2009: What Have We Learned?

I recapped the most horrible year of my life in a perky little blog, plainly titled, "2008: The Worst Year Of My Life".

I figured simplicity was best in that case.

I spent the beginning of that year feeling broken mentally and emotionally after the ending of a relationship, then took that energy and channeled it into my harrowing near-death due to a sudden incarcerated hernia, and finally sailed smoothly into the winter by almost going completely broke.

But other than that, it was great.

So with my 2008 being so merry and gay, how did 2009 fare for little ol' me?

Well, it just so happens that 2009 marks the first year of The King Of Deprecation, (which is obviously this ridiculous pseudo-philosohpical blog you're reading now) and therefore that makes it easy to go back in time and follow the tumultuous, tear-jearking, and sexual journey through the ups and downs of The Aftermath of 2008.

So, now comes the question.

What have we learned Charlie Brown?

EARLY 2009

The last new year started off with a bang. (silence...)

I ended 2008 by just barely scraping by, still healing physically, mentally and emotionally.

So it only makes sense to hit me again, this time with the drawn-out death of my only companion (yes, sad in itself), my cat of 15 years, Hobbes.

Not the best way to begin the year, I guess I should have planned things differently.

Without my feline friend I was now truly alone, with no one to throw my constant comments and witty asides to while working at home (I really need an Ed McMahon character that follows me around).

A month later I had my biggest set back of the whole ordeal, when I discovered that the dramatic hernia situation that had nearly claimed my life a few moths prior was back, albeit in a much less life-threatening way.

This became one of the lowest points in my entire life.

I felt that I would never escape my own bodily defects, and, though not very logical, my emotions swamped me in the fear that this was to be forever my lot in life: to be broken, and to remain that way forever. Limited, feeble, restricted in almost every aspect of life we take for granted. (All of them).

My birthday that month was slightly less than badass.

My awful outlook on life, fueled by my extreme unhappiness, gave birth to many fascinating (though I'm sure quite depressing and bleak) philosophical conversations about the nature existence.

More than ever before, my mind drifted into constant examination of myself and the world around me, and I discovered that I seemed to enjoy psychoanalyzing people.

During this ever-so-groovy period, I spent much time focusing on two main issues that were quite apparent in my (then shitty) writing.

Love and happiness.

More specifically, why each of those concepts were negative.

I had no love, and I had no happiness, and therefore I had to come up with some pretty over-the-top rationalizations of of my place in life. Not that there aren't downsides and things to take note of with those concepts, but maybe, just maybe (I don't want to jump to conclusions yet) I went a bit too far with it.

My new found outlet and interest in writing about these observations was my only real therapy. As each new idea, opinion, feeling and perspective came to mind, I channeled my miserable mood into a light edition of what some might call 'enthusiam' or 'excitement' or 'slightly-less-miserable-ness' and began to collect them in a notebook in the goal of turning many of them into poorly written blogs.

Great job!

MID 2009

Though my own bodily frailty and my bitter perspective on the world were always on my mind, as the year progressed, somehow I managed to turn my frothing, torturous self-pity into a frothing, torturous self-pity-based series of essays that showcased my personal insecurities and my need to impress others.

(Impressed with my honesty there? 'Cause, you know, that took courage to just come out and be so open about that. I mean, I would admire someone who did that... so... you know... you might... um... ).

During my lifetime, I have developed a strange skill that allows me to adapt my personal pain, hatred, and depression, and use it as a tool to help me forge my creative endeavors. In fact, I became so good at it, that any time I found myself in a new, freshly-minted (still in box) dramatic situation, within minutes I would already be thinking, "Fuck this really sucks! I can't wait to write a song with this emotion!"

And now I applied it to writing.

(See? Look at me go!!)

Though miserable, by the middle of 2009, my mind was now running at a ridiculously high RPM (which was unnecessary given the speed I was traveling at). Every day would bring a new all-consuming thought about myself or those around me, a new perspective about this grand turd we called awareness, and philosophical ramblings that led me to momentary excitement and potential brilliance, only to end up at "so what?"

My personal struggle with the concept of happiness continued, as I tried my best to demonize it (you know, since I didn't have it) in blogs like "I Resent Your Happiness". Also waged was my battle with love in general, with blogs like "(Mis)Perceptions Of Love" and others (which I perpetually shot sniper rounds at from the comfort of my lofty elitist bell tower, while shouting, "you made me play second base!!!").

Though I was really beginning to... to... "enjoy" (please apply that term loosely) writing my thoughts on things, and putting them out into the world as a form of self-reflective therapy, my emotions were building under the surface (this is the same surface, by the way, that was already obviously tormented, rage-filled, and super-depressive. One can only imagine the HIDDEN emotions under that).

The constant, and seemingly hopeless struggle with the medical system, combined with my ever more erratic emotions and über-pessimism about the futile crap-shoot of life, culminated in my darkest period of recent times.

My essay about suicide summed up my whole outlook at the time.

I enjoyed nothing. I looked forward to nothing. I was eternally unhappy.

I really felt that I genuinely had nothing at all. I had chosen the shortest straw, and I could see no good reasons to continue trudging through this pointlessness.

(You know what I should do about that? Dwell on it some more! That will help!).

LATE 2009

So, if you thought contemplating suicide was the lowest point I could get to, just wait until...

Actually, you were right, it was the lowest point.

Obviously I did not end my life, though I really don't recall why not. (There's still plenty of time for that).

Perhaps the reason, or part of it at least, was due to my obsessive focus on finishing my five-years-in-the-making 3rd album "Moira's Lake", for my personal music project Envinity.

When fully engrossed in working on something I love, though I may complain about the work, though I may be stressed out, though I may be tired, I find that I counteract all of my negative emotional mood swings (perhaps not ALL...).

Seeing this in action, I wrote about my new theory that my personal happiness, or satisfaction, is tied very closely to my creative output and productivity.

Hmmm. So is that the key to my depression?

Yeahhhhhnnnnnoooo. Sort of. One of may keys, really.

In September I finally caught a lucky break with my health problems and, after months and months of awful, annoying struggles, managed to get my surgery taken care of.

It was an amazing relief, and one less thing to add to the billion pestering thoughts that greeted me each sun-shiney day.

With that portion of my life 100% fully behind me forever and ever with literally no chance of returning in the future in any way, shape or form, (take a breath in), my mind focused back on what it does best:

Over-analyzing every god damn thing.

When I returned to my blogs, I wrestled with more heady concepts that bothered me, namely spirituality and belief in general, in cheeky essays like Gardening With God, and The Inefficacy Of Prayer.

I inadvertently improved my writing-style and storytelling skills by pushing myself to be more naked and vulnerable in my essays (like in the blog "Soul Mates"), and turned up the scrutiny and self-deprecation on myself. (How could I have turned up the "self-deprecation" on someone else?).

With my mind thoroughly engrossed in finishing my album, and writing new observations on life, I felt, for once in a long while, okay.

Not great, mind you. But "okay" was a welcomed improvement.

Say, maybe I had found the key to my own happiness...

END OF 2009

I was on fire. (FUCK!!!!)

I was monstrously productive (I did a thing), and I was busy all of the time. I would complain that there was not enough time to get every aspect of the music, graphics, writing, editing, marketing, and self-fellatio completed.

My full release came (wow, what's with all of the sudden sexual humor? What does that say about me right now?) on Halloween when, after 5 years of work, I released Moira's Lake to the world (see: a few people on the internet).

Now I could finally relax after all of that... stress... and... okay, I'm getting bored and restless already... really restless and frustrated now... nothing to work on... depression coming back... shit... I thought I had the magical cure-all???!!!!

My big projects had worked wonders to keep my mind focused, and much less likely to dwell on the negative. Now that the projects were done, my mind was free to wander back into philosophical bleakness,  and I drifted into the quite familiar emotional mire.

My "too many to count by now" existential crisis was upon me again, and wrapped me up in a flour tortilla with mixed cheese and chipotle aiole. (Mmmm... actually can I have a side of salsa with that too? Perfect. Thanks).

As I dissected myself further at the end of the year, the essays became increasingly life-focused and philosophical, dealing with the essential questions of existence: who am I? What do I want?

Understanding the nature of my priorities in life was now an important question.

My existential crisis forced me ever closer to the causes of what affects me, and how I react to them. Everyday brought with it a new way to look at myself, a new observation on my behavior, a new revelation on who I really am as a person (usually not flattering, but still fascinating).

Things came to a decidedly uncharacteristic peak when, madly pacing around my apartment one day in search of some understanding of who I am and what I want, it suddenly hit me.

I've never made "enjoying my life" a priority.

Everything up until then revolved around my creative projects, and my happiness took a back seat to the art. In fact, I seemed to sabotage my chances at happiness, just to create more pain, and then vicariously, more art.

This was the person I'd known as "Niko" for nearly half of my life.

I was almost afraid to admit to myself the treasonous thought that, "maybe I want to enjoy my life now."

What a strange notion.

And yet, I think I do.

"What? Enjoy your life? Who the hell is this person?"

At the moment, I'm not sure.

That's for 2010 to decide.

My head hurts.

ABOUT THE BLOGS THEMSELVES

In order to write this post, and also the last blog about my "best" posts of 2009, I sat myself down in front of the computer (so far sounds fairly cut and dried), and began reading through everything I've posted last year.

In my mind, this would be a fun task. I was guessing that I was going to enjoy reading about my mindset and observations during the often frustrating times of spring '09.

What I discovered upon my first few readings, was that I, the very person who wrote these blogs, was having trouble even getting to the end of some of them.

"Wow, that's kind of embarrassing," I thought out loud.

Not the feeling I was hoping for.

Sure I knew that my earlier posts would not be as good, but these were pretty unreadable.

The observation at the heart of each essay was all fine and good –points about honesty, the nature of emotion, and lust– but the writing behind it made me want to fall asleep and dream of molten river of turds.

(I can't tell if that is relaxing or not, I'll have to try it tonight).

My perspective was all off.

There was no personal connection, no emotion, no story, no real reason to care about the notion, idea, or observation contained within the big, intimidating blocks of text.

As I soldiered on, I (thankfully) slowly began developing my writing style into something more entertaining and readable (subjectively speaking of course).

Due to my insecurities as a freshly minted "writer", I felt I had to prove myself to the world by using a constant slew of big words and over-the-top, out-of-place humor. Yeah, that'll make 'em love it!!

(OMNIFUTUANT!!)

What an idiot I was.

Well, perhaps just ignorant of these concepts.

Sure I could throw out some interesting points of view on myself and others (we all have legs), but if there is no personal connection to the idea, why would you give a shit about reading it? (Answer: you didn't give a shit about reading it).

Look at a post from March '09 and then one from October through December and you'll see what I mean. The point being made is just fine, but it's just not told in an interesting way.

On second thought, just take my word for it and only read the newer stuff.

What a difference a year makes.

2009 VS 2008

So overall, how does 2009 fare when compared to 2008?

Well, considering that I was destroyed mentally, emotionally, physically and financially in 2008, losing my cat of 15 years, dealing with a second hernia, extreme bouts of depression, near suicide, and existential crises made for a much improved year!

The setbacks, and personal crises, though awful at the moment, served as a wonderful reference point to learn more about the person I have become (whoever the fuck he is), and the world around me.

I do strongly believe that pain is one of the best catalysts for change, and with that in mind, change I did.

If 2008 was the worst year of my life, than I will officially dub 2009 my year of awareness, says me.

Now the real test is to see if I can begin actually applying these observations to my life, with the goal of, dare I say, IMPROVING IT (wha??!!), and make 2010 my year of implementation.

Well, good fucking luck on that.

Anyone else learn any big lessons about themselves this past year?


You might also be interested in:

• 2008: The Worst Year Of My Life
• Hernia 2: A Love Story
• Focus On My What?
• Too Early For Suicide?
• Internal And External Priorities

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Tags: blog personal+struggle philosophy psychology life+lessons humor sarcasm self+improvement

Outside Validation

Boy, we sure love to think of ourselves as self-sustaining, confident need-nothings.

It's obviously an ego-based idea, and that's why it's so common.

Sure, we can get by for a while on our own, doing our own thing, making our own way, but eventually our subconscious social nature sneaks up on us and demands attention.

You know that picture you drew? The one you spent all of that time on? The one you're really proud of? Are you really sure it's good?

You know how you like to think of yourself as a really intelligent person? Are you really sure you are?

You think you're pretty funny too, don't you? What if you aren't?

Just like most things, encouragement from an outside source can make or break our image of ourselves and inspire us to strive for more, or completely give up.

So are we really that dependent on the approval of others?

I don't know, what do you think?

...(waiting desperately).

WHERE'S DEPRECATION BEEN MAN?

I'm a pathetic whore for outside validation.

I had my sad realization that I was not the cool rebel that I thought myself to be a while ago.

As a relevant example, I'll look at this very blog. *Does*

Before I decided to really put a good deal of effort into writing my silly observations on myself and the world on a consistent basis, I was of the mind that my sporadic essays on random things we're unappreciated and unread, or even hated (that one hasn't changed).

Generally my posting frequency was about one blog every three months.

It wasn't until someone I knew directly told me that not only had he read my blogs, but he actually enjoyed what I had to say!

*spit take*

Wha?

I was honestly confused and beside myself (and confused). Someone actually read that crap, and somehow, seemed to enjoy my emotionally-laden perspectives on things?

He asked me when I was going to post again, and seemed to show genuine interest, not just that "I'm being nice to you, but I don't really want to read more of your stupid blogs" thing.

It was small, short and simple.

And that stuck with me.

Things were suddenly different. I had an audience now. Someone enjoyed what I did, and I now had new motivation to do it more often.

See?

Did I have the confidence in myself to just go for it on my own? No. It took an encouraging word from someone else to inspire me.

Thanks Edy!

FREUD SUPPORTS YOU, LITTLE FELLA

It's interesting how far of an impact not getting the approval we seek can have.

I have friends whose parents never supported them in their creative endeavors.

They (not the parents) had a talent and a passion for music, or art or something creative, and even when they (not the parents) showed great improvements and excitement for what they (not the parents) were doing, they (the parents) would not get even the slightest "That sounds/looks really good!" or "You're really improving," or the very enthusiastic, "Would you play/write/draw something for me?"

It's really quite Freudian. Constantly seeking that elusive missing validation from those you most wanted it from. In many cases, our own parents.

So what about this said impact from lack of outside validation?

Well, those very same friends who never got encouraged, yet were so full of talent, are struggling and conflicted now.

I often hear stories from these people about their previous home lives, and the lack of support their parents "showed" them regarding their hobbies, and passions. They (not the parents) want to work on their areas of talent, but it's quite apparent how much discouragement has rubbed off on them (from their parents).

Sometimes all it takes is a small word of enthusiasm and support to send someone off in a better direction.

A simple positive word for the child can go a long way towards inspiring them, just as a negative word can go a long way towards derailing them.

Does that mean there is a direct correlation between encouragement and success? Or at least encouragement and drive?

Well, it appears, in my non-scienfic studies, that there is something.

How much I'm not sure.

By the way, that picture you drew really sucks.

YOU'RE SO CONFIDENT

"I don't care what people think about me!"

I'm sure you've heard people who say such bold statements, usually loudly, and in the company of many.

Perhaps you, yourself, have said the same thing before?

As I mentioned in the preamble, it's a common thought for many of us that we're independent rebels, who need no approval or permission from anyone to do anything.

Right?

Yeah!

...man.

If you wear certain clothes, perhaps clothes that people around you do not wear, you may get a playful jab, or even a threatening insult from those who disapprove.

Most of us are quite conscious of this, and take these things to heart.

But some of us, feel compelled to respond with the ever-so-cool "I don't give a shit what others think about me! I just do my own thing."

Whoa!

Awesome!

You really are totally self-confident!

I mean, you proved me wrong man.

...Except for the fact that you are not only lying to those that overhear the statement, but to yourself as well.

Why?

Think of it this way:

If you really did not care about the opinions of others, then why did you proclaim, so loudly, in front of as many people as possible, your proud defiance of validation from your peers? Hmmm?

Could you, by chance, be seeking approval and respect for the fact that you claim to seek no approval or respect?

People could be pretty impressed by your self confidence, don't you think?

No, of course not.

My fault.

That was stupid.

You don't care what everyone else thinks of you.

(You just want their approval for appearing to not care what they think).

VALIDATING ENVINITY

One of my most vulnerable areas is also, obviously, one of my most confident areas.

My music.

Specifically my music project Envinity.

It's a strange and violent mix of emotions and perspectives that go into how I feel about what I do.

If you've read many of my recent blogs, you'll know that I talk a lot about dichotomy.

Two opposing opinions or emotions on the same topic.

And music delivers this for me in spades (straight flush bitches!).

It is within this extremely narrow niche that I am the most cocky, over-confident and powerful. When I create, I feel like a God. It's as if I will a unique universe into being with just my mind.

Oh man, it can be an amazing feeling!

And it's not just the creation.

It's music in general.

I usually feel that I know more about music composition than those around me. That I understand broader concepts about how music affects people psychologically and emotionally (hey, I told you I can be cocky here).

Now that I've got all of that out of the way, we get to the ever-popular dichotomy part.

Even though I'm able to feel so self-assured and confident in my abilities as a composer, it's also, as I said earlier, the area in which I'm most sensitive and fragile.

You'd think all of that confidence I just spoke of would allow me to remain steadfast in my opinion of my own creations, but they don't.

Any dissenting vote, or nay sayer will almost instantly cripple me emotionally, and turn me from the most cocky, arrogant person, into the most insecure, confused, and broken person.

Additionally, I never really feel that something I've done is worth a damn, until a complete stranger validates it for me.

Not a friend. Not a band member. Not family.

A complete stranger. With no reason to say anything positive, other than the fact that they truly like it.

So why can't I just stick to my guns, when I know that something I've done is good?

OUTSIDE VALIDATION AS A TOOL

Although most of this probably sounds like outside validation is some kind of weakness, or that it's a crutch for those that are not confident enough in themselves, outside validation can actually be a valuable tool, if used in the right way and with the right people.

One of my first good blogs close to my current writing style, was a blog written at the end of 2008 called, "Self Perception: What A Beautiful Thing!" In essence it was a blog written out of the then startling realization that we generally see ourselves quite inaccurately compared to the person we are in the world.

More specifically, in my view, self perception is how we would LIKE to see ourselves.

And since we cannot ever see ourselves without the bias of BEING ourselves, we need to rely on outside validation to confirm or deny our preconceptions of who we think we are.

Using outside validation in this way requires that you have a friend or family member
that you trust, and most importantly, a person who is not afraid to tell you the truth, even when they know it may not make you feel good emotionally.

Watch for other's reactions to what you do and say. Does that reflect the image you have of yourself?

How do people treat you, and what does that say about who you are, or how you act?

Were you even aware that you act that way, or say things like that?

I bet you weren't.

The never-ending quest to discover who you really are is one of the most important journeys you can ever attempt. (So says me).

And having things within yourself validated from an outside source, can help you see more accurately the person you really are.

Potentially.

THIN-SKINNED AND FRAGILE

I see now, that I am more sensitive and fragile than I previously thought.

I have a stunning track record of giving up easily in the face of opposition (in some areas, not all). The slightest negative comment sends me spinning for days, weeks, or even months (some I've held onto for years).

All this shows me, is my lack of confidence in myself. My lack of trust in my own ideas. Yes, there are times when I can exude, true or not, a sort of charismatic determination and confidence in my own ideas, but it's not the norm.

It would be nice to not be so needy of outside validation for everything I do, and everything I am.

Why do I devalue myself so?

Where does this fragility come from?

Why does my own opinion of something not suffice?

Why do I place such emphasis on a word from others?

Throughout this last year or so, my weaknesses (which are plentiful), have come welling up to the surface, ripe for self-examination.

And this is but one of them.

But is it also one of yours?

Are we really as independent, confident, and self-assured as we would like to think we are?

Perhaps you may be, but I'm definitely not.

Well, unless you think I am, because I value your opinion.


Related blogs:
Focus On My What?
Your Self Projection Had Potential!
I Resent Your Happiness
Run In With The Beautiful People
Self Perception: What A Beautiful Thing!

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Internal And External Priorities

Sometimes it only takes a word or sentence for me to be sent down the proverbial drainpipe of meandering existential philosophy. Just like my essay, "Gardening With God," in which a simple wall plaque inspired a entire blog about how people personify the concept of god.

I'll change the format of this blog a bit, and give you the theory upfront, instead of gradually through examples, or at the end of the story.

Here it is:

Many, if not most people, tend to prioritize what they have, and who they are with, over who they are, and what they do.

So how did I come to this little silly-sounding tidbit, and what does it really mean?

And the real question: does it even matter?

HOW DO YOU SPEND YOUR FREE TIME?

I was talking with a very cool, laid back neighbor of mine, who I only see from time to time. We lightly chit-chatted about random things and he happily told me he had the evening off of work, unexpectedly, and was thrilled to have some free time, which is quite understandable.

I asked him what he was going to do with his time and he admitted he was not quite sure, but he was trying to get a hold of some friends so they could go out somewhere and get wasted.

"Sure," I said, trying to hold back. "That's one way to spend the time."

"Well, what else am I going to do on a Friday evening?" he questioned.

This is why you don't ask me extremely open-ended questions like this, as I have the tendency to want to play with people.

Trying to make a point and also testing for interesting reactions, I let out a stream of options as a substitute for extreme social drinking:

"Let's see, well, you could start writing a book; you could make a blog about your favorite interests; you could draw, sketch or paint a picture;... um... you could write a song; you could begin learning a new instrument; you could study a subject you've always wanted to know more about; you could write down a list of long-term life goals and break them down into smaller, more accomplishable steps; you could learn a new language; start a humorous web comic...uh..."

I stalled for new ideas to throw into my spontaneous tangent.

"Well, maybe YOU could do that," he replied with a chuckle, acting as if I had just asked him pour cottage cheese into his pants, and run around the neighborhood licking mailboxes.

Yes, I was playing with him, but it was also partially serious. Were those suggestions really that strange?

"Anyone can do those things, assuming you want to," I defended, but he was already making his way back into his house, scrolling through his contact list on his phone.

"Hmmm," I thought out loud. "Maybe my priorities are really out of whack. Those sounded like admirable things to do with one's free time, even on a Friday."

It sure doesn't take much for me to feel like I'm struggling against the flow of the river. I guess everything I do or value is completely odd, stupid, or plain ridiculous.

Right?

GOT ANY PLANS FOR THE WEEKEND?

I've been asked that question periodically and it always makes me pause.

I know what they mean by asking me that question.

"Are you going out anywhere, spending time with someone, or doing something that is generally accepted as a traditional social outlet for enjoyment and/or escapism."

Realistically, the answer is both yes and no.

Yes because I have things to do, and I plan to do them.

No because most people don't seem to think of my plans as "plans".

Why? Most of the things I do, and find extremely important, are generally viewed as internal pursuits: Things I do that only involve me. No friends, no going out, no traditional "fun". Hence, weird.

When I tell people the "plans" I have for any given patch of free time, I often receive looks of confusion, blank stares, or sometimes looks or pity and sympathy.

"Poor, pathetic loser," they seem to say.

And what makes me so odd?

Well, take this example of the things that I would be working on right now in my free time, considering my internally focused priorities.

*I need to continue mixing the last few details in a few songs for my new album
*I need to put together the remaining graphic layouts for the album artwork
*I need to write several pieces of copy for the website and promo materials
*I need to start working on a new blog for KingOfDeprecation
*I need to start working on a new blog for The Envinity Blog
*I need to map out a step by step master release list for the Envinity Blog
*I need to finish the last pieces of content for the new website
*I need to create a new global marketing outline for the release of the new album

etc, etc. The list goes on and on.

Sound like a blast? Probably not, huh? Does that sound extremely silly to you?

This is what I do with my free time. Essentially, I work. And, yes, by myself. But I work on my own projects. Things that matter to me that are each, in their own way, a form of self expression. And by doing so, I feel like I am enhancing the person I am, and the things I've done with my life. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

PROJECTING PRIORITIES

I often have trouble identifying with others, and falsely assume that they see the world in the same way I do (projecting). We all do this to greater or lesser degrees in our own way, though lately my problem has become quite exaggerated.

I tend to think that everyone places high value on self-expression, creativity, art, the pursuit of knowledge, and the quest to understand the self. Boy am I an idiot. Those things are stupid. The few times I get into a conversation with someone, I tend to interpret things through those odd priorities of mine, obscuring the obvious meaning of what they intended to convey.

Facebook has been a wonderful way to re-connect with childhood friends and classmates. During a brief "what have you been up to for over a decade" type conversation with an old friend from my youth, I asked her what she had been doing that day.

"I've been really busy with family stuff, so I have not had much of a chance to get to it, but I've been trying to get some painting done today."

Now, you may have interpreted this in its intended meaning already, but not me. I was quite surprised and excited by this comment.

"Wow, that's pretty cool," I commented, taking new interest in the conversation.
"What are you painting?"

"Well right now I just want to get the kitchen done."

Oh...

THAT kind of painting.

Here I was all excited that this person was also an artist and put high priority on artistic expression and creativity, when all she meant was she was simply painting her house.

And for me, that was a let down. Not that kitchens shouldn't be painted, or that it won't make the place look nicer, I'm sure it will. But I felt let down because I thought that I could talk to someone with some similar priorities, and even viewpoints on life.

Nope. I'm the weird one, yet again. You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

SHORT TERM FIX

You've just had a long, stressful day at work, and you really need to let off some steam and relax. How are you going to spend your evening? If you are like most young people, you probably will feel trapped sitting around your apartment, and feel the need to let loose, to get away from things.

The social consensus leads many of us to decide that what we need is to go out to a bar or club and get completely hammered. It's instant. It's visceral. And it works.

Albeit temporarily.

We trade in progress on any of our long term goals for ourselves, in exchange for a night of carousing and alcohol-fueled reality-avoidance.

But in the grand scheme of things, this is simply an example of how we subconsciously circumvent tackling our big, challenging life issues, and our grand aspirations for ourselves, via social distractions that simply pass time, without helping us use that time productively for our own benefit.

Though I could not see that a few years ago, it seems clear as day to me now. The focus on such short term trivialities as a main priority will only help to ensure that our lives will pass us by without us even knowing it.

Sure, we'll have some funny stories to share, but nothing truly accomplished to show for it.

In essence, we will live our lives in the passenger seat, forever fearful of taking direct control and responsibility of where, how, or when the car may get to a destination.

That being said, there is nothing wrong with getting together with friends for a round of drinks and laughs after a long day. I understand the appeal, honestly I do. For a few years, I was part of a social circle that did nothing but party all week. I was part of...

THE CLUB SCENE

For most of my adult life I had never been much of a drinker, perhaps just having a few beers here and there or a glass of wine from time to time. It wasn't until I suddenly started DJing in a small, dilapidated club that I became introduced to the extreme social partying scene.

All of my new friends were now bartenders, DJs and club staff, all of whom quite enjoy drinking (an understatement). And in the excitement of this new environment, I adopted the philosophy of, "when in Rome...". (Which I was not in).

Over time, I became a regular at the bars and clubs associated with my bartender and club staff employees. On my off nights I was out, like many, many others, till 2am (usually later) drinking and dancing, and I loved it. It felt exciting, and edgy, like I was part of some sort of underground rebellious movement of misunderstood people who wanted to really live life everyday.

Once I started working as door staff at another club, I was taking shots before, during and after my shift, then we'd all head to another bar after hours where we would, get this, drink some more. 6am sometimes. And that was life. Sometimes five days a week. Work at the club, drink, sleep in late, work at the club, drink, sleep in late, night off, drink at another club, drink after hours, sleep in late... you get the picture.

After many months of this routine, even though I did feel partially included in the group of staff folks and their partying antics, I began to become restless and irritated with the lifestyle. This was not just some friends who got together here and there over a few drinks, this was almost every night with drunken after hours shenanigans. It was the lifestyle.

I grew resentful of many of the people I had considered friends, or at least acquaintances, feeling as if we were wasting our lives away; and I had only been part of it for a year or so.

I was sick of feeling that the only way we could all hang out was through copious amounts of alcohol and social debauchery. Once in a while, sure, no problem. Making it your whole life though?

Quite depressing.

But perhaps only for me.

A MANIFESTO... OF SORTS

Since it has been on my mind for some time now, I've had time to break it all down in to two types of focuses and priorities.

The external (what you have, who you are with) and the internal (who you are, what you do).

To me, there is nothing more important in existence than learning to understand who you are (a deceptively simple, yet extremely complex question), and pure, creative self-expression (what you do).

These priorities have governed my life for as long as I can remember (although the journey of understanding myself has been a bit more of a recent development).

Sure, working on creative projects of any kind does not carry the immediate sex appeal of say, going out on the town with your close friends for a night of hijinks and crazy stories to tell; but the long term goals, and maybe this is only me, completely blow the quick fix out of the water.

So I didn't get out all weekend. So what? I spent time working on things that directly relate to who I am, what I want to do and where I want to go with my life. It's not always hip, cool, or marketable, and few people even understand why doing anything like that would be enjoyable or worthwhile.

And still I don't get it. I really don't. Yes, I've been there before, it was fun for a while, but it quickly lost its luster, and I remain confused as to why it does not do the same for more people.

It seems that hardly anyone places emphasis on the big internal questions (who they are, what they do), and only pursues the external (what they have, who they are with). So maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe it's me who's wasting my life away cooped up inside doing my internally-focused creative ventures and not really going out and experiencing life like everyone else around me.

Which brings me back to the essential question. Does this even matter?



Related blogs:
The Depression Panacea
Gardening With God
Artist Integrity And The Dichotomy Of Success
The Inefficacy Of Prayer
The Feel Good Fix. And Observation On Wants And Needs

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Tags: life goals plans drinking partying social creativity long term short term psychology philosophy know thy self

The Depression Panacea

At the beginning of 2009, I was at the lowest spot I've ever been. The year of 2008 had destroyed me from nearly every front imaginable, and 2009 had welcomed me with the passing of my cat of fifteen years.

Needless to say I was a tad unhappy.

I blamed this feeling on the specific events of the previous year: the ending of a relationship; my body almost killing me, literally; almost going completely broke; and nothing worthwhile to show for any of it.

But the more I pondered my own mire of sorrow and desperation, I began to recall that these feelings did not start with the obvious events of the year prior.

No. In fact, even during the good moments of my last relationship, I can still remember feeling as if something was not right. Sure the relationship had its share of red flags, but at the time it was still fun and exciting.

In reality I had been on a long downward slope of unhappiness for the last several years.

So what was going on with me?

Why was I still unhappy during moments of supposed happiness?

How far back did my depression go, and what caused it?

More importantly, what actually makes me happy?

LOOKING TO THE PAST

As a young, carefree child, I spent hours drawing landscapes with colored pencils, creating elaborate death traps for skateboarding stick figures, and recording multi-hour ramblings on cassette tapes that was, in my mind, an entertaining variety radio show.

I can recall building things with Legos while laying on the floor telling myself stories, or creating an epic, and usually hyper-violent movie scenario for my action figures to play out, complete with in-depth character connections and full background histories.

I rarely played sports, and the few times I joined the neighbor kids in anything requiring some ounce of athletic skill, I reaped the chastising-based rewards of my lifelong disinterest in sports.

This only helped to turn me continually inward, relying more and more on my own imagination as the primary means of my entertainment and satisfaction.

Music was also a big part of my life at the time, and I spent many moments of my free time dreaming of becoming a famous rapper (sorry, that's what I liked at the time). I wrote down lyrics, wrote trite melodies and chord patterns (C'mon, I was a kid), and created logos and album covers for myself, which continued for several years, even as my musical tastes drifted into pop, and then rock.

Music was always a place I wanted to be, but there were so many other creative things I did at the time that there was no need to focus on just one.

"So, Niko. That's really neat that you did a bunch of stupid things as a child, but what does that have to do with your depression?"

Thanks for the sarcasm friend.

What I'm trying to illustrate is that during this time of my life, I was constantly inspired, much more positive, and had a fairly optimistic outlook on life and my future.

...And then puberty hit.

MOMMY, WOW! I'M A BIG KID NOW

My transition into adulthood (which is a constant journey, not a destination) has been a rocky and challenging path (as I imagine it is for so many of us).

Now that I was a hormone-throbbing young man, my emotions took me in stranger, and much more dramatic directions at the drop of a hat. And boy did people drop a lot of hats (clumsy fools).

In essence, the influx of new chemicals in my body plus time and experience, had changed me into a new person, far removed from the optimism of my child-like self of days gone by. I was now a brooding, overly-introspective teenager whose emotions governed and clouded his entire perspective on existence.

So, is this the source of my depression? Simple Biology?

Yes and no.

In the sense that I was now capable (as if it was intentional) of feeling super-human mood-swings, yes, it started there. But was it the source of the hollow, lackluster sadness that grew on me like a fungus in recent years? No. But it sure provides a nice canvas to paint on.

Sure I still spent many an evening curled up in the fetal position on my bed, most likely on the phone with a girl who would never love me, while somber, atmospheric music drifted out my speakers, melding perfectly with the bleak glow of my black light and lava lamp.

(Oh you poor high school kid, your life is so hard. Here, have my pretend sympathy).

But on the upside I also had plenty of creative projects to keep me busy. I was in about every possible music program in high school from marching band, to jazz band, to symphonic band (which I really loved). I also took several art classes, in the end becoming quite interested in 3D computer art (also very fun). To round it all out I took an acting class (eh...), I played in a metal band with some friends, and I continued to hone my own songwriting skills by working on long, self-involved keyboard compositions.

I led quite a busy life at the time, looking back.

Despite being melodramatic and emotional about every stupid little thing, I really had a lot going on in my life to be excited and proud of.

THE DESCENT BEGINS

The juxtaposition of my early post-high school life and the mile-a-minute marathon that was my high school routine was not immediately apparent to me.

At first I had a job working in the music department of the long-defunct Media Play (which was quite fitting). I would go clubbing twice a week ritualistically, and began playing with a little band called Dunwich Horror, a tongue-in-cheek black and death metal cover band, which featured the brothers Thomas and Daniel Drinnen (which later became Urizen).

I kept myself quite content (as much as I can be) and busy with projects, yet slowly over time, my personal outlets for self expression would begin to drop off the radar, as I became a singularly-focused person.

Around the same time of the above shenanigans, I had begun my early recording experimentation with digital music, taking songs I had been working on since I was 14 and 15 years old, and bringing them into the present with amazingly sort-of-okay results!

Omitting several important steps for you readers, this project eventually became my personal band Envinity (then called Envy).

As time progressed, I cut off the remaining avenues of creativity leaving just my personal music as my single outlet for my imagination, emotion and experiences.

Over the next several years I was lucky enough to release two albums, Sweet Painful Reality in 2002, and Empyreal Progeny in 2004. I hadn't picked up a pencil, brush or drawing program in years, (although I did started getting into Photoshop and graphics for my albums), and my toys were long since put away. Everything I did was now almost 100% focused on Envy, including the way I structured my life.

Envy (now Envinity), was all I had, and had now come to represent me as a whole.

Without really knowing it, there was no longer a separation between my art, and the person I was.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU DO

Though I'd known this for quite some time, I recently came face to face with the notion that I have trouble defining myself outside of what I do.

If I were asked to describe what makes me ME, I'd begin telling you things that I've done, created, or thought of. None of these being who I am as a human being.

Given that most of my life was spent being creative or imaginative (even if it wasn't always very good), I had built up a connection between who I am, and what I do. There was no difference. I had become the things I create. "Who is Niko?" Well, let me show you this new thing I did.

Going back to the last few depressing years in question, what was I producing at the time? What was I working on?

Well, there's the problem.

For someone who is apparently defined by what I do, I was not being very well defined.

I had the beginnings of my eventual 3rd album (coming soon), which I was very excited about, but it was far, far from completion. To further distance myself from creatively-driven actualization, it seemed at the time that the project would never see the light of day.

"Okay, so this new thing you were working on was a long way off, but weren't you still playing live shows with your band? Isn't that something tangible and creative?"

Well friend, the live version of Envinity had sadly disintegrated into a near-comical facsimile of the grand vision I had started out with, pushing me further down the path to personal depression and frustration.

If indeed Envinity was all I had, and its gains and outputs represented my gains and outputs, I had nothing. The whole thing was turning into something I hated, and therefore so was I. It had nothing new to show for itself, vicariously, neither did I.

I did not put it into focus at the time, but I recall wondering why I could feel so worthless and unhappy when I had other things in my life that should have made up for that. I had no idea why I felt so down.

I had no idea, at this time, that my creativity connects directly to my identity, and also my emotions.

THE DEPRESSION PANACEA

At the start of 2009, finally realizing this seemingly obvious connection between my moments of satisfaction and purpose in life, and my amount of personal creative output, I made a pledge. And no, not one of those flimsy new year's resolutions that no one ever remembers or follows through on.

I vowed to myself, that I would make 2009 the most creatively saturated year I'd ever experienced.

With newly ignited interest and cautious optimism, I quickly jotted down a list of every project I'd ever fantasized about doing, designing, or being a part of at any point in my lifetime. From the most grandiose, to the absolutely stupid and silly.

As I stared at the ever growing list of potential ideas, I began to see how much I had limited myself in the last several years. Here I was with the mindset that I was ONLY a musician, and yet my list told me otherwise. So I guess I'm not just a musician anymore eh? Then what am I? (Besides an occasional ass?).

As we head into the fall of '09, I'm glad to say that my personal life-experiment has showed some wonderful signs of positivity.

I'm on my way to finally finishing the project I started almost five years ago for Envinity (which is good in and of itself), but to add to that, I've also found a new interest in writing about philosophy and psychology from my sarcastic, self-deprecating perspective, which I've been fairly consistent on since April.

Not to mention my awesome T-shirt store, which is something I've talked about doing for years.

There are also a handful of other side projects which I will begin very soon, and I'm very excited about finally getting to them (as many of them were things I've wanted to do since I was a teenager, or even a small child).

Have I done everything off of my 'to do' list this year?

No.

But you know what?

It's okay.

I'm already doing more for me than I ever have, and I'm now the busiest I've been since my long gone high school days.

It's stressful, it's overwhelming, and I love it.

Honestly, I love it.

Sure, I'm not sunshine and rainbows 24/7, but that's not me regardless. However, I am more satisfied with myself, more energetic, more positive (let me stress the word MORE, meaning a matter of degree only) than at any point in my life that I can recall.

If I am a person who is truly defined by what I do, then I've embraced that understanding and have given myself ample creative outlets, both short term and long term, in order to exist through. And it is only through putting my all into something I create that I truly feel alive.

I don't know if my realizations will work for anyone else, but I can tell you this:

It feels great to be alive again.



Related blogs:
I Resent Your Happiness
Too Early For Suicide?
72 Degrees In The Head, All The Time 
2008: The Worst Year In My Life


Enjoy reading this blog? Please socially bookmark this page, or post it on your Facebook, and most of all comment with your personal stories, observations, or violent objections.

Visit the all new DeprecationWear online store! Sarcastic, self-deprecating and elitist merchandise. Click HERE to see my wares!



buy unique gifts at Zazzle

Tags: philosophy psychology life creative creativity goals self deprecating music art happiness happy depression cure

Artistic Integrity And The Dichotomy Of Success

I've been dealing with the concept of art and music a lot lately and I'm feeling compelled to share some of my thoughts, as they actually pertain to my current situation.

Let me know what you think (in cursive only).

A CAREER IN MUSIC

I recently met up with an old elementary school friend of mine for drinks and coffee. We had, what I considered to be, great conversations and I thoroughly enjoyed the get together.

As we are both musicians, it's only logical that music would be a topic. And it was. (See, told ya).

My opinions on music, and music as a career have evolved quite a bit since I was the rapscalion of yesteryear, so it's always interesting for me to see where others are in their personal perspectives.

Well, my elementary school friend wants to make an album that will really sell and appeal to a lot of people.

Understandable from a particular point of view, sure.

He said that he does not want to write a bunch of crap, he still wants the music to be good, and represent him and his voice, but he wants people to like it right away.

If you're curious, this would be his very first album.

Unlike me, he believes that he can be successful in music, still, in this economy, and with the business crumbling all around us. Obviously he is much more of an optimistic than I.

So that is, or seems to be, his current philosophy. And more power to him.

But it has not been mine, at least so far.

PHILOSOPHIES ON ARTISTIC EXPRESSION

I said already that I do not agree with him on this point. So what do I think?

(You can stop holding your breath now, here comes your full release of opinion).

My perspective is this: If I'm going to make the choice to put effort into a project, it might as well be the thing that I personally would want to hear, and not compromise what I feel is the core of the art.

There are already an abundance of sub-par to shitty albums out in the world put out by bands who don't give two shits about creating actual art. Why would I possibly want to contribute to the ever growing waste pile by putting out pandering to mediocrity?

Art, and purity of art has been important to me for quite a while. Some say it's bullshit, which is no skin off my back (fuck! My back skin just came off!!!). That's just what I care about.

To me putting out something into the world that has the potential to be emotionally impactful, intellectually stimulating, does not condescend to people, has purpose or a cause or message, and speaks something personal is much more worth creating (and worth listening to), than something that is designed purely to make money.

Is there really a difference between the two?

I definitely think so.

I've heard people say that if your art does not piss some people off, you're doing something wrong.

Or that art that everyone likes must be garbage.

That's a fairly extreme view, and very similar to the artist character from my house party blog. But is there some truth to that?

Again, I think so. If the goal is communication of a feeling, thought, or concept to an audience, the impactful, most creative, most cutting edge ideas will never appeal to everyone on a large scale. And that's okay.

THE DICHOTOMOUS CAREER IN ART

A career in music is quite different than a career in art I would argue. And just so we're clear, I'm using the word art in a broad sense meaning an all-encompassing creative project, not literally, as in a painting of Elvis.

Here is the flaw, and where money and art collide.

Generally, when people speak about art in the big picture sense, they are considering qualifications like the purity of the art, freedom from compromise, and the ability to create whatever is in their imagination, not beholden to traditional restrictions of contemporary styles, tastes, or conventions. Literally the freedom to create what you want because you believe in it.

Take that philosophy to heart when considering a career in music.

Let's say you have a successful debut album, and many people enjoy what you've done. Great. (Unless it was shitty, then not so good). Now it's time to make album numero dos.

Let's pretend that you care about artistic expression, and want to diversify and do something more experimental on your next record, because that's where your heart is. (Some say it's at home. But that's where you hang your hat).

If you release that new, different record to the fans, the ones that wanted more of what you've done before, you run a very high risk of alienating your fan base, and not making any money from the album. Sure it could be a hit, but the odds are against you.

Since your career path is music, and only music, that is where you need to make your money, so being overly artistic and pioneering is actually a bad choice from a business perspective, yes?

In order to make money, you need to run your music like any other product and try to directly appeal to the consumer by making what you know they already want, not showing them something they did not know existed.

Therefore to have your financial well-being directly and solely tied to your art, you have to, by definition, compromise your art so that it will sell to as many people as possible to sustain the career, thereby negating the entire philosophy of art being pure personal expression.

Sadly art as a career rarely happens. And when it does, it's luck my friends. Pure Luck. (But thankfully, not that shitty movie with Martin Short).

SELLING OUT

When I embarked on this long complicated journey five years ago that would culminate in my soon to be released (as of 8/09) 3rd album, I was working with a friend of mine, and great musician to bounce early ideas off of, or to help in developing some guitar riffs and melodies to complement my initial piano progressions.

In the beginning, I explained to him my loose road map of what I wanted to do with this album. I wanted to challenge myself from nearly every aspect this time: longer songs, more changes per song, more complex instrumentation, more unexpected chord changes and melodies, and something that really told a cohesive story musically from beginning to end.

Those are big shoes to fill for sure (I'm size 11), and whether or not I accomplished that goal for the album is not up to me.

The point being that from the outset, my musician friend was all gung-ho about the direction and style. It left him ample room to throw out suggestions that may have seemed to avant-garde in the past, but were completely valid in this new territory. At least that is how I felt when composing.

Half a year later things had changed. Not for me, mind you. (Are you minded yet?)

I could tell he seemed less and less interested in working on the style and direction of the album I was developing, and soon he began suggesting an entirely different idea.

I'll have to paraphrase as I don't recall exactly what was said. But it went something like this:

"Hey man, I've been listening to a lot of more simple music these days like [band name] and [other band name] and that's really the kind of thing that I feel like I want to be doing right now."

I conceded that I also liked one or both of the bands he mentioned, and had no problem with more simplistic music in general (assuming it's still melodic and subjectively good), but that this current album of mine was designed to be a particular style and feel. Simplicity would have to wait for another project, as this one was supposed to be the antithesis of that.

He appeared to accept my defense of the current project, but immediately tried to convince me to do something he knew I had argued against in the past.

"Yeah, I'm just not into the really progressive stuff right now though. I was thinking about this a lot lately and if you wanted to do another band that was just really simple, really super catchy music, I'd be all for working on that."

I raised an eyebrow, as this was coming from the same person who was so enthralled and excited with pushing and expanding our musical preconceptions just a few months ago. But I kept listening to his idea.

"I just feel that you could write some really good poppy stuff if you wanted to, and we could totally make money off of that. People like the really commercial-sounding music. Just look at what's going on. All that complex, musically progressive stuff just won't sell, save for music students. You have to please the people. You can't just write whatever artsy thing you want for yourself."

I can't write what I want for myself? What happened to you my friend? What happened to the guy that made emotional, artistic music an important pillar in his life? The one who wrote songs for himself, because he was moved to do so? The guy who cared about the beauty and integrity of music, regardless of the style or genre it was written in?

Looking back I know that some of his shift in priorities stemmed from his frustration of getting close to thirty and feeling like has not done anything with himself. (I'm in a similar boat right now, in some ways). He was feeling that if we simply gave into the current musical trends, and fucked our previous notions of music as genuine art, that we could instantly have a successful career path in the business.

Is it possible?

Perhaps.

But it is not in any way, shape, or form what I want.

A MATTER OF PRIORITIES

As you may already see, it all depends on what your goals are with that particular project.

Is your goal to create the thing that most reflects your personal perspectives, no holds barred?

Or is it to be tranditionally successful?

I can tell you that while being successful doing what my old guitarist advocated might initially be exciting and/or monetarily fulfilling, I would soon come to regret my choice of direction, and would become bitter (sorry, more bitter) and dissatisfied with it.

It all comes down to what your priorities are. Is traditional success (money and fame) your top priority? Great. Go get it. Write a bunch of songs with the aim of pandering to a mass audience and enjoy it. Honestly, best of luck to you.

However those are not my priorities, and have never been.

In my mind, most paramount of all, is the creation of music that is personal, emotionally expressive, and imaginative. If it does not fulfill those basic criteria for me, then I see no reason to do it (unless it is a specific project like a comedy skit, or a song about making fun of goth kids).

I will say the downside of focusing on art over accessiblity, is that you run the high risk of only appealing to a small group of people, or even no groups of people.

But if that does not conflict with your priorities, so be it. I'd rather look back and be proud of what I offered unto the world, than be embarrassed for something I did on purpose.

CONDESCENDING MUSIC AND CHALLENGING ART

One of the comments I received from my elementary school friend about the music on my new album, is that it is rather challenging. Basically, it's not one of those albums that you like instantly on a first pass listen, due to the fact that thre are so many parts per song, and way too much to absorb right away.

I acknowledged his observation, saying that most people who have given it a few listens have ended up really connecting with it on a personal and emotional level. But it took some time.

So is that bad? Is that good? Let's get some more opinions stat!

I have always enjoyed music that did not assume I was an idiot. I have developed a hatred of music that talks down to me, using overly-simplistic, tried and true, run of the mill melodies and chord patterns that have been used for half a century, and lyrics that were written by a thirteen year old who is new to concept of poetry.

That is what I call condescending music. It assumes your audience has the IQ of recent road kill, and the depth of a rotting beet field. Sure, many people embody those traits, but not everyone does.

I don't like being treated like a child wearing a helmet, so I choose to give people the benefit of the doubt (when it comes to appreciating new music and art that is).

I believe that it's okay to challenge people. It's okay to ask something of your listeners. It's okay to make people actually think about something for a while.

What you put into it, is what you get out of it.

Some of my favorite albums of all time, I did not really care for upon a first listen. "Hmm, I don't know," I remember thinking. "I liked a few parts here and there, but I'm not really loving this album. Maybe I'll try it again later."

And luckily, I did try it again later. And eventually, with each successive listen, I discovered more and more that I had not heard before, and also more and more that I really liked. Now I love them, and put them on a list of best albums of all time.

It was because I put effort into understanding and absorbing those initially challenging albums that I ended up feeling more connected to them in the long run. I was rewarded for my effort with a deeper intellectual and emotional connection to a piece of art.

THE FINAL THOUGHT

So that's how I feel. I care about music as a form of artistic expression, even when many do not, and would rather put out something that I truly believe in, that may never sell, than make money off of something that is only contributing to the continual dumbing down of popular culture.

Too extreme? Do these opinions hold any weight?

Weigh in.


Related blogs:
Existentialist Artist And Drunk Evangelist part 1
The Death Of The Album And The Death Of Music

Enjoy reading this blog? Please socially bookmark this page, or post it on your Facebook, and most of all comment with your personal stories, observations, or violent objections.

Visit the all new DeprecationWear online store! Sarcastic, self-deprecating and elitist merchandise. Click HERE to see my wares!



buy unique gifts at Zazzle

Tags: art artistic integrity music philosophy selling out perspective priorities beauty pure

The National Anthem. Music, Politics And Pride.

This little ditty takes place just a few days ago at the restaurant in which I get yelled at.

We had changed many of the televisions to the football (futbol) game between USA and Mexico, which all of the kitchen staff was very excited about.

Again, I'm not a sports fan, but since it's something a bit different from what is normally on, I tried to watch a bit of it. Before the game started, they played both national anthems. (When is someone going to write The International Anthem? I'll let composer extraordinaire George Thorogood tackle that nuanced, multi-cultural melodic theme).

As the American National Anthem played, I mentioned to one of the kitchen staff that I thought our anthem sucked, from a musical perspective (because it does). He nodded, and did not seem to care one way or the other. Being from Mexico City, the American Anthem probably mattered not to him.

It just so happens that one of my managers was standing nearby and had overheard my comment.

When I asked that manager a bit later if I could take a break, he replied with:

"No, because you hate the national anthem."

He said this with a smile, intending to convey his comment as simply sarcastic, but he said it with such conviction, that one could tell there was a good amount of truth mixed in there as well.

I tried to clarify my comment by explaining that it was the musical content I objected to.

"It's just not a very good song." I said, as if that would make everything alright.

"What are you, a fucking terrorist?" According to him, I was now equivalent to a terrorist. And I'm sure you can easily see why.

You know terrorists, the kinds that commit violent acts of destruction and violence for religious or political reasons?

That's me.

Obviously.

I smiled at his silly comment, but again, as before, I could tell there was some truth in his comment. Part of him actually felt that I was on par with al-Qa'ida for my opinion on a song.

Again, with no luck, I tried to say that what I was really objecting to was the melodic content. I tried to tell him that I thought the song was uninteresting in its chord structure, rather predictable and bland.

My clarification appeared to work, as I was now upgraded from terrorist to Commy.

"Dude, you can't not like the national anthem," he stated.

When I asked him why, he said that the reason I cannot not like it is because it is about pride.

"Really?" I thought to myself. "I thought I was able to like or not like anything I so choose, and If I actually could not dislike the anthem then I would be living under a tyranny."

Of course, I did not say that. Actually, I only thought of it right now, so I was lying to you.

As he took a quick phone call, he said he was determined to win the argument.

Once he was off the phone, I decided to take his example to the extreme and apply that theory to everything. Maybe I could make a point.

"Let's say I don't like The Candy Man Can from Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. Does that mean I don't like candy?"

He raised an eyebrow at me as if what I was saying was really stupid. And perhaps it was, but it made sense to me.

"No man, that's not the same..."

I continued with another example.

"Or if I don't like the Beatles' "All You Need Is Love", does that mean I hate love, or just the song?

Again, he said that my examples were totally off. The anthem was different.

I disagree.

"Different how?" I prodded.

"If you don't like it you are a Commy, a Nazi, or a terrorist. Grow your mustache back Hitler!". He thought this was hilarious. (By the way I did actually sport a Hitler/Chaplin 'stache for a day at work, for a fun social experiment, and because I was bored).

I denied his insult-based-evidence and told him that if my other song examples do not apply to his theory that 'not liking a song about America instantly means I hate America', then he is being inconsistent and hypocritical with these arbitrary rules he wants to apply to only one song.

That is called special pleading. When you apply a rule to everything else but the thing you are arguing, or apply a rule to only the thing you are arguing, and ignore everything else. Sorry buddy, it does not work that way.

Imagine going to a retail store flying a large banner out side proclaiming that "Everything is on sale!" So you enter, and browse the aisles until you find the item you want. At the checkout the item rings up at full price. You stop the clerk and say, "Wait, that is supposed to be on sale." He says, "No, sorry, this is regular price." Confused you restate the rule of the sign, "I thought that everything was on sale?" He shakes his head, "Everything but this thing."

I'm guessing you might want to get rid of, or possibly change that sign that says everything is on sale, eh?

Sorry, I got sidetracked. I believe he was defending his reasons.

"No way!" he retorted. "You can't judge the anthem the way you can judge other songs."

"Bullshit!" I said, getting heated about this discussion, matching his intensity. "The national anthem is just a song, like any other song, therefore I can judge it as a song. And I think that it sucks... AS A SONG."

Obviously this conversation was going nowhere, as I saw the topic as one based upon music, and he did not make that distinction. There was no way I could see us coming to any sort of agreement.

I can't defend his point of view, but I sure can defend mine.

Music and message do not have to be synonymous. There are very political bands out there that have a strong liberal or conservative slant, yet not everyone who likes their music subscribes to the bands' views. It's possible that people can just like the music.

I've listened to a lot of black and death metal over the years, both with crazy lyrics talking about Satan, demons and disemboweling women through their Va-jay-jays.

Does that mean I agree wholeheartedly with those ideas?

Fuck no.

(Though I am a card-carrying member of the Satanic Vaginal Intestine Rippers Of Colorado (SVIROC))

Those lyrics are retarded, silly, childish, and absurd. But that doesn't change the fact that some of the music is super badass.

As I was ordering food through the bartender, the manager made sure to change my name on the ticket to "America hater", which he printed out with a laugh, and handed me his clever creation.

I laughed a bit, but really, I was thinking how much of a soar spot this topic had dredged up for him, even if part of it was a joke.

What I was starting to understand from him, whether partly in jest or not, was the lesson that pride in your country, based on simply being a citizen of the country, is, I'm guessing, quite important. Not really sure why, but it seems to be.

Let me ask you this: Are you proud of your local sports teams when they lose terribly? Are you happy with your favorite band when they finally put out a disappointing album? Are you proud of your child when he gets in trouble at school for showing his "pee pee" to the class?

Pride has its place, but as I see it, should be based upon accomplishment.

I am not pro-America, nor am I anti-America. There are times when I support my country, and times when I don't. And I don't have to agree with everything this giant country does as a collective. It's really pretty silly.

I owe this country nothing (beyond taxes), and it owes me nothing (beyond my tax refund). At no time am I required to like or not like something about it.

What almost scares me about this little, somewhat humorous exchange, is the notion that blatantly subscribing to nationalism via its self-promotional pride-for-the-sake-of-pride songs, is mandatory.

What were those last lines of the anthem again?

Something about home of the brave and land of the... of the... I guess that part does not apply to people with a different opinion eh?

I still stand by my initial opinion. The national anthem is not a good song from a (subjective) musical standpoint and has nothing to do with my political opinions.

What do you think? Does not liking a song about America make me into a terrorist-Nazi-Commy-traitor-socialist? And can I be redeemed if I enjoy America's "Horse With No Name?"


Enjoy reading this blog? Please leave some comments, or I'll cry into a half-eaten ice cream tub for weeks.

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Tags: national anthem america nationalism music politics pride nazi terrorist commy socialist

Crazy Drummer Guy And Vegan UnGuitarist

I have to be honest and say that this story is a lot more fun when you hear it in person, as I can do a mean impression of the main character that just makes the whole story sparkle with gay little gems. Sequins, if you will. But since you and I never speak, at least face to face, I'll have to pull out my big box o' colorful adjectives and try to recreate the majesty via the printed word.

This fun little tale harkens back to circa 2002/2003. I had just finished my first album, Sweet Painful Reality, and I was desperately trying to find some musicians to help me perform the material live (spoiler alert: it never happened). Since Tommy [Drinnen of the band Urizen] had moved to Texas, I was now sans guitar player, and VERY sans everything else.

On a random occasion, I happened to bump into a slight acquaintance from high school named, uncommonly, Jon (by the way this is not John Taylor who has been my guitarist for the last several years). This Jon, unlike many Jons, was a rather noticeable fellow, who, if memory serves, (and mine just busses), used to dress in a late 1970s era heroin-esque London punk vibe, complete with ripped clash t-shirts and a multi-colored mohawk. We had exchanged a few words about bands during a shared art class, something about Danzig I think, but beyond that, I hardly knew him.

Fast forward to the present (the past), with Jon and I and our chance meeting at the coffee shop where he worked. We talked a bit about what we've both been up to, as is the case in standard chit chat etiquette. (As a side note, I really despise small talk). He mentioned that he now listened to black metal and also played guitar. I, being selfish by nature and needing a guitarist, perked up and began to ask him about his guitar abilities, basically spouting out a list of techniques and styles I wanted in a player, and asking him if he would be interested in auditioning for me. He then played his over-confidence card, reminding me that "dude, I can play black metal, I know what I'm doing!" This sounded great to me, as someone who could play something like that would, in my mind, have no problem with the guitar parts on my album.

At this stage in my listening adventures, I was just starting to get into some black metal. Mostly Cradle Of Filth, Old Man's Child and Dimmu Borgir. Although these are not flashy bands from a virtuoso point of view, they still had some decent players. If I were more aware then, I would have realized that there are many levels of skill within these sub genres, not all of them requiring amazing dexterity, or basic music knowledge. But oh, I would soon find that out. I left the meeting feeling optimistic, and looked forward to meeting up again.

On a random day (pick one) I arrived at Jon's apartment complex with my then bassist and eventual temporary guitarist Ty. As soon as we pulled up we noticed that Jon was standing with what appeared to be a mass of sweat, hair and alcohol. The mass came toward us, clutching a Milwaukee's Best beer can and introduced itself as Angelo. This gentleman was, by the looks of it, quite a bit older then Ty, Jon or myself, with vacant looking cracked-out eyes, an old stained band t-shirt, not to mention the "stuck in the 80s" acid washed jeans and white sneakers. His long, unkempt dirty-blond hair seemed to signify him as a friend for Ty and I, as we both had longish hair at the time. He was loud, overly talkative, and above all, irritating. All of this and we had not even walked up to Jon's apartment yet.

As we neared where Jon was standing, he gave us a subtle, furrowed glance, which to me gave the impression that he was also not too happy about the presence of this brute. We all walked up the stairs and entered Jon's place. . .including the loud obnoxious lummox. During the short trip, he told me many times how he is a drummer, and he and Jon were going to start some sort of music project and how he wanted to audition for me, once we had met with Jon. Again, yes I did need a drummer, but even if this guy was the next Mike Portnoy, I would have to kill him.

Once inside Jon regaled us with a quick conversation about his veganism, probably brought on by our comments on how he looked like he had the body of a recovering chemo patient. Then we went to his bedroom (sounds like a good set up for something doesn't it?), I popped in the CD of SPR and proceeded to give him a short tour through the songs/moods or the record. TY and I sat on the bed while Jon and the Crazy Drummer Guy (CDG) sat on the floor in front of the speakers.

I was mostly interested in what Jon's impressions would be, as I was going to audition him later, but I kept getting distracted by the actions of CDG. Crazy Drummer Guy sat there on the floor, staring so intently at the stereo as the music played, it seemed as if his laser eyes would burn a hole through the speakers. Between his fingers he held a cigarette, upon which he would take occasional, intense drags from, all the while staring, almost angrily, straight ahead barely flinching. It was only a few moments later that I noticed his cigarette was not lit.

CDG turned his head to me not resetting his drug-induced hate stare. I thought for sure this guy must really not like my music. He took another strong drag from his unlit cigarette, paused dramatically and spoke to me.

"Do you like. . . . . thrive on the blackness?" he said to me with intensity, and apparently complete seriousness.

I stared blankly at him for a moment, then over at Ty, who had heard the whole thing, then over at Jon, who looked confused and shrugged, then back at Crazy Drummer Guy. I feared that the wrong answer would send him into a murderous rage, as I could easily envision him leaping at me if I laughed at him.

". . . not really. . ." I answered hesitantly. "Let's just keep listening to the CD, ok?"

Strangely, he seemed to be easily satisfied with my barely answer, immediately nodded, and went back to staring, seemingly with rage, at the stereo again. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief at not having the shit beat out of me by an aging cracked-out loser. We listened to parts of a few more songs, and Jon expressed his approval of the music so far, and I thanked him. Seeing this an another opportunity to be part of the group, CDG decided to add his two cents to the conversation.

"Yeah this stuff is pretty cool I guess. . ." he said as he raised the unlit cigarette to his lips and held it there.

I nodded with a subtle condescending sarcasm. "Thanks man."

He then listened intently for a moment (yes, more intently then before), and decided to share yet another observational gem.

"This music makes me think of a demon sitting on a pile of bones." He then turned to me for approval.

My eyes flew wide open at the seemingly ridiculous comment, and I had to use all of my self control to not start laughing out loud, possibly ending my life.

All I could do was look away and nod. "Cool man. I'm not really sure it's that type of music though. . . ." I braced myself for an attack.

Again, he nodded quickly and turned back to the music. (Now this comment is even more hilarious if you are familiar with the style of music on my first album, which could, in no way, be represented by demons sitting on bones.)

Soon CDG began plugging himself as an awesome drummer again, and forcefully asking me if I wanted to do an audition with him. . . right now! I skirted around the issue for a bit, using lines like "we're just here to work with Jon today", or "we have to go after this", but he only became more and more combative about this supposed audition.

"C'mon man, I just live around the corner, I could play for you right now. I can totally play this stuff man! Are we going to do this or not?!"

He then added, "Let me just call my mom and see if I can play drums for a few minutes". He picked up the phone and began dialing.

We all looked at each other again in complete disbelief about what was happening. Wasn't this guy in his late 30s or early 40s? He has his drums at his mom's house? Does he live there too? This guy was getting better and better by the second.

"C'mon mom! I just need to play for like 15 minutes! . . . . It's for an audition for a band mom! . . . C'mon! Just a few minutes!" he said into the phone.

With that, he hung up the receiver and forced his wants on me again. "So are we going to do this?!" I could sense genuine frustration this time. Not wanting to be confrontational, all I could think of was a weak, untruthful way of pussyfooting around it. "Not today man. We have to audition some more people after this and we still need to hear Jon."

With that, he huffed and puffed for a minute, and finally walked out the door.

After some recapping, and laughing at CDG's expense, we regrouped and focused on the real task at hand: Jon's audition. He plugged in his guitar and amp, and I got out the tablature for all of the songs. I pop down a TAB for the song In The Twilight, since it is an easy place to start. I explain the song a bit and then have him basically "go at it".

What I notice right off the bat, is that he seems to be having a lot of trouble with understanding, reading, and then properly playing any of it, even a simple palm muted 5th chord. Of course, this raises an eyebrow right away, as any young guitarist raised on the typical fare of Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and Pantera would play this whether or not I had it written in the TABs, it's just that natural and instinctive for them. So as I tried to let him correct himself over time, I realized that my hopes were in vain as things got progressively worse and worse. Not only was he barely playing - at best slopping through - what is supposed to be a really tightly played staccato rhythm as lagato diarrhea , but here I was, I piano/keyboard player telling him how to do it. He's the fucking guitarist. Not me.

Eventually, when it started to become a bit too pathetic, Ty grabbed the guitar and showed him what it was supposed to sound like. This must have been pretty humiliating for Jon, and I could sense the feeling from him. He then asked Ty to show him how to do a palm mute, as if he had never done one in his life. This from the guy who claimed to play a lot of black metal. Isn't this one of the first things any "rock" guitarist learns how to do?

For those of you who know the music and guitar parts from Sweet Painful Reality, you'll know that it's not very technically demanding. A lot of palm muted chugging parts mixed with some fingered riffs, and the odd lead. It's not baby guitar 101, but it's also something you would have figured most guitarists would not have that much trouble with.

Trying to give him another chance, I put down another, even simpler song, but quickly gave up given this pathetic display of guitar farting which was even less then amateur. Absolutely depressing and embarrassing for both of us. I could tell that he felt increasingly more insecure about his playing with each new note, constantly apologizing for every mistake, as he could sense my obviously disappointment. I do feel sorry for him, even though he was the one who bragged to me about his skills. This might be a good time to check out my essay on Self Perception.

At last I stopped him and shook my head with disapproval. "I thought you said you could play a bunch of black metal stuff?" I asked him, through an odd combination of accusation and sensitivity. Jon looked sheepish and defensive not really knowing what to say about his performance.

"I do," He started. "I just never played this kind of stuff much. I don't know man. Sorry."

I stared quietly at him for a moment and then asked him to play me some of the "black metal stuff" he had just days ago claimed such confidence in.

What followed put everything into perspective for me. Jon began playing open power chords with a hap hazard, sloppy "anything goes" strumming style borrowed directly from typical unpolished punk music. I guess this was what he called "black metal". It all connected then and there. His "transition" from punk to metal was obviously an easy one, as it required not much learning of new techniques. Even punk has the occasional palm muted riff, doesn't it?

We left the audition with a modicum of disappointment, but weeks worth of stories and quotes. I decided after that to make Ty my guitarist, since he could actually play the material.

As a short, and semi-funny addendum to this story, I actually ended up auditioning CDG a year later, when he contacted me via email. As soon as I met up with him, he looked familiar, but I could not place him for a while. He was sober this time, and he indeed played over at his mom's house. What still strikes me is that he seemed to have no recollection of me, nor the music the second time, not that I tried to remind him. Weird fucking guy, but damn memorable.


If you enjoyed this story, check out the Ty-penned tale entitled, "The Adventures Of Crack Guy And Neanderthal".