what's it with "musicians"?
A couple years ago my adult son Nick, who's an airline pilot, made an observation after chatting with some musicians at my house. "You tend not to think of musicians as extraordinarily bright people, or people to whom any particular respect is due," he remarked. "When I see a guy with a nice suit and a briefcase sitting in the airport lounge, I'm instinctively deferential. When I see a guy with torn jeans and a gig bag, I'm not. Yet when I talk to these people you play with, I notice that they're all really on the ball. They own their own houses; they're engaged with current events and ideas; they've traveled all over and observed closely; they're well-spoken and have lively senses of humor..."
How does a person who I raised and whose chromosomes are half mine come to hold derogatory opinions about musicians? may be your first response, as it was mine. However, if you look at your own experience candidly, I think you can see how such a stereotype would come about. When you see a dreamy-eyed human with a guitar in hand approaching you on the street or singing in your ear in a sandwich shop, is your first uncensored thought "upstanding citizen" or "incurable narcissist"?
The other week I spent a few agonizing days at the Ace Hotel in Manhattan. Everyone that worked there was very friendly, and the place itself, had it been almost any other weekend, might have been as neutrally inviting as a Doubletree, outside of the handful of hipster accoutrements in the room (turntable and 1980s vinyl -- did you know that Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics was once in a band called National Health? You may now destroy this knowledge). But it was not any other weekend, it was CMJ weekend. At this time every lousy band with aspirations for the American college-age market descends like swine flu virus on the Happy Island, to play a 40-minute set in a bar for no money, wear a lanyard, attend seminars, chat up label reps, and have a fun time.
I've never played at a CMJ ("College Music Journal") event, but have played at some conferences like it (principally, South by Southwest), and so I will try to keep my comments high-minded, objective, and unflavored by personal memories of conferences past, which have afforded me little fun or profit. I will try not to sound like that guy who can't remember what it was like to be 25, hairy, and in love with the thought of going thirteen hours straight in a rented van from Chicago to New York, or who envies his hirsute young successors. I have striven, dear reader, to earn your trust, and my title, "Mister Fair and Balanced."
When you stay at the Ace Hotel in New York on CMJ weekend, the lobby overflows at all hours with wretched noise and with indolent-looking 20- and 30-somethings impersonating indolent-looking teenagers. Coming down on the elevator from the seventh floor, you can hear the DJ's computer-generated beats and theta-wave experiments from the level of floor 4. You step onto the ground floor with your children and bump into three women who would probably be garishly homely even if they weren't outfitted like Courtney Love after a recession. A gaggle of silly, slack-armed, sideburned men obliviously blocks the sidewalk at the entrance, brandishing cigarettes and tossing you disdainful glances (tourist! breeder! hair-comber!) as you pick your way past. You return to your room past midnight, the lobby now drunker and louder than an Elks' smoker. Up in the seventh-floor hallway, which is designed and lit to evoke the Paris Metro, another woman dressed exactly like a whore is woozily leaning into a bald old guy with a paunch and earring.
Back in your room, you find that the thermostat doesn't work. In minutes a man who seems to be working in hotel service as a stopgap between jobs, those jobs being Arctic Monkeys bassist and Pitchfork blogger, shows up to say that, his fanatic attention to his own grooming notwithstanding, he doesn't know much about the mechanics of thermostats, but maybe tomorrow, if you're cool, ha ha, till then with the room at its current temperature...hey, for 200 bucks a night, who wants to get all uptight?
All right, I'm overplaying the outrage for effect. The Ace Hotel was OK, and hardly any of what happened there rose to the level even of annoyance, since it was pretty warm in the room and we were mostly insulated from the lobby shenanigans. But a negative impression of people in music -- in it or trying to get in it -- was impossible to avoid, as these people pressed themselves upon you at every turn. These are people manifesting an extremely high opinion of themselves, as toilers in the fine arts, as sexy little tramps, as occupants of the astral plane. At the same time, they are people who I can't imagine anyone of sound mind ever trusting to: entertain at a block party, point the way to the nearest IRT station, demonstrate a piano scale, help carry a cabinet up a flight of stairs, get up at eight in the morning.
At the risk of sounding snobby, I think there's a necessary distinction to be made between "musician" and "dude in a band." I'm not sure any of these CMJ-ers would be interested in owning or keeping up a house; for all their aspiration toward music-biz success, I doubt whether any of them would care to trade places with a guy like me, or the kind of players Nick spoke of -- us petit-bourgeois schlubs ekeing out a living mostly outside the scene, snatching whatever humble opportunities come along that will help feed our brats and meet our mortgages. I think those people are interested in one certain brand of success -- maybe not the kind that brings fabulous wealth, but the kind that frees you from helping carry a cabinet up the stairs or rising early. I don't expect to see many of them, ten years from now, nearing age 50, playing a birthday party, or stuffing a T-shirt in a mailer, or trying to learn a lick or chord or cadence, or any of the many other "humbling" or banal (but sometimes oddly gratifying) duties that fill my weeks. But I don't expect to see many of them having anything to do with music by then.
Writing this, I remembered something else Nick said, way back when he was 5. I had to stop at a Guitar Center to get a capo or something, and it was the usual experience, aggressively slow service and suburban Che Guevaras noodling all around you. Back in the car Nick said: "Why is the music store always full of bad guys?" Obiter dicta! The bad guys that fill the music business, in the large gulf between "business" as conventionally understood and "indulgent pastime," give music a bad name.
Now, excuse me, I have to lift this fucking cabinet.
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13 comments
(Excuse me while I mark my books, whilst leaning on my accordion box on the plane on the way to the Austin Lone Star Rod and Kustom Round-up.)
There's an (only just) ex-pupil of mine who's playing "Dude in a band" at the moment. He's 16 and has just toured Poland, which is obviously a big deal for him and his band-mate peers, but checking out their photos on Facebook, it was as described above; lots of posing and beer-swigging and very few capos.
When I was a wee one and dreaming of being a rich rock star my parents were the sane ones who said "That's fine but you should have something to fall back on". I begrudgingly took their advice and took some accounting classes(Mom said "So when you're a rich rock star shady accountants won't be able to rip you off) and learned to type(Mom said "You'll be the one in the band who can do up your bios and record release blurbs). After banging my head against the wall and trying not to starve for 8 years in great bands that went nowhere and having a record company say "Sounds too much like Springsteen" in 1985 when Bruce was one of the biggest artist in the world, I tried to give it up for marriage and a day job. I still kept playing in great bands and tried to strike the balance of "looking" like a rock star but mainstream enough to work a 9-5 with a suit on. (Pink high tops commuting to the office, earrings, pony tail and a snappy suit, you get the picture). Sure if you met Mr. Fulks now and likely 20 years ago too, he would still look like he could be an accountant or a sales manager for a major retailer, but it's what you do that defines you, not what you look like. Case in point - when I was playing in a rock band going nowhere our agent showed up one night to see the band. We had been grumbling to her that she needed to get us better gigs and more money etc. So after observing us for a set she came backstage to have a chat. When the pretty boy lead singer(think Brett Michaels only prettier with less makeup) proceeded to espouse the greatness of our band and why we deserved more money she said "Well the drummer(me) deserves more money. He's wearing a pink tuxedo, you're wearing a tank top and ripped jeans. When you walk into a rock club you should be able to pick out the band from the audience just by looking at them." Sure times have changed and that attitude depends on the genre of music you are in as to how much distance you want between you and your audience. Bruce Springsteen has been quoted as saying "It's very important that your audience can look at you on stage and a part of them believes you could change places". I believe what Robbie is feeling is the simple divide that occurs between the young and hungry and the older and realistic musician. When I was young I thought that being a musician for the rest of my life was the only choice. Now I see that life presents us many opportunities and tests your resolve to hold onto those ideals we had when we were young. People may not take one look at me and say rock star but if they spend a few minutes with me they get that I am at the very least a non-conformist and they may just walk away saying "typical musician". And that suits me just fine. The only real difference between a musician and everyone else is when your kid starts blasting music you can't stand you usually won't tell them to turn it down.
I think this is about the difference between those who want to be musicians, and those who want to be famous (I think there used to be some overlap, but the two have become quite distinct now).
I blame Simon Cowell.
Bravo, Robbie, beautiful!
**At the risk of sounding snobby, I think there's a necessary distinction to be made between "musician" and "dude in a band."**
Exactly. Occasionally somebody I know will say something along the lines of "well, you know, you're a musician" and I always reply with "I'm not a musician, I'm just in a band".
I suspect most musicians know they are musicians but many "band dudes" think they are musicians.
Disclaimer: I may or may not be able to demonstrate that piano scale. Bb Mixolydian? Ummm, let me think about it.
All musicians suck.
Some are more fun to listen to than others though.
I need to get to the airport; where's my pressed white shirt, silk tie and jacket?
How about the douchbags in the backing bands of country artists who sport crap like mohawks, matching suits like rock bands have already done...and my personal favorite...the late 30s/early 40s guys in the backing bands who are trying to look like a teenager??
Ahh, you know, all part of the human wilderness."a bald old guy with a paunch and earring?" Hey, that was me! OK, maybe without the earring. But she seemed to like me. Until I gave her all my cash. Lessons never learned.
For some reason, this reminded me of "A Fan's Notes," Frederick Exley's autobiographical novel about a young man desperately seeking Bohemia because he was just too beautiful and sensitive for the corrupt, everyday world. At least he had enough self-knowledge and honesty to realize what a fraud he was - he wanted money, success and fame as badly as any Madison Avenue ad exec (a career Exley briefly pursued), he just didn't want it - and couldn't hack it - in the bourgeois world.
should of called, I would of helped moving that cabinet
Very late to this...
Robbie, great as always and true to the last drop, except for this: that's a different Dave Stewart who was in National Health! NOT the Eurhythmics Dave. In fact Dave Stewart of National Health is also a wonderful writer - like you, since we're slurring musicians, he's one of the very few musicians who can also write. He does, or used to do, a column for Keyboard magazine and has written two excellent music theory books for rockers who can't read music. I'm serious, look him up. His first one is called The Musicians' Guide to Reading and Writing Music. It's very British and very funny. I recommend it to anyone who wants to know a little about musical notation & theory and has a low boredom threshold.
Not only that, but National Health was an amazingly accomplished and wildly unsuccessful prog-rock outfit in the late 70s. Stewart went on to play with Bill Bruford before producing some pretty bad but commercially successful adult-contemporary pop with his wife. That's the Dave Stewart I know. Check out his books.
And on the chance you're reading this, where can I find your 2001 tour diary from your old My Day entries? I've recommended it to many people and have read it probably three times myself. I saw you in Austin on that very tour at the Saxon Pub (where I'm seeing Geoff Muldaur this Sunday for the first time). I remember your toast as if it were last week. May the circle be unbroken. Merry Christmas!
Madison Searle
You've definitely struck a nerve here. In this age of a thirty second attention span we may look at someone and based on their manner of dress, vibe and momentary circumstance are able to paint (so we think) an accurate potrait. Based on how this person looks and the fact that he or she in their 30s, 40s or 50s show up at these music promotional conventions and haven't made it yet allows us to form these opinions and to know that this person is a complete poser, probably has no real musical ability or knowledge and should be selling life insurance and clear out to allow real musicians the opportunity to grab the precious showcase slots. Appearance and circumstance (by whose set of standards?) enables each of of us to know this person's entire musical background in a matter of seconds.
I don't know....we're all guilty of this kind of a shoot from the hips appraisal of somebody and based on our own fears, shortcomings ans disappoinments in the music business we find some sort of comfort in slamming some assumed wanker without taking the time to know what this person is really all about. Not always, but sometimes we might find that this person is a good musician, has something valuable to contribute and just maybe by taking an extra moment to listen....we might learn something. I'm tired of the hatred generated by the instant stereotyping that actually has an influence on how others are judged without giving them a fair shake. I myself have been surprised by a musician's abilities and life experience after having judged him or her based on my own hasty and pre-conceived notions of who this person is.
Nicely done Mr. Fulks. My friend Tom Adler (and quite a few others, way to stimulate!)provided some good commentary as well. I am hereby inspired to weigh in with my own ideas on this rich topic.
First up: Forming opinions about people based on their appearance is not only natural but essential. It's hardwired. Unfortunately some people aren't very good at it.
Worse yet, most people use the quick checklist approach. e.g. Torn jeans? Loser. Long hair? Stoner. Cowboy boots? Hick. Pink hair? Punk. Pink Cadillac? Pimp. Pink tux? Queer. Sandals with socks? Well ok, that one is a clear indicator of geekiness (and/or geezerdom)but the others are sadly shortsighted.
Then there's the common misconception that famous entertainers represent musicians in general. Nope. At the risk of sounding hyperbolic I'll go ahead and say that 99% of all musicians are unknown to 99% of the public.
Only a tiny fraction of all the noises made by us "musicians" is ever heard by anyone not in the room at the time. The pursuit of fame and fortune is for some the only reason to make those noises but for most of us it's all about the joy of sharing those sounds we love to make with whoever wishes to listen. Few of us ever make much money at it but hell, getting paid to do what you would've done for fun is a neat trick in itself.
Disclaimer: I'm a jazz guy so what floats my boat is not the perfect execution of a well-prepared piece, though there's no reason to avoid such things, but the magic made in the moment. Those unpredictable, often accidental gems of human interaction that could never have been planned. Like a good conversation, jazz is about communication, communion, the sharing of ideas in real time. Jazz people know that ANYone can surprise and inspire you if you're actually paying attention. So for the most part we tend to not judge too quickly. That said I must also admit that most of us have pretty damn good wanker detection systems. Say the wrong thing (or the right thing in the wrong way) and you won't be sitting in any time soon.
But I digress (see above), the bottom line is that you and Nick (eventually) were both right. Musicians are mostly fine folk, wankers are wankers, bad guys are in every field, the too-quick-to-judge types will miss out on knowing some good people, and music/musicians will continue to be misunderstood in perpetuity. Amen.
Thanks for sharing,
Lewis Winn