Monday, August 2, 2010

So What to Do, How to Act?

Part of the reason for the continuing disappointment with every session, project, or band that was mentioned last blog is the differing expectations of all the parties involved. I have a repuation for being emotionally invested in the projects I do, and that comes about as a defence mechanism for not being paid, or being paid very little. Because the reward is seldom financial in the artists I take on, I have to come up with another reason for doing it. That reason must boil down to the integrity, artistic value, or potential commercial success of what I'm setting out to do. I have to get a picture in my head of the way things will go, as well as the result of all that effort.

That's the genesis of the dilemma, because the artist I'm working with may have the identical vision at the beginning, but art being what it is, their vision changes over time. It may turn out that they're not as prepared as they thought, or that they don't like some of the songs they thought they'd like, or that the project shouldn't be released. This is all natural, as it happens in any business, so it's even more likely to happen in the Arts.

But... when it does happen, which is every time, it takes me by surprise. I've spent so much time beforehand preparing mentally and professionally for a specific outcome brought about because of specific work habits and specific steps, that the artist can't compete with my planning and expectations. They invariably haven't rehearsed enough, or don't have a clear picture of their objectives and what it will take to reach them. That part of it is unlike the business world, where much more professionalism is typically expected. But in music, when the big red light turns on, there's no more opportunity to fake it. If you haven't prepared, it suddenly becomes obvious, and now everyone is stuck with your lack of ability.

Hey, I was ready, why weren't you? I spent hours and hours, sometimes days, making sure that everything you need for recording is ready for you, including not only preapring the studio, but also recording tracks for you to use, never at any extra charge. When you don't prepare the same way, that's insulting to me, and it causes me to not want to work with you any more. The fact that most musicians are like that is immaterial.

There are only three solutions:

1. Shut up and take it. Well, I've been doing this for thirty-five years, so that's no longer an option.

2. Work with other people. Where are these other people? Wherever they may be, my ability to work with them has not panned out. Whether that's my fault, or just the luck of the draw, doesn't matter now.

3. Stop. There we go. That's the one. You win. So long, music. You suck. You seduced me for most of my life with the promise of creating art, of wanting me to be a part of you, and always bringing me back when I felt the need to turn away. No more. I'm on to you now. You're no better than a stripper! You make me believe I'm important to you, continually making me think I had something important inside me, waiting to be released by you and you alone.

I was wrong. There's no more music inside of me, and if there is, it's dead and buried. I don't even enjoy listening to music any more. Why should I? If a woman leaves you, you certainly don't relish the thought of looking at her picture all the time. Music is just painful now, a force to be avoided.