Having just recently enjoyed the beautiful madness of Rhett & Link’s “Nilla Wafer Top Hat Time“…
K: I think I should do that–just take song titles on Facebook and force myself to write.
B: Why not? JoCo did a Thing a Week.
K: I know, and I admired him immensely for it. I lack songwriting discipline, in that I seem to find it impossible to force myself to sit down and do the damn thing.
B: “The Greats weren’t great because at birth they could paint / The Greats were great because they paint a lot!”* Macklemore – 10000 Hours (taken from Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers)
K: I am possessed of hundreds of tiny slips of paper with bits of lyrics that I do not form into whole songs.
Honestly, I don’t know what my damage is. I know what I need to do. I cannot discern my block. I’m not a bad songwriter. I’m just the Haley’s Comet of songwriting. I have pathological avoidance, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m actually lazy, or if it’s because I have such high standards for music that I cannot bear the idea of writing something lame, so I don’t write at all. Perhaps both.
B: It’s the standards. That feeds a feeling of being lazy/worthless, which becomes a cycle. That’s always been my theory. I could write a book. Except the lack of writing thing…like I said, cycle.
K: I’m glad you understand. And also sorry.
“One of the loudest voices in my head, the real dick of all the voices, likes to tell me that what I’m making won’t be perfect. It’s an impossible standard to live up to, perfection, and is therefore an effective weapon against my own creativity. I’m often tempted to give up before I begin. But I’ve tried to stop doing that. After 41 years, I’ve finally begun to realize that you have to start. You have to begin to make something before you can worry about how it’s going to end up. If you don’t start, you have nothing.”—Shane Nickerson
You have to start.
Put the gloves on, sparring with my ego
Everyone’s greatest obstacle, I beat him, celebrate that achievement
Got some attachments, some baggage I’m actually working on leaving
See, I observed Escher, I love Basquiat
I watched Keith Haring, you see I studied art
The greats weren’t great because at birth they could paint
The greats were great cause they paint a lot