Why you might be your own most important DIY project.
This is our annual DIY issue, where we share a few interesting projects—this time, a guitar mod that's a lesson in the proper way to use a router and six pedal-kit builds—that can be done fairly easily, in one day. The idea is to showcase attainable work that builds basic skills needed for more complex projects.
But for those of us with creative ambitions, the most important DIY project is far more complex than a pedal build, a pickup swap, or even homebuilding a guitar. I’ve always believed that the mark of an artist is having a unique character that comes through in their work. There are plenty of examples: Joni Mitchell, James Hetfield, David Gilmour, Polly Jean Harvey, Jimi Hendrix, Ava Mendoza, Anthony Pirog, Hank Williams, Howlin’ Wolf, Yvette Young, Coltrane, Miles, Billy Gibbons, Mike Watt, Brent Mason, and many, many more. What they all have in common is that it takes just a few notes or a vocal line or two to recognize them. Some might only be known in your town, but that doesn't make their work any less viable or important—especially if it’s important to you.
My favorite example, and also my favorite living songwriter, is Tom Waits. Whether you hear Tom crooning in his early post-Tin Pan Alley phase on a song like 1973’s “Ol’ 55” or whooping and cawing through 1987’s “Temptation,” accompanied by Marc Ribot’s gnawing guitar solo, or raving through 2011’s “Bad As Me,” recorded well after his conversion to avant troubadour … it all sounds like Tom Waits. And not just in the vocals and arrangements—although those are unmistakable. There is a rock-bottom sentimentality to much of his writing, which is consistently literate and poetic, and he has a way of drawing on roots-music sources in unlikely, sometimes outright weird contexts. He’s also a capable actor, but anyone who has seen Tom onstage, even before his first major theatrical role, in 1986’s Down by Law, knows that. I understand that everybody isn’t as fond of Tom’s work as I am, but that doesn’t matter. What does is that he is always recognizably himself—that he has a unique artistic character.
“What matters is knowing your own creative truth and embracing it.”
So, the point is, how do we follow in the footsteps of all the above to discover who we are artistically and bring that to play in our own work, in a way that conveys our distinctive creative character to anyone who hears our music? And once we do that, how do we keep growing while staying true to ourselves? There’s no pat answer, so it’s not as easy as soldering or even learning to blaze on scales for Instagram. And developing a unique artistic character is not important to everyone. There’s a lot to be said for just playing guitar and performing covers and having a whale of a time. But for those of us making original albums, trying to establish a sound or style that is authentically our own, trying to expand the envelope of genre, or do whatever the heck it is that lets us be us … well, it’s a lifelong DIY project.
The tools can’t be ordered online. They’re imagination, inspiration, honest evaluation, and the proverbial 10,000 hours. Along the way, decisions need to be made—about the playing approach and gear you might need to create a sound of your own, about really workshopping your songwriting and composing to get to a place where you hear that what you’re creating is authentically yours and not a diluted version of one of your heroes, about deciding exactly what you want your music to do. (A good way to arrive at the latter is working out an elevator pitch that explains your music to a stranger in as few words as possible. Decoding it for them also decodes it for you.)
It doesn’t matter how others judge your work. What matters is knowing your own creative truth and embracing it. Besides, it’s not always, or even often, easy to get others to embrace your vision, but that doesn't matter, as long as it’s your vision—and you know it, deep in your heart and brain.
Sure, gear is great and important, and I could talk about it all day. (Just ask my wife, Laurie, who has done her best to stay awake during many of my obsessive conversations with gearhead friends.) And learning how to mod it or make it so it best serves you is important. But if you have a creative vision, what’s most important is pursuing that vision, nurturing it, and truly owning it—until you and that vision are wholly the same thing.
The symbol for shoshin.
Undoing the belief that mastery is the goal can enable you to truly unleash your creative potential.
The great Zen master Shunryū Suzuki once said, “In the beginner’s mind, there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s, there are few.” Reflect for a moment on how we spend the majority of our lives constantly accumulating, winnowing, and refining, with the majority of our efforts geared towards attaining greater and greater efficiency through massive repetition, which in turn deeply ingrains habits. This is considered to be the path towards mastery. But it is also the path towards fewer and fewer choices, an unconscious reliance on those ingrained habits (the good and the bad), and diminishing creativity.
Over the last several years, I’ve written about a wide variety of topics related to audio, gear, and vintage and modern recording techniques. This time I’d like to shift focus and talk about the real drive for everything—creativity—as well as share some thoughts on words like “mastery” and “expertise.” Tighten up your belts, the Dojo is now open.
Having music-making gear and the knowledge of how to use it is always valuable and continually needed, but it will all lie dormant unless you have that creative “spark” and are feeling inspired to make art. How do we stay creative? And moreover, how can we make progress on our journey towards becoming an expert, and possibly a master?
“Expert” and “master”: Let me parse out the meaning of those two words. In my humble estimation, their concepts are galaxies apart. One is attainable; the other, not. Both are something you should never call yourself. If others use those terms when describing you, you should be curious as to whom they are talking about!
For me, the word “expert” describes someone who has attained a tremendous amount of experience (and hopefully wisdom) in a particular field of activity. The word “master” is problematic for me. Mostly because it carries with it significant cultural baggage and an implied perspective that no further effort is necessary—everything possible has been grasped, judged, and assimilated—end of story.
“In my humble estimation, their concepts are galaxies apart. One is attainable; the other, not.”
If there is one thing I’ve learned so far in my musical journey, it’s that I’m a perpetual student and I must always be aware of and be willing to break those deeply ingrained habits I’ve developed along the way towards becoming an “expert.” There is a term in Zen Buddhism called “shoshin” (meaning “beginner’s mind”), and it is something that I always strive to maintain (even though I catch myself slipping back into old habits all the time). The beginner’s mind is open to any possibility, free of habits and self-judgment, flexible, activated, and simultaneously innocent and wise. Here are some creative strategies that can shake things up and help you stay in touch with your beginner’s mind.
Embrace curiosity. Remember the feeling of wonderment and awe when you first started playing and didn’t know your scales, modes, and chords? Recall how you were always curious and trying new things because there were no rules to follow? Play like a total beginner.
Think divergently. Allow yourself the freedom to brainstorm as many ideas as possible without judgment or other forms of editorializing. Give yourself permission to really imagine.
Forget about results. Let yourself go and enjoy the process. Remember that the point of a journey is not the arrival!
Embrace failure. Give yourself the permission to fail. Breakthroughs come from taking risks and stepping outside your comfort zone. If you’re not failing, you’re not trying new things.
It’s not a competition. Stop comparing yourself to others and create from a pure place of joy and expression rather than trying to compete with your heroes.
Relieve pressure. This is a big one that I unconsciously fall into. Treat each work as a snapshot of your musical journey and evolution rather than assuming it’s your magnum opus that will define you for all eternity. Think of your baby pictures and yearbook photos, and then look at yourself now.
Record the process. Be sure to record everything as you try these techniques. I’ll be willing to bet that you’ll inevitably play something in the heat of the moment that will surprise and delight you. Knowing that those moments are already being recorded takes any pressure off of you to remember exactly what you did. Besides, those moments become invaluable as they can lead you to greater exploration and discovery afterwards.
These are just some ideas for you to experiment with and build upon to help supercharge your creativity and keep the red light glowing!
Until next time, namaste.
Chasing big gigs and high-profile projects has its appeal, but developing an individual style is the real key to creative musical success.
Every musician must answer one question, which may very well define the course of their career and life. Where do your chief motivations for creating music lie? This question does not concern whether one will endeavor to make money from music, but it asks what one’s intentions are. For those who focus on money, music simply becomes a means to an end, like a used car to a used car salesperson. But for those motivated by music, creativity is paramount. Regardless of which way one decides, all careers must and will be some combination of these two extremes. This is certainly true of mine.
I’ve been playing so long that I can’t remember life before. I became a musician because I loved music. I’ve also always had an interest in production. My first recordings began at 7 via a guitar and dubbing cassette deck, which allowed me to build songs one overdub at a time. Three years later, I added a bass, keyboard, drum machine, and 4-track recorder. Within 10 years, I’d accumulated my own 24-track studio, which lived in my bedroom. With each new addition came lessons and learning curves. The various skills I’d acquired along the way meant that, in addition to being a bassist, I could also work as a producer and recording engineer, which was how I made a living early on.
Years later, my career as a somewhat successful music producer came to an abrupt halt. The cause? A sudden global economic downturn, brought on by greedy unscrupulous robber-baron types who had traded astounding numbers of questionable “financial instruments” that nobody understood. The domino effect? The Great Recession, which erased billions in wealth, seemingly overnight.
“Which aspects of your music or artistry are unique?”
Everything from retirement funds to the music industry was deeply affected. Label presidents, A&R staff, marketing and accounts departments, artists, recording studios, and, in many cases, the labels themselves took a big hit. One day, I was a producer with inside connections to a handful of powerful record executives. The next, I was in my kitchen staring at six major-label contracts no longer worth the paper they were printed on.
Sure, the financial shock was severe, but, in retrospect, I realized that I’d been journeying down the wrong path, questioning my place in this industry, for quite a while. My focus had shifted from trying to be musically creative to trying to provide the client with whatever they believed was a hit. If you ever want an artist to become distracted, give them lots of money quickly. I was perhaps at my most distracted ever, but the recession gave me a chance to step back, focus, and recall the choice I’d made as a teen.
I got back to practicing for the first time in a very long time, realizing that I rather enjoyed it. I remembered that I could make a pretty decent living by just playing bass. The various gigs I played during this period, while the economy was in free fall, literally saved my bacon. But most of all I realized that, though I could do a lot of things well enough to make a decent living, I needed to focus on doing my best work—those things that only I could do in my own unique way. This is something that could be applied to any discipline, but nowhere is it truer than music.
Which aspects of your music or artistry are unique? What can you do to make what you create a true expression of you? For me, the real change was to focus on composing more, producing more projects that drew upon the more unique aspects of my skill set, playing more gigs which did the same, teaching this, and even creating a music program that was based on my own concept and curriculum.
Focusing on money alone will often lead one to seek out the shortest path to making lots of it quickly. Just as in other industries, in the music business this leads to everybody trying to do the same thing. Nobody wants to see Bono be Sting, or Justin Timberlake be James Brown. One can never out-Coltrane Coltrane, or even out-Wooten Victor Wooten. Doing what has already been made popular may seem like the quickest route to success, but this is an illusion.
By focusing on what we have to offer over what everybody else is already doing, we create more unique content, our own intellectual property, and a more identifiable sound within a vast ocean where most are trying to write the same hit song over and over. In the end, a more individual and creative approach could make what we do more valuable, and our careers more secure … until the next inevitable speed bump arises.