This
originally started as a letter to a friend whom I thought could relate or offer
advice to this particular plight. Then I realized it was probably more of
an elaborate ponderthought, and that it deserved to be posted.
I'm having
so many doubts. I know I'm doing well with my voice and theory stuff, but I
feel like I just can't do anything else. I'm working hard at things just to
still be mediocre at them after so many years.
I put a
craigslist ad up and a dude contacted me who is trying to get some producing
experience. I met with him today to show him a few of my songs since I don't
really have any recordings of originals. We agreed to meet up at a local
community centre, which when I got there I realized was a senior's centre.
There were no closed rooms and plenty of ears that I didn't want to be around.
My very
first thought was: Shit. One of my best songs is an extremely personal
expression about sex. And I'm going to sing this not only to some old dude I
don't even know, but also have a few dozen even older people hear me from the
next room? You know, providing that's not failing them.
So I refused
to sing that song even though it's probably the one I'm the most competent at.
The second I
saw the guy at the door I felt uneasy, knowing full well that I get nervous
even sharing my songs with friends, nevermind strangers. Nevermind old man
strangers. I uncomfortably asked questions on what he wanted to work with on
the recordings we'd do. I basically just started asking questions to stall and
pretty much panicked the entire time he was setting up, wondering what would be
the most neutral song of mine that I was also competent at playing to show him
first.
I eventually
decided (reluctantly) to start with my newest song, the one I wrote about Kara.
Once I had the headphones on and I couldn't hear anything outside of them I
felt a little more at ease. Kind of like how a mouse thinks you can't see it if
it can't see you. I tried my best to sing without stressing, but I continuously
fucked up on every single take I tried. I had to sing it three fricking times
before he even recorded it, which annoyed me because I just wanted it over
with. And the one that we ended up recording came out the worst.
I played a
couple more songs which I refused to record for various reasons, mainly because
I was getting less cool with this dude that I just met recording my work, and
shitty ones at that. I sang one of my songs that didn't have a finished chorus
yet and he said, "I notice you don't sing for long breaks. Why do you do
that?" I had to push down some rage-y thoughts at that moment, because I
thought he had a lot of nerve to ask that. I have a few songs where I have
longer guitar breaks. He said it "takes away from the vocals." Sure,
but who said I was strictly a vocalist?
And it's not
like I don't know I suck at guitar. I do. And it makes me feel consistently sad
and incompetent every time I play. He said my guitar was "a little
sloppy." I've felt horrible since. Couldn't he just say something like,
"We'll need to work on _____"? :/
I come home
and of course the first thing I do is go practice because I feel like if I
don't fill every spare moment of my life with it I'll just keep giving everyone
else a reason to think I'm inadequate. And practicing the same thing over isn't
going to help me become a better guitarist, but it's all I know how to do at
this point. So I put my guitar down in frustration and go to the piano.
Being upset,
my mind wanders while I'm playing. I imagine playing for people in Nanaimo to
show them what I've done with my time here. And then my brain puts Owen in
there, telling me things like, "you just gotta keep at it to get
better," in the subtly condescending way Owen does to make it not sound like
he actually thinks you're terrible at it. And then as soon as that enters my
head my fingers fail.
"Fuck
him," I think to myself, "He can't sing anyway." And I continue
playing until I run out of songs in my book that I can play. I look down at the
keys and long for the day I can play hours of Beethoven by memory. I play a
series of a few melodramatic chords and think of composing a song with it, but
I leave it because I'm just not in the mindset to teach myself new things right
now. I'll probably forget what they were by the time I get around to it.
Just like
that I fall into a massive state of sadness and self doubt. I know I shouldn't,
I know I have potential in some things and that I learn things really well, and
I know I shouldn't care about what some stranger thinks when more experienced
people have told me otherwise. But it just reminds me how insecure I am about
everything I do and how every day that I fight through this mediocre retail-job
existence might just ending up being for naught, because perhaps I really am
just a talentless hack with unrealistic dreams.
Just before
I set it away, I sat pondersome with my new guitar Phoenix, my arms wrapped
around it the way a child embraces a teddy bear. I won't give up on guitars,
because I know it can't give up on me.
And so here
I sit, having quit practice for the night, just alone with my instruments.
