A few years ago, enjoying my early twenties and a blissful period of unemployment, I promised myself that writing music would be a lifelong pursuit. I mean, with nothing to do but noodle around on a guitar between marathon pleasure-reading sessions, how could I not manage to be creatively productive? Even accounting for inevitable life changes (career, relationship, family, etc.) and attendant reordered priorities, wouldn’t I always find the outlet of an instrument or a notebook when inspiration struck? Of course I would.
In the summer of 2006 I realized a personal dream by recording a handful of my songs professionally. Holding the finished product in a jewel case in my hands, with beautiful album artwork done by a gifted friend of mine, I felt like I had actually achieved something. And now that I had carried this set of songs to completion, it would be much easier to repeat the process a second time, and a third….
During the past year I got engaged and then married, traveled to Quebec, Barcelona, Chile, Argentina, and Easter Island, worked full-time when I was home, participated in dozens of improv workshops and shows, helped to maintain our old bungalow house, kept two pets alive, and spent a lot of time with family and friends. It was a phenomenally demanding and rewarding year, the most rewarding of my life by far.
The one thing I neglected in the midst of all that activity and responsibility was music. In fact I have only begun and aborted writing a few songs since the album was finished. I have completed just one song and I don’t really like that one. I have probably spent about four hours playing guitar in the past six months combined, an amount that I used to knock out every couple of days. It is frustrating, of course, but I keep telling myself that now that all the insanity of the past year is over, I’ll have a lot more time (and subject matter) to devote to music. I will, right? Of course I will.
No comments:
Post a Comment