Many, if not most, musicians I know suffer from something I call music dysmorphia. As people who suffer from body dysmorphic disorder torture themselves with an overwhelming preoccupation of their perceived flaws, be they real or imaginary, musicians often listen back to their musical performances and only hear what they don’t like. (Timing is rushed, tone’s too thin or too bassy, note choice too cliché or too weird; it’s never quite right to their ears). I know a ton of players who are way better musicians than I will ever be, yet they genuinely don’t like the way they play. It’s not false modesty, it’s the inability to process reality accurately.
I see it come up often during Rig Rundowns. Usually, players begin the interview by playing a 15- to 45-second improvised introduction. Often, they’ll be playing, it all sounds great, then they hit something they don’t really like. They get a frustrated look on their face and ask to take it again. But now they are in their heads. The second take usually feels a bit self-conscious, not as free and flowing as the first take. You can almost hear their thoughts: “This will be online forever, evidence of my poor playing.” You rarely hear a second take that has the magic of the first one because they’re thinking about being judged.
The author with one of Nashville’s finest, Tom Bukovac.
Photo by Chris Kies
I know there’s a disparity between the music that I hear in my head when I’m playing and the music I’m actually playing. I often phone-record songs on my gig to gather some evidence of what I actually sound like: check the tone, timing, note choice. There are gigs where I feel ashamed of what’s coming out of my amp, but when I listen back, it’s fine, sometimes even good. Other times, I think I’m killing it, but when I hear the recording, I feel a crushing pain of disappointment combined with deep shame.
I suspect we all sound the best when nobody is listening. When you have an audience, then you judge yourself because you think you are being judged. Why should we care? Music is not a contest, it’s art.
“People respond to reckless abandon in art.”
There is no agreed definition of what constitutes art. Art is subjective. There are no wrong decisions with art, so we should be cool with whatever we play. Sadly, that’s not the case. I suspect that’s because music means so much to us. Playing music is not just something we do, it’s who we are. When I was younger, I worked a wide variety of jobs, but I never felt bad about being a terrible roofer, waiter, factory worker, or teacher, because this was just something I had to do for money—it was not my life’s goal. But being a musician is not only my passion and my job, it is how I am wired. Music is my identity. So when I play and it sounds like I can’t play, my sense of self is called into question: What am I doing with my life? Who am I? Performing for others means putting our tiny, naked heart in our hands, and offering it to God and everybody to be judged. That’s a scary, vulnerable position.
I was jamming with Austin Mercuri, a great bass-player buddy of mine, and I asked him if he thinks music dysmorphia is a thing. He agreed that it totally is a thing, and he gave an interesting insight. Austin said, “Ever notice when you record something comedic, like a parody, it turns out so great musically? Because it’s tongue-in-cheek, any mistakes or oversteps just make it better, so you go for stuff beyond what you’ve done before, take crazy chances fearlessly, and they work.” That’s the trick: Don’t care, then you can explore without any second guessing or fear of judgment, because you’re just goofing off. People respond to reckless abandon in art.
As a musician, you’re probably not going to find happiness by comparing your playing to others, which is pretty much impossible. For example, my friend Tom Bukovac and I moved to Nashville around the same time. I’ve watched his career take off and felt the sting of envy for years. But now, I listen to Buk play and the only thing I feel is inspiration and awe. With innate talent and an obsessive work ethic, Buk developed this ability to tap into music, where it flows through him, unhindered by doubt or self-consciousness. Why should Buk’s brilliance, or anybody else’s, make me feel bad about my thing? Get back to why you started playing in the first place. Stop thinking, just play.
Simon Saz: Gabriel Marin and some of the tools he uses to play Muğam, the classical music from Azerbaijan.
Current obsession: In the last few years, I’ve been really into Muğam, the classical music from Azerbaijan. It has so much fire and life in it, and is a very improvisational genre. There are elements of Persian and Turkish music in it, both of which I have played for a long time, but the Azeris certainly give it their own original flavor. The music is very passionate sounding, and the ornamentation and microtones are really exciting to me. It’s been really fun translating that music to fretless guitar.
Jason Shadrick Associate Editor
A: I didn’t really get harmony until I studied it deeply in college. One of my favorite progressions born out of that season was 1–b7–b6–5, which is a great way to practice descending dominant arpeggios, blues scales, and was copped by Setzer for “Stray Cat Strut.”
Stray Cats in their strutting era.
Photo by Masao Nakagami
Current obsession: I’m working on an unannounced project that is really reinforcing my appreciation for being an eternal student. Seeing guitarists at the height of their success get real joy out of learning something new is just as inspiring as hearing a ripping solo.
Ted Drozdowski Editorial Director
Photo by Johnny Hubbard
A: I’m obsessed with D–G–F–D/G–Bb–D/Bb–A–D. I stumbled across it a few years ago when I was writing a song about the ghosts I live with—metaphorically—and it fit the haunting, haunted mood and my moderate-tempo fingerpicking. It comes from my fascination for Pink Floyd. Now, I’ve used variations for rockers and other tunes, to the extent where I need to roadblock it.
Current obsession: Gigs! I’m currently embroiled in a major creative project that’s diverting my attention from booking and playing gigs, which is disappointing because I’m longing for the musical and mental health benefits I get from performing.
Dan Lynch Reader of the Month
A: I enjoy moving chords around in diatonic thirds, and using a passing chord to get there. Thirds can be pretty boring if you go straight there, so using a passing chord creates interest. For example: Cmaj7–B7–Em7–Dm7–Galt–Cmaj7–Cmaj7–E7–Am7–Fmaj7–Fm7–Cmaj7.
Current obsession: I have always found enjoyment not just in the playing of instruments but also in building and modifying them as well. Recently I have gotten into building my own pedals. It’s just another part of the hobby/obsession, where I can relax and do something with my hands.