There comes a time on the road to artistry when one encounters the Wall Of Suck. That is the wall you hit where your natural ability at something leads you to actually study and practice it, which takes you to the point where you are met with the actual depth and breadth of your incompetence… Suddenly, you suck. Suddenly, it is devastatingly clear that your “natural ability” was just a starting place, a jumping off point on a journey to the place where you might actually get good at something. I call it a wall, because this is where you either give up (turn back) or your workload increases exponentially (i.e., your forward movement becomes a vertical climb). I’ve encountered it a few times in my life; some pursuits presented challenges I could not ignore and proceeded to engage with all my energy, damn the consequences… Others were ultimately revealed as misguided, and I bailed.

I think what pushes people up and over the wall is passion, pure and simple. Either this thing truly lights you up and inspires you, or it  does not. When it comes down to it, it’s just you and the _____ (guitar, blank canvas, whatever), and no one really gives a shit. If you don’t absolutely love doing it, you will not do the work, and you will continue sucking. The road ahead is arduous, lonely and often boring; frustration is constant (the curse of good taste comes strongly into play), and nothing but overriding love for the sheer doing of it will push you through. Plus you have to be stupid enough to actually think you can be great at something, and be willing to perform (show, tell, whatever) in front of others and be humiliated. Yay! Oh, and your work will truly suck — even after you get pretty good at it — and you will know it (and if you don’t, well, that’s a whole other animal not being discussed here).

So ultimately, the Wall Of Suck is your friend; when you hit it, don’t be discouraged…or do be discouraged, and stop wasting time lying to yourself about what it is you really want to do. It’s probably something else. The artists I am most interested in hearing from are the ones that can’t not do what they’re doing (not the ones trying to be famous/rich/loved for it).

I recently re-discovered a marvel of a song, ’39*, written and sung by Brian May and friends on Queen’s We Are The Champions LP (the one with Bohemian Rhapsody). At first blush, the song sounds like a Queenly retooling of a traditional folk tune, a tale of intrepid sailors setting sail for new lands. But May also happens to be an astrophysicist, and if you listen closely, you’ll hear a heartbreaking sci-fi story involving space travel at near-light speed and the tragic consequences of a phenomenon called “time dilation.”

The first verse sets the scene. In XX39, 20 souls are sent to find a new home for mankind, as their own world’s ability to support them dwindles:

In the year of ’39 assembled here the volunteers
In the days when lands were few
And the ship sailed out into blue and sunny morn
Sweetest sight ever seen
And the night followed day and the storytellers say
That the score brave souls inside
For many a lonely day sailed across the milky seas
Ne’r looked back, never feared, never cried

“Milky seas” is the first tipoff that this isn’t about sailing in the ordinary sense. The chorus confirms, with:

Don’t you hear my call though you’re many years away
Don’t you hear me callin’ you
Write your letters in the sand
For the day I’ll take your hand
In the land that our grandchildren knew

Many years away suggests a journey beyond miles, and our narrator looks forward to seeing his lover again “in the land that our grandchildren knew,” the future world of their children’s children.

The second and final verse answers any questions that remain, finishing with a devastating reveal:

In the year of ’39 came a ship in from the blue
The volunteers came home that day
And they bring good news of a world so newly born
Tho their hearts so heavily weigh
For the earth is old and gray, little darlin’ we’ll away
But my love this cannot be
For so many years have gone, though I’m older but a year
Your mother’s eyes, from your eyes, cry to me

The year is again XX39, 100 years hence, and our hero returns with good news — but is saddened to find his world “old and gray.” Furthermore, now returning to “the land that our grandchildren knew,” he finds that as a result of the near-light-speed of his travels, he is only “older but a year,” though “so many years have gone.”

It pains him to see whoever it is welcoming him. Who is it? It seems to be the daughter he left behind, now fully grown, in whose eyes he sees her mother’s… But unless she is 100 years old, I imagine it is his granddaughter, one of the “grandchildren” the chorus repeatedly references. So the lover he left behind is long gone, leaving only his memory of her (as her “letters in the sand” have long since washed away). After this final revelation, the song ascends into a final chorus, ending with a tragic lament to his long-lost love, and finally, anyone who will listen:

…all your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand
For my life still ahead, pity me.

* why “39”? Well, someone, somewhere, counted. Apparently, if you tally every recording by Queen, on every album, this is the 39th. Try not to freak out. Click here for the chord chart — sing along!

Hearing an artist I respect referred to as “talented” makes me want to scream. Most of the time, that person’s achievements have more to do with hard work than any accidental, inborn attribute. Talent is great; it just doesn’t really deserve praise until someone does something with it.

Ira Glass posted some excellent videos on (more…)

I became a musician mostly out of being such a fan of music. Music moved me — really moved me — and when I discovered and cultivated a facility for making it, it was clear what I should do with my life.

And over the decade or so of seriously pursuing a career in music, something happened: (more…)

As a big fan of early Grant Lee Buffalo, I was recently surprised and delighted to stumble upon Pistol Star, the work of GLB’s bassist/producer Paul Kimble. What a find! Apparently lasting only long enough for one CD (released in ’04), the band has apparently dissolved, and I am unable to find anything regarding what Mr. Kimble is up to these days. Hopefully something; the CD has some real gems on it, most notably the title cut Crawl, fortunately one of the four cuts available for a listen on their not-yet-defunct myspace page (the “official” band site is dead).

There is always something inexplicably heartbreaking to me about (more…)