The House of Moxie

Something funny happened.

When I started to work in music, all the music I listened to was work.

I am stunned by this realization.

Let me backtrack.

A few years ago, fresh out of music school abroad, I went back home and opened myself up to music opportunities that presented themselves to me. This led to two main avenues: one in the indie music scene and another in the DJ scene, both as a singer/songwriter and both of which I pursued.

The indie music scene was a natural fit and musically fulfilling; it also didn't pay the bills, which made it more of a side thing. The DJ scene was new to me but was an opportunity to learn; it was also more financially lucrative, which meant more gigs and more time preparing for those gigs.

The thing about the DJ scene, though, is that you play a lot of other people's songs. This meant that for the most part, the songwriter in me had to take a backseat. Another thing is that, at least in the situation I found myself in, you have to play a particular kind of music, with a particular level of popularity. So I found myself learning all these popular songs, previously unknown to me and in a style that wasn't so much my thing. Though I was happy to try something unfamiliar and flex some new muscles, it got to a point where it was the only listening I ever did, and the only singing I ever did. There are only so many hours in a day.

I realize that this is what people in cover bands do all the time and that many of them are happy doing it. I suppose it's a matter of fit. I needed to write original material. If I was going to do covers, I wanted to do songs that resonated with me.

And because I couldn't, I suppose my spark died.

When, after a couple years, that gig ended, I was so sick of music--the music I'd been performing, that is, which was the only music in my life over that span of time--that I just stayed away from it. I stopped singing. I stopped listening to music. I stopped thinking about it. I wasn't craving it. It didn't make me feel anything; in fact, I think I'd even developed an aversion to it. Whenever someone would send me a link to some music, I'd dillydally before listening (if I listened at all). And this sort of malaise extended to art in general. I stopped writing. I stopped reading. I stopped watching non-mainstream films.

In that period, something I'd read (from Kenny Werner or Victor Wooten or Inner Game of Music--I forget, but I have to get back on those books) came to mind: the notion that to be great at and happy in music, one had to get to a place where one was happy even without it (heavily paraphrasing here). When I read that all those years ago, the thought made me uncomfortable, and I was unconvinced, because music was what made me happy. But wouldn't you know it, I found myself in a place where it didn't, and the idea returned to me. So I figured, what the hell, why force it? I guess I'll just leave music alone.

It's a bit like relationship advice, isn't it? Work on yourself, your life, your happiness, and the right partner will come.

And I think that today, after maybe a year (a whole year!), it seems it has.

I was watching a TV episode this evening, and some of the music on it reminded me of an old favorite band. After the episode, I found myself digging through my old dusty CDs, feeling some old fondness arising within me, and all of a sudden wanting to listen to everything, and being frustrated that I don't have decent headphones, and making it an immediate priority to get a new pair or get my old ones fixed (or both).

It's too early to tell, but I think Werner (or Wooten or Inner Game) may have been onto something. It seems counterintuitive or paradoxical, but because I've lived without it, because I don't need it, this may be the beginning of an even better relationship with music, a better approach toward it, a greater respect for it, a whole new level of coexisting with it.

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The House of Moxie

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