Disappointing practice last night. I think everyone was off, but my head felt like it was full of wool, so what do I know.
Easily ascribed to post-holiday torpor, I suppose. Still demoralizing when we have a session in a week.
I humored myself into thinking we have five songs ‘ready’ to record, but it is clear to me now that we have three.
I have an unfortunate habit of rushing to push stuff to completion when I can see the finish line. We have no record company asking us to pad the record, and anyone who buys the record will be grateful it even exists. Yet the urge to pile on whatever might possibly translate into music is inescapable.
That urge, almost certainly, comes from uncertainty about the future. I spent my adolescence as a musician, and I have spent my entire adulthood extending my adolescence, as a musician. At no time since I assumed this calling have I known what lay in store past six months’ time. Three months’ time has been generous notice.
In the old days, the uncertainty was due to fluctuating life circumstances. People went to college and moved to the East Coast with their parents. Distances opened with lack of funds to bridge them.
Today, the uncertainty is due to static life circumstances. Families. Mortgages. Jobs. Business ventures. Real life sits. Its demands expand to fill most hours and cost most of our mental energy. Musical material that used to take form in a couple weeks takes months instead.
The entire question of why exactly we do this particular thing, particularly at this level, hovers above the proceedings always. At moments like this, in the shadow of a bad practice, 6AM two hours into the day already, the question is writ large.
Rock and roll saves lives and ruins them. I would trade nothing I’ve done in the service of our music save a baker’s dozen of meaningless shows. And I can’t deny it also has kept me young and dumb, too dumb to ever know when to stop.
I’m past choice. The chatter of what the drums should do, what the bass should do, what the guitar should do, what I should do. It rattles through my head when I sleep. I hum and tap the parts distractedly as I drive half-awake to work on slippery roads.
The freeway is a mess. One inch of ice and snow. Idiots who think they are winged in the fast lanes. I stay to the right rear of the big trucks, willing to slog, watching for an exit that gets me where I need, absolutely need, to go.