It's that time of year again. Gigs are sparse. Money is tight. And here I am, at age 47, wondering why the hell I keep doing this.
I love music. Many people say that...but most really don't. They like music. They enjoy music. Music gives them something to listen to other than the crushing silence that would otherwise fill their lives...but they don't love music. (I'm sure I'll hear lots of arguments about that statement!)
I love music so much that I've pretty much given my entire life to it. That's love. That's devotion. Sure, some people collect records, tapes, CDs, mp3s, whatever...that's not love. That's a hobby. Some folks like to be in a band and book a gig now and then. Yep...that's a hobby. Some folks feel compelled to write music, even if they know that no one will ever hear it...that's love. Love has no guarantees. Love makes you crazy. Love even makes you do some stupid things.
I first performed in front of an audience at age 4. I was scared shitless. I was playing piano in a music recital. Hell, in retrospect, I couldn't play for shit. I was just a cute little kid. Sure...put him on stage. I sat down at the piano, looked at the audience and was ready to shit my pants. Then something magical happened.
I''ve always been a ham. A smart ass. A show off. I did what comes naturally. I acted goofy. I stretched my arms out and cracked my knuckles. The audience laughed. I was hooked. It no longer mattered if I could play or not. I was entertaining them. And I fell in love with that.
I gave up piano a few years after that. It became like work. Why? Because I didn't love playing piano. I loved the entertaining part...but lessons, practicing, studying...wasn't fun at the time. Piano was a restrictive instrument for me. I was stuck there on that stool.
A few years and many instruments later, I found the guitar. It was like finding out that I had arms. And legs. And a voice. I was able to speak through it. I mastered it pretty quickly. I remember taking my guitar to school once, in about 7th or 8th grade, for music class. I will never forget the look on the teacher's face. I was pretty sure I'd be able to WOW my classmates...but a teacher, who had spent her life studying music...that'd be a tough sell. I plugged into my amp, and started to play. The teacher's eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped. I felt validated. I knew then that I would probably do this for the rest of my life.
Fast forward. I played in bands. I played lots of dives and shit holes. I saw that music was literally destroying any chances I had at a normal life. I went to college. Dropped out to play music. Went back to school. Dropped out again. Moved away. Came back. Went back to school. Dropped out again. Kept on playing. It was becoming a vicious cycle.
In 1990, I moved to Pittsburgh. I was going to leave the music behind me. I'd found a job I loved. A career! I sold my car and bought a smaller one. A 2 seater. Tough to lug gear around in that! I sold my basses. I got rid of my giant amplifiers. I pared my guitar collection down to the essentials. What happened next?
I joined another goddamned band.
I couldn't stay away. It was worse than the addictions I'd already kicked. Getting off of amphetamines was a breeze compared to getting away from music. So I did the next best thing. I did both. I worked 40-50 hours a week at my job and I played 3-4 nights a week. Vacations? That was time saved to go on the road. Days off? If I wasn't gigging, I was partying, writing music, or passed out from exhaustion. Family? At that point, it was just me and my auntie...and she was cool with it. She came from musicians. She understood. She told me stories about my great grandfather and his musician buddies.
I left that band, joined another, and another, and finally just formed my own. Things only got worse from there.
My ego got to take over. The music I had been writing for years, that everyone kept saying they loved, now got to be front and center. I took over booking, paying the guys, making sure the PR and the PA were taken care of. I got us into the studio. I got the product out. I handled the legal BS. I had us playing all over the place. Plus I still worked 40-60 hours a week at my day job.
It was 1995 and I took my one and only ever vacation. I went to Arizona. I visited a friend, spent time in the mountains...and went to see bands. And more bands.
By this point, I'd been asked to join bands all over. I'd been asked to join bands in New York, London, Chicago, Phoenix, and Los Angeles...but I had my own band. So I stuck with it.
We'd had a few releases in the US, one in Europe, and were working on another record. We got fucked over by a producer (sumbitch took the money and ran!) and healed our bruised egos by playing more and more.
I started playing with other acts on the side. A blues singer, a singer from Baltimore, one from Florida, a few in Tennessee...if I was getting paid, off I went! I started playing more down south. The new millennium came and I had found myself in the de facto house band for a major festival, 3 years in a row. I started touring over seas. I was making friends and networking around the globe. I ignored offers from labels large and small. I had it all under control! Plus, I was still working 40-60 hours a week at my job. I had tons of vacation time, and that all went to touring.
We recorded our best selling album ever...and headed to Australia! Why there? A friend was a DJ there. I had originally just planned to visit. He asked if I'd do a few shows. I said sure and brought my bass player along. Our drummer had 2 small kids and couldn't swing it. When my DJ friend asked if I wanted to play a festival...I thought he meant some local street fair or something. What I got was a headlining spot at a huge international festival, playing in front of 8000 people a night, working alongside the likes of Johnny Johnson and The Fabulous Thunderbirds. Life kept getting weirder. At least I didn't have a personal life anymore, so no worries about that.
I came home from that tour, went back to my usual 40-60 hours a week, plus booking the band, gigging, and planning a return to Australia. I was hopping! I ended up quitting my day job, went to Australia for a while, played everything from bars to ballrooms to a festival in front of 60,000 people. Had I made it? Finally?
Maybe not.
I was in my late 30s by this point. Not old, by any means, but feeling every day of it. I came back from Australia with plenty of cash...and started my own business. Now I was gigging, and handling all of the band business, plus my own business. I was working nonstop every day and drinking and partying every night. Personal life? That WAS my personal life!
I was booking another big Australian tour and my health took a turn. I developed a major and recurring throat infection. I had to cancel the tour. No Byron Bay that year. I had to cancel a lot of shows at home too because of the throat problem. Gigs started to slow down. The money wasn't coming in like it used to. I still had my work, so that kept me busy 40-60 hours a week. I started trying to have a social life. I didn't know anything but bars...so that's where I went. We all know how that goes. Lots of brief, intense affairs that ultimately go nowhere.
I went back to the UK for a bit. Came back home. I was coming to terms with impending middle age. I was pretty much alone. I turned 40 with my best friend, enough booze to quell an army and enough cocaine to raise the dead. My health got weirder and weirder and I finally had a breakdown. A few weeks off would do me good, right?
Wrong.
My business suffered. I had to work twice as hard to get half the work. I was OK with that. I like working. Business went up. Business went down. Gigs came and gigs went. My car was stolen (that's what I get for detailing my car!) but I got it back. It cost me a fortune. But I was on an upswing! I'd been writing for a web site in Europe as well as a magazine in Australia. My name was still out there. I'd started recording again...and things were looking good.
Then I had a heart attack. And lost my career. I was fucked.
Slowly, I picked up the pieces. I started doing more freelance writing (it takes real skill to make a tech school computer class sound interesting in a brochure!), some truck driving, and finally met my better half. I started gigging again. Usually just around PA and OH...but it was enough to keep me happy.
Since then, work has been hit or miss. Same with the music. No guarantees in this life. I'm still writing. I'm still gigging. I'm still in some small demand as a musician. The money is long gone. So is the glory. But I'm happy. I'm content. I'm still looking for a regular gig. I'd like to go back out on the road...but probably not until spring. I mean really...who wants to drive all over the place in the snow? Not for that kind of money! Until then, I'll stay home and think of what all I've done...and you know what? I've done a lot...so I guess I really can't complain.
I love music. Many people say that...but most really don't. They like music. They enjoy music. Music gives them something to listen to other than the crushing silence that would otherwise fill their lives...but they don't love music. (I'm sure I'll hear lots of arguments about that statement!)
I love music so much that I've pretty much given my entire life to it. That's love. That's devotion. Sure, some people collect records, tapes, CDs, mp3s, whatever...that's not love. That's a hobby. Some folks like to be in a band and book a gig now and then. Yep...that's a hobby. Some folks feel compelled to write music, even if they know that no one will ever hear it...that's love. Love has no guarantees. Love makes you crazy. Love even makes you do some stupid things.
I first performed in front of an audience at age 4. I was scared shitless. I was playing piano in a music recital. Hell, in retrospect, I couldn't play for shit. I was just a cute little kid. Sure...put him on stage. I sat down at the piano, looked at the audience and was ready to shit my pants. Then something magical happened.
I''ve always been a ham. A smart ass. A show off. I did what comes naturally. I acted goofy. I stretched my arms out and cracked my knuckles. The audience laughed. I was hooked. It no longer mattered if I could play or not. I was entertaining them. And I fell in love with that.
I gave up piano a few years after that. It became like work. Why? Because I didn't love playing piano. I loved the entertaining part...but lessons, practicing, studying...wasn't fun at the time. Piano was a restrictive instrument for me. I was stuck there on that stool.
A few years and many instruments later, I found the guitar. It was like finding out that I had arms. And legs. And a voice. I was able to speak through it. I mastered it pretty quickly. I remember taking my guitar to school once, in about 7th or 8th grade, for music class. I will never forget the look on the teacher's face. I was pretty sure I'd be able to WOW my classmates...but a teacher, who had spent her life studying music...that'd be a tough sell. I plugged into my amp, and started to play. The teacher's eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped. I felt validated. I knew then that I would probably do this for the rest of my life.
Fast forward. I played in bands. I played lots of dives and shit holes. I saw that music was literally destroying any chances I had at a normal life. I went to college. Dropped out to play music. Went back to school. Dropped out again. Moved away. Came back. Went back to school. Dropped out again. Kept on playing. It was becoming a vicious cycle.
In 1990, I moved to Pittsburgh. I was going to leave the music behind me. I'd found a job I loved. A career! I sold my car and bought a smaller one. A 2 seater. Tough to lug gear around in that! I sold my basses. I got rid of my giant amplifiers. I pared my guitar collection down to the essentials. What happened next?
I joined another goddamned band.
I couldn't stay away. It was worse than the addictions I'd already kicked. Getting off of amphetamines was a breeze compared to getting away from music. So I did the next best thing. I did both. I worked 40-50 hours a week at my job and I played 3-4 nights a week. Vacations? That was time saved to go on the road. Days off? If I wasn't gigging, I was partying, writing music, or passed out from exhaustion. Family? At that point, it was just me and my auntie...and she was cool with it. She came from musicians. She understood. She told me stories about my great grandfather and his musician buddies.
I left that band, joined another, and another, and finally just formed my own. Things only got worse from there.
My ego got to take over. The music I had been writing for years, that everyone kept saying they loved, now got to be front and center. I took over booking, paying the guys, making sure the PR and the PA were taken care of. I got us into the studio. I got the product out. I handled the legal BS. I had us playing all over the place. Plus I still worked 40-60 hours a week at my day job.
It was 1995 and I took my one and only ever vacation. I went to Arizona. I visited a friend, spent time in the mountains...and went to see bands. And more bands.
By this point, I'd been asked to join bands all over. I'd been asked to join bands in New York, London, Chicago, Phoenix, and Los Angeles...but I had my own band. So I stuck with it.
We'd had a few releases in the US, one in Europe, and were working on another record. We got fucked over by a producer (sumbitch took the money and ran!) and healed our bruised egos by playing more and more.
I started playing with other acts on the side. A blues singer, a singer from Baltimore, one from Florida, a few in Tennessee...if I was getting paid, off I went! I started playing more down south. The new millennium came and I had found myself in the de facto house band for a major festival, 3 years in a row. I started touring over seas. I was making friends and networking around the globe. I ignored offers from labels large and small. I had it all under control! Plus, I was still working 40-60 hours a week at my job. I had tons of vacation time, and that all went to touring.
We recorded our best selling album ever...and headed to Australia! Why there? A friend was a DJ there. I had originally just planned to visit. He asked if I'd do a few shows. I said sure and brought my bass player along. Our drummer had 2 small kids and couldn't swing it. When my DJ friend asked if I wanted to play a festival...I thought he meant some local street fair or something. What I got was a headlining spot at a huge international festival, playing in front of 8000 people a night, working alongside the likes of Johnny Johnson and The Fabulous Thunderbirds. Life kept getting weirder. At least I didn't have a personal life anymore, so no worries about that.
I came home from that tour, went back to my usual 40-60 hours a week, plus booking the band, gigging, and planning a return to Australia. I was hopping! I ended up quitting my day job, went to Australia for a while, played everything from bars to ballrooms to a festival in front of 60,000 people. Had I made it? Finally?
Maybe not.
I was in my late 30s by this point. Not old, by any means, but feeling every day of it. I came back from Australia with plenty of cash...and started my own business. Now I was gigging, and handling all of the band business, plus my own business. I was working nonstop every day and drinking and partying every night. Personal life? That WAS my personal life!
I was booking another big Australian tour and my health took a turn. I developed a major and recurring throat infection. I had to cancel the tour. No Byron Bay that year. I had to cancel a lot of shows at home too because of the throat problem. Gigs started to slow down. The money wasn't coming in like it used to. I still had my work, so that kept me busy 40-60 hours a week. I started trying to have a social life. I didn't know anything but bars...so that's where I went. We all know how that goes. Lots of brief, intense affairs that ultimately go nowhere.
I went back to the UK for a bit. Came back home. I was coming to terms with impending middle age. I was pretty much alone. I turned 40 with my best friend, enough booze to quell an army and enough cocaine to raise the dead. My health got weirder and weirder and I finally had a breakdown. A few weeks off would do me good, right?
Wrong.
My business suffered. I had to work twice as hard to get half the work. I was OK with that. I like working. Business went up. Business went down. Gigs came and gigs went. My car was stolen (that's what I get for detailing my car!) but I got it back. It cost me a fortune. But I was on an upswing! I'd been writing for a web site in Europe as well as a magazine in Australia. My name was still out there. I'd started recording again...and things were looking good.
Then I had a heart attack. And lost my career. I was fucked.
Slowly, I picked up the pieces. I started doing more freelance writing (it takes real skill to make a tech school computer class sound interesting in a brochure!), some truck driving, and finally met my better half. I started gigging again. Usually just around PA and OH...but it was enough to keep me happy.
Since then, work has been hit or miss. Same with the music. No guarantees in this life. I'm still writing. I'm still gigging. I'm still in some small demand as a musician. The money is long gone. So is the glory. But I'm happy. I'm content. I'm still looking for a regular gig. I'd like to go back out on the road...but probably not until spring. I mean really...who wants to drive all over the place in the snow? Not for that kind of money! Until then, I'll stay home and think of what all I've done...and you know what? I've done a lot...so I guess I really can't complain.
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