Have you ever seen American Movie? The exact details are fuzzy in my mind, but it's a mockumentary about the exploits of a clueless amateur filmmaker
who (or is it whom?) I can't decide whether to describe as a wannabe or as an outright failure. If I recall, what made American Movie funny was the
hopeless obliviousness of the lead character and "The Coven" (which he pronounces 'koh - ven' instead of 'kuh - ven'), his film about a coven of
witches. I don't remember much else except for the guy's best friend and production assistant, a blissed out guitar-savant whose role I remember being
Back around 2000-2001 (?), when I watched the film at a friend's apartment, I laughed without considering what it would be like to become a real-life
version of the clueless amateur filmmaker. Which is basically what I am now.
I have the knowledge, tools, skills, physical space. I have the time - sort of.
Just to learn music was hard enough for a high-strung person like me. But when I consider certain cultural and social attitudes I've encountered
regarding music and musicians ("What's the difference between a pizza and a guitar player?"), added to the fact that my family was not supportive
toward my music in my formative years, I think it's a miracle I persevered. Lots of the time, it didn't feel rewarding.
For better or worse, here I am.
Look: God made me a musician; Fortune and my own hubris have emboldened me to "follow my passion", as people often (thoughtlessly) remark. Now, I have
roughly over a month to record an album that will be the frutition of twenty years developing a modest inventory of compositional, performance, and
production skills. I have lyrics to polish up and plot holes to fill; percussion parts to drill and grooves to bring to life and moods to hone;
frequencies to cut, headroom to mind, noise-floors to avoid, compressor release times to shorten; vowels to conform, breath to support, resonance to
maximize...guitar, banjo, and mandolin parts to strum, pick, and pluck! (Respectively.) I need to stay focused, intentional, in the zone.
But I can't get off the couch.
Maybe it's too much caffeine and not enough nicotine, maybe I need a little less of both with just a taste more cabbage, maybe I need to quit fooling
around with all three.
My arm hurts. Is it from pullup negatives or was I hitting the punching bag a little too hard last night? My neck hurts, too. Damn rye neck. Shouldn't
have eaten so late the other night.
I have to urinate, but honestly, I really don't want to stand up. I'll jerk my legs up and down in fitful spasms instead. # it, I'll piss my pants if
I have to. I. Don't. Wanna. Move.
The loveseat is only two-thirds my length and it's screwing up my posture, in turn slowing the recovery of my rye neck. What if I can't play guitar?
What if I started singing and the music didn't come; what if I sounded overworked, uptight, over-trying, amateur, lame...or worse, what if my lyrics
sound stupid today and completion gets pushed out for days or weeks or months or years? What if I never get done, in spite of all the sacrifice, the
In recent years I have joked that "failure, on a grand enough scale, is its own kind of success." I don't know why. Sometimes I contrive what I think
are glib, witty remarks, waiting for the perfect opportunity to deploy them. "The Spruce Goose," the rhetoric continues, "can be viewed in a museum as
proof." I see now it's not very funny. Faced by my shortcomings, I wonder if my songwriting is as hackneyed as my axiom-coining.
In moments like these, I would feel utterly hopeless if I could miraculously focus on anything other than how bad I have to piss, which makes me
wonder, tangentially and unusefully, how many other adults crapped their pants on this most recent flu bug? Sweet Christ on a crucifix that was
Ok. I'm wearing brand new 501s, shrunk to a perfect fit. It'd be sad to christen their active duty with negligent incontinence. Perhaps, once I've
stood up and relieved myself, it'll be easier to justify getting to work.
edit on 31/5/2019 by DictionaryOfExcuses because: (no reason