« Percussile Dysfunction »

the drums set up and mic'ed at Calabrese West studio space.I played my drums today. I had to put part of the kit together to do even that much. I took it all down in early April and left it so for maybe four weeks, then a few weeks ago put part of it together, and abandoned that project like it was no more important than folding laundry I didn't want to fold. I come into the garage here and sit at the computer for hours on end every day, and the kit just sat there in its partially set up state, day after day. Today, for whatever reason, I finally finished the setup and at least tried to go through the classic motions that got me interested in playing almost 17 years ago. I put on the cans and blasted some 80s Yes and some classic Sting material that admittedly used to be the stuff that I conquered back in 1991-94 or so. Well, it is a little less conquered now, and the feeling that sweeps over me for not being able to even keep up with stuff that once was my favorite stuff to play (because I did a pretty good job of faking it back in the day) is just overwhelming. It's saddening for me to feel that it's all gone for me now. My carpal tunnel troubled right arm dealt with it fine except for the ages old feeling of numbness in my fingers that visited me over a decade ago long before any sign of CTS. I chose the stuff I played to today because it was generally regarded to be more straightforward but still exciting enough to play and not go to sleep over. But I still blow it—entrances, exits, fills. I think, 'why try? Who am I trying to kid with this charade?'

A day like today only serves to remind me that I only ever faked my way through whatever music I did. I mostly relied on luck to do things that I did, and without the drive to play often (I don't call it practice—that is exactly what I never really did), it just gets further and further away from me. Once in a while I have a hot fuck with it that evokes the glory days for all of about 20 minutes to an hour, but now getting to be this sad, drawn out falling out of love with music. I've sold some stuff that has been deemed as surplus, and I barely notice it gone. I didn't feel the sting that other sales have had. No, my will to hang on to all these material items is fading, and each frustrated attempt to musically "get it up" is leading me down that path toward selling it all, or maybe even heaping it into a blazing bonfire, or maybe just driving over it with my truck. I think I've proven now that the inspiration isn't in the gear. I waited patiently for some years to see if it was in me, but it doesn't seem to be so. I don't think lyrically like once before. I don't write goofy songs like before. I don't dream of being more mathematical than Fripp like before. I don't just experiment with sounds like before. I don't even turn on my recorder like before. I don't relate to anything like before. And yet, time after time, I have been thwarted in finding any suitable playing partners who make me want to play for fun, and time after time, any good idea has been heaved into the digital dustbin because it didn't measure up to the best of my work on Receiving [info]. I had this nagging feeling while finishing that CD that it would be my last. In effect, it did really make the last real statement on my abilities and drive to complete large statements in music, but the real honor goes to my Hog Heaven Holiday Theme Music [mp3] CD from a few months later. After that, it was on to endless experimentation and incremental failure to do anything that captured my attention for more than a few ideas at a time.

PrintView Printer Friendly Version

Reader Comments

There are no comments for this journal entry. To create a new comment, use the form below.
Editor Permission Required
You must have editing permission for this entry in order to post comments.