blowing people’s minds, scooping up a MacArthur grant along the way. He was clearly having fun.
At eighteen, nineteen, it made perfect sense to try to emulate what I perceived of as working so well for Braxton, which, for whatever reasons (my upper-middle-class upbringing, my insecurity, being surrounded by type-A strivers at a fancy university, over-compensating for studying art instead of something with more “serious” real-world value) I interpreted largely as: work harder than anyone else. Over the next decade and a half, this internalized ethos would translate to skipping social engagements to practice my instrument, skipping sleep to write music or polemic diatribes akin to Braxton’s own inscrutable philosophic tracts, skipping comforts, vacations, movies, anything that could be considered an extra in order to save my money for projects and recordings. I regularly debated whether I could spare the time and energy for a relationship, which was mostly an abstract mental exercise as no one wants to date someone who does that. And for years, I tried to convince myself I was okay with that trade off. I was still so far away from reaching my goals, after all. I had numerous operas to write, festivals to conquer, dozens and dozens of albums to record and release, a universe to heal.
It wasn’t until my early thirties that I realized how lopsided the work-to-fun ratio had become in my creative practice. My friend and collaborator, musician Sam Coomes, must have grown weary of hearing me complain about all my suffering as an artist when he suggested to me that I should just do what was fun.
It is embarrassing to acknowledge how foreign this concept seemed to me at the time, and worse, how I still wrestle with it now. I find myself pointing out (in my head, arguing in my head always) that even if all I ever did was pursue pure hedonistic fun, there would still be not fun things along the way. Traffic to drive into LA meet a friend for dinner. Pulling on a wet wetsuit before surfing. Preparing and copying parts for a band to perform my new arrangement.
There will always be some part of just doing what’s fun that’s not fun.
Of course Sam wasn’t advocating an entire life of meaningless indulgence in pleasure and total avoidance of anything resembling work. He was simply encouraging me to let fun lead the way instead of notions of achievement, success, status and productivity. There will always be some part of just doing what’s fun that’s not fun. It boils down to percentages and tolerance levels and making sure the un-fun parts are worth the fun.
Since I’m currently so out of touch with my creative practice, I’m trying to solely focus on what feels fun, nothing else. I’m trying to give myself the space to really listen to my inclinations and desires and see if I can figure out where they want to lead me. It’s difficult. My inner voices are noisy, contradictory, unsure. That speaks to how out of touch I am, not just with my art, but in general, which just makes it feel all the more important that I stay patiently on this path.
Question of the Week
Do you have an intentional listening/viewing/observing/consuming component of your practice? If so, how much of a percentage is it and why?
Episode 4 is available
Check out episode 4 of Sustainable Creativity. I speak with author Jennifer Chong Schneider about the pros and cons of being a maker in New York City.
Okay, see you soon.
-S