I started out with nothing to write about. I just wanted to write. Acting on that urge is a recipe for disaster.
Disaster = Writing a blog post that Eric, my sole reader as near as I can tell, will not be inspired to comment on.
In this sense disaster doesn't seem so bad.
I've been trolling craigslist some, looking for possible band mates. I found this one guy, a drummer. The tone of his writing and the artists he listed told me he would probably be a good guy. We struck up a bit of an email conversation. He listened to my music, and then he didn't write back. I was pretty attached to the idea of working with this guy, so I sent him an email, "My music isn't that bad is it?"
He responded. I really liked his response.
"I happen to think your actual music is catchy. What you're hiding beneath the veneer of irony is something else entirely. I'm not into emo music but I appreciate the emotional honesty, even if it's childish drama. Songs about elevators and why white men don't name their babies Jesus are best left to Beck back in the 90s. Even Beck became vulnerable."As much of a slap in the face as this was, I loved him for it. I basically did the email version of getting down on my knees and begging to work with him after this post. He was so perceptive...so honest. He never got back to me.
A couple of days later, I got an email from a DJ at Killradio, an internet radio station based out of Los Angeles. We had exchanged a noncommittal "hey wanna do a show? sure!" kind of thing about a month ago. All of a sudden he was confirming a date, in four days! I said okay. Having had bad experiences with solo performances in the past, there was no way in hell I was going to get up on stage with an acoustic guitar and croon for thirty minutes. I was determined to play this gig as a band. I've been "trying" to assemble a band for years, but I've never really had a reason to. In three days I put together a band, we practiced, and tonight we played. There were about six people there and we played great. Tomorrow we might play again at Mr. T's to fill in a cancellation. The great pumpkin works in mysterious ways.
posted by Unknown @ 11:50 PM
4 Comments
4 Comments:
Well, I'm going to have to take some exception with that fellow's assessment of your work. Yes, it is true that you don't typically display much vulnerability.
But it sounds to me that he is:
1. Judging your videos as much as your music. You have a large body of work with copious contemplative songs. It's hardly all about elevators and white men.
2. Expecting absolute perfection. I mean, come on. He's holding out for someone better? Someone who writes more emotionally engaged lyrics to their vastly shittier music? The lyrics, assuredly, would be vastly shittier too, because you are an excellent lyrics writer.
That guy clearly thinks he's got it down, but one has to question the wisdom of nitpicking in this context.
But there's more than that. His critique is reductive, and, I believe, intentionally dismissive in tone:
Distance is not, in and of itself, "veneer of irony." Your music is not burdened by a veneer of irony. There's nothing ironic at all about "Hey There Elevator." In fact, I can think of very little irony in any of your songs.
It a false and intentionally dismissive thing to say, likely motivated by fear.
Similarly, the fashion in which he so readily dismisses anything that's not vulnerable as derivative and dated indicates not that he is perceptive, but that he has a firmly defined set of beliefs about music and acts to defend, rather than to challenge, those beliefs.
You afforded him credit because his critique was aimed at the right general area. And in that regard, he is perceptive. But my interpretation is that he uses that perception to dismiss threats to his self-image more than anything else.
I've seen a lot of that kind of text on GB. It's the sort of well-hidden hating that smart people do - it's built around a kernel of truth, but it is built with ill intent.
eric
eric-
i just finished watching 8 mile and so i sat down to see what eminem was up to. i haven't gotten to that yet because i ended up reading this comment you left up on my computer screen, and the writing that prompted it.
i want to respond, and here's why.
the exception you take to the fellow seems genuine, and your interpretation of his words is interesting and well put.
but, you are probably wrong. i get the sense this guy is being totally honest, and that his insight is remarkable. his response to Matt is picking up on something that i've expressed to you before. he is not hating. it's likely he is doing the opposite. i think he recognizes that some of Matt's songs (the 2 mentioned are good examples) lack emotional honesty, a key component of any great song.
i have heard a lot of Matt's music. the majority he has available for consumption is polished as hell and better than most of what's out there. but, and i'm not sure why this is the case, it doesn't quite reach the level that Matt is capable of reaching with his music. it doesn't move me, even though most of what i've heard, songs that were probably never developed, does. most of what i remember moved me to tears. if he were exposed to something of that calibur, i'm quite sure he would be eager to work with Matt.
i have to go pick up Charles now so i guess that's all i have to say.
Thanks for your comments, guys.
whatever... I started to respond to your thoughts Liz, but now I'm like, oh who cares too much work. But now I'm like, yeah but...
Yeah, the guy's right on some level. But I was responding to how he put it. And while emotional honesty may be "a key component of any great song," that's only true if "emotional honesty" is interpreted in the broadest sense. For example, Four Cars, and any of matt's freestyles, would have to qualify as emotionally honest for the statement to be true.
Basically, it is true to the extent that it means dishonesty kills otherwise good shit. But something doesn't have to be vulnerable to be honest.
That's the biggest problem I had with the guy's comments. He's painting with a broad and certain brush, thereby sacrificing whatever credit I might be inclined to give him for insight.
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