AriKoinuma.com

Heavy metal and aggressive rock get bad rep for being violent, damaging, or hateful.  The epitome of such a claim is when people start accusing artists of inspiring listeners to commit suicide or other tragic actions.

I consider it my mission to dispel such a myth.

Heavy music is good for your soul.

Pent up emotions are great killer of humanity.  In the name of civilization, we expect everyone to smile and speak pleasantly all the time — even when there’s a storm raging inside.  While all our emotions are legitimate and need to be validated and expressed, some of the unacceptable feelings like anger and guilt get repressed and condemned, and can sit inside stewing and rotting for years.  It’s been well-documented that those kinds of things can eventually lead to real health problems.

I’m not saying that everybody should wear their hearts on their sleeves and express aggression carelessly.  In fact, I don’t think we should do that.  We do need to get along, after all.

But this is where music comes in.

Listening to heavy, aggressive music can be a therapeutic act.  Getting lost in these music is a great way to get in touch with these buried emotions and let them out.  Yes, exercise is good and perhaps you can really get into sports that have a bit of violence in them.  But music can touch on feelings in a much more direct and powerful way.  It’s been my experience that after diving deep into these “heavy” music and channeling my feelings, I come out feeling lighter, refreshed and rejuvenated.  Also, that deep emotional connection gives a sense of community — I hate to say misery loves company, but really, you feel like someone out there understands how you feel, when you find a song that you relate to.

When I’m down, I’m not looking for some cheap resolutions.  I don’t want someone to tell me “it’s gonna get better” without really understanding the depth of my hurt.  I just want my pain to be validated — for someone to tell me “it’s OK to feel the way you feel.”

Heavy and dark music is there for me during those times.  And I dream of making music that does the same to someone else.

Perhaps it’s not a place where you want to stay — and yes, I can see that for someone really unstable, there’s a danger that it may incite undesirable actions.  I hope that artists do show some sensitivity to that, and frame their message carefully when they travel to these dark realms.

But this much is true for me: heavy music is good for your soul.  It’ll be your friend in places where it’s too dark and too heavy for others to come in.

And I’m sure that I’m not the only one who thinks that way.

I’ve written many songs over the years.  Some have aged well, others haven’t — and I feel like I’ve gotten into a pretty good approach that has the highest probability of producing lyrics that I feel happy about.

It goes like this:

1. 95% of my songs start with the music, usually the guitar, then the melody.
2. I listen and live with the music for a long time, trying to discern what kind of feeling it represents for me.
3. I try to nail down the emotional core of the song.  A single feeling that the song conveys.  Sometimes this is obvious, but a lot of times, I just have to pick based on the music and what’s going on in my heart at the time.
4. Then I start throwing out some lines that convey that feeling for me.  I usually start with either the first verse or the chorus.
5. After I discover a couple of lines that I like, I pick out the final words of the phrases and hit a rhyming dictionary.  I look up words that rhyme and see if any of them fit. Sometimes it’s a stretch to make them work but that’s part of the fun/discovery.
6. My lyrics start to take shape.  I do pay attention to the cohesion with music and structure — make sure that accented syllables fall on strong beats and saving the punch lines for choruses and bridges.  I like it when bridges, or the section before the last chorus, contains the most revealing line.  It’s like the whole song is a mystery up to the point, and then the answer is revealed, and then the final chorus feels like a resolution.
7. I tweak and tweak and tweak.  I swap pronouns liberally (I vs. you vs. s/he/they) and see how they sound.  This is a pretty intuitive process — I just work it until it feels done.  Sometimes it’s just the matter of living with the words for a while.  Other times, some unfit words/passages become more and more apparent, the longer I live with them.

To me, the funnest part of this writing approach is that there’s ample room for discovery for me, the writer, myself.

I always try to make sure my lyrics don’t tell too literal of a story and that it shouldn’t make too much sense, as funny as it may sound.  Because the more it makes sense, the less room it leaves for interpretation.  What is fun about appreciating a song’s depth is to tackle the mystery in the words, trying to figure out what it means to me.

Of course, I’m not saying a song can’t tell a story — on the contrary, I prefer a song with an “arc” to it.  There are some songs that just list stuff, for example — and from the beginning to the end, you don’t sense any change in protagonist’s point of view.  To me, that’s a missed opportunity.  Why take up a whole song to make a point when it can be done in one verse?

So it’s always a tricky balance.  To have an arc but the story can’t really make sense.  To have a clear emotional core, but still be poetic and evocative enough not to be too plain/obvious.

I don’t hit the high notes all the time.

Anyway, below I’d like to share lyrics from my songs, to serve as examples:

I see you in the dark room
Painting your own mirrors
I see me in the dim light
In the world of no errors
Sometimes, you feel the need
Come talk to me, come talk to me

I see you in the water
Wondering why you can’t walk on it
All alone in the dark room
You can’t see when you see it
All my nights, all my love, all my drowning seeds
Come talk to me, come talk to me

I see you with the flowers
You touch, but no feel
I see me in the dark room
On the way to the seal
Then you run, you run from me
Can you talk to me?  Can you talk to me?

– “The Dark Room”

That one’s one of my old favorites, a wispy, gentle folk tune.  It doesn’t contain any strong emotions musically — it’s one of my less dramatic songs — and over the years I just kept discovering different ways this song can be interpreted.  I’ve always thought that the important part in this piece is how the “you” person starts out in the dark room, but in the end the “I” person ends up there, and “you” person runs away. I actually didn’t realize that “a dark room” is where films (now sadly going the way of vinyl) are developed — I originally meant just a room that’s dark.  This adds a whole new twist/layer to the story.

Hey, let’s go down to hell
When the north wind rings the bell
Bring your sister’s shell
Out here it’s so hard to sell

Kill her secrets, one by one
Sacrifice to the sun

Hey, this will surely be fun
We’ll never tell the nun

Maybe…baby…mayday.

– “Shark” from Aries9: Darkness Reveals Beauty of the Truth

The opening track from my debut album is obviously a very special song to me.  There is some heavy word play going on here, so it’s harder to make head or tail on this one, but I see it as a conversation — with the verse being one character and the chorus being the response.  It’s an invitation, but to something rather twisted and sinister.

I give permission for you to die
I hope you go like a fly
With insides all exposed
You came on just like a knight
All dressed up to fight
Only outsides composed

Smell the stench inside your armor
Never take it off for paramour
XXXXXXX (this line still needs to be written)

When you go march like a metal wave
(save your anger)
Going on, chanting, “we must save”
(save our hunger)
Elephants will never know
The ants they run over in fit of rage

– (untitled song, still very much in progress)

Now, here’s a very angry and bitter one, that much is clear.  I like the opening line very much — it just comes out strongly.  But in my mind, the only person I’d allow myself to be this intensely angry at, is myself — so I’m still exploring where this is all going to go.  I want to see to it that the venom in here will not get watered down somehow, but I also don’t want it to be some kind of tantrum song either — we’ll see what will happen.

Ultimately, I think lyrics that leave room for interpretation are more powerful, lasting and satisfying.  It may be a bit frustrating at the onset but the investment it takes to come up with your own interpretation makes the songs mean more to each listener.  And the fun part for me is that with my approach, I am my own listener as well — I am discovering what the songs mean to me after it’s written, and the meanings change and evolve as I go through more life experience and gain new insights.

It’s really an immersive art form, this business of writing words to songs.  I am so grateful I discovered it.

Heart vs. Ego

I’m reading a book called The Deeper Secret by Annemarie Postma.  I’m not even half way yet, but it has made me think of some good things.

The issue on my mind right now is the idea of Ego Intention vs. Heart Intention.  Both are powerful and you can rely on it to drive your actions.

But she argues that in the end, they both reproduce itself.  Create out of ego and you get more ego.  The same goes for the heart.

The most illuminating part, to me, is the chart below:

Whoa! I don’t know about you but I can plainly see that my pursuit of music so far has been very heavily Ego-driven and it’s probably safe to say that most of music/artistic/business pursuits are driven by Ego.

(I should clarify that I am using her use of the word Ego here — I know Ego can mean something more healthy, like having a secure and well-developed sense of self.  So don’t get hung up on semantics)

And that’s one of the reasons why I haven’t been able to get 100% behind my own musical pursuit.  It’s selfish! I just couldn’t figure out how my being just another rock guitarist/artist would make the world a better place.  Of course, I have nobler philanthropic ambitions that are lined up after I were to achieve fame and fortune…;-)  but really, no.  I can’t go around saying “well, you guys ought to listen/buy my music, ‘coz it’s good and I’m a good guy….”

I’m not saying that being driven by Ego is doomed to failure.  But I am saying that I couldn’t get behind my own Ego, and I also can’t see that had I even gotten behind it, I wouldn’t have felt fulfilled by what I achieved.

What Do I Have to Offer?

Self, then, what is it that I can really get behind?

Well, a nobler cause.  I like ones that are so universal that it’s undisputable.  Like Doctors without Borders.  They respond to crisis by providing for medical needs, and won a Noble Peace Prize.  Must be a good, believable cause, right?

Then I thought of other things I feel energized about.  I get excited about people pursuing genuine artistic ambitions. Like musicians who sing because they can’t live without doing it, or filmmakers who make films because they just have the burning desire to tell their story.  When people are doing things because they cannot NOT do it.

But even that seems a bit too safe, like I’m really lying to myself.  It’s like I’m saying I don’t have anything good to offer so I’m just latching onto others who have better offerings.

No.

I do have something to offer.  Quite a few, actually.  I am a great problem-solver and consultant.  I am intuitive and I can cut through muck and identify the essence.  I am very creative and can think outside of box.  I am loyal and reliable, resourceful and quick-study.  I am happy to be in demand as a web developer — because even though there are many of us out there, apparently when people work with me they want to work with me again and again.  And it’s a line of work where much of what I list above are being used.  I like being useful.

But I am developing web sites because other people want me to and it makes me money.  It really doesn’t fulfill me in a more fundamental way.  I can think to volunteer as a web developer to some charitable causes that I can believe in, and I may do that, but even that feels like a cop-out.

I want to feel fulfilled in my life.  When I die, I want to look back to my life and feel proud — and as much as my web sites help other people and make money, they don’t make me proud in a deep way.

Then I thought about why I wanted to make music to begin with.

It’s because music was the friend that helped me get through my dark times.

It is the most moving, touching thing in the world to me, when I listen to music that express the feelings I am carrying inside.

Music is the best gift I’ve been given.  And that’s why, I dreamed of giving it.

Separating the Heart from the Rest

When I think of being given opportunities to create meaningful music, I feel overwhelmed, in a good way.  I’d feel incredibly grateful and honored.  If someone were to tell me my music helped them get through hard times, I’d be so overcome with joy that I’d probably kiss and hug the person and say something corny like “oh, THANK you for thanking me!”

I think I have something here.  I feel like I can trust this feeling.

So I was right to begin with — but I got distracted by all the ego-energy that fills the air.  It’s been very awkward for me to try to be in the music industry.  I haven’t made many friends, never fit the lifestyle/social circles and I have been unsuccessful in applying some of the successful techniques to my own pursuit.

But to worry about stuff like The Industry, now I see, is missing the point of my intention.  I’m not saying I will not make money from music, but that’s really not the point.

I want to offer the most meaningful thing that’s been given to me.  I want to give back.

But to give back, first I need to develop the ability to create the same caliber of gifts that I received.  Not because I need fame, not because I want to turn profit — but because I want to make an impact.  It has to be a genuine piece of art, or otherwise it can’t meet my true objective.

So that’s my starting point.

Then, I just have to think of a way, an approach, that’ll keep Ego out of the picture as much as possible.  Again, I’m not saying that Ego-driven pursuit is a mortal sin or recipe for failure — it’s just that when it enters the picture, I can’t get behind it.  It stops being fulfilling — and thus, it misses the very reason why I want to create it.

Making an Impact => My Fulfillment

That’s my focus, and I need to affix my eyes on it.

I have a lot more thinking to do, but I feel like I’m onto something.  At last.

I just commented on Derek Sivers’ recent entry, a quick questionnaire to the marketer-extraodinaire Seth Godin.

I won’t repeat what’s been said there, but it got me thinking about the term Remarkable that Seth Godin coins.  I can’t remember which book that was — I’m not a fanatic follower of Godin, just followed his blog for a while and skimmed through one or two books.

First of all, my understanding of Remarkable is that when people learn of you or your offerings, they get so excited that they can’t stop talking about it with everyone they know.

I do believe it was Godin who said something like “if your product isn’t Remarkable, then don’t spend any more money on marketing.”  Go back to woodshedding — come back when you have something Remarkable.

This, my friends, is definitely my quest.  I hate to sound inmodest, but I always believed that I have something, something rather uncommon.  And by that,  I don’t necessarily mean musical talent, though it’s definitely a part of the picture.  I’m a passionate person at heart and there’s a tremendous energy in how passionately I love some things.  For example, after 20  years, I’m more madly in love with my electric guitar, than ever.  It just keeps surprising me — for such a long, long time, I feel like I’ve been suppressing my love of playing the guitar.  Why?  There are many reasons, but one of them is that there are so many guitar players — and so many of them Great and Remarkable — that I can’t believe that a wee little me can possibly have anything else to offer.  I realize that I am perfectly allowed to play it just because I want to, I also don’t think it’s a sin to want what you love so passionately to be something more than just your little fetish/indulgence.  When we love something, we naturally want to share it.

Anyway, I think what makes one Remarkable is often not a singular trait (though some are) but a unique combination/conglomeration of diverse (and seemingly incompatible) assets.   Sivers often talks about a singer/songwriter who is a sailer and writes songs about sailing, for example.  It’s Remarkable music to sailers.  My guess is that that artist never set out going “I bet it’ll be a big hit if I make music about sailing.”  The artist made music that was a natural and honest expression of who s/he is and what s/he loves — and success is a sweet bonus.

Hmm, as I think about it, I don’t think I’m going to hit upon my Remarkability by thinking and consciously looking for that sweet spot where things come together.  That’s not the way to go about it.  I just said it above — I need to seek out Natural and Honest Expression of Who I Am and What I Love.  I hate clichés but “follow your bliss” probably applies here.

By doing so, somewhere down the line, I will hit upon something, a spot — whether it’s a music or a concept or business idea — that will strike a chord.  People’s eyes will light up when they hear about it.  It will be clear and free of confusion.

Then — I will have arrived. I can’t wait.

Recently I had a deep conversation with my wife, which led to some revelations.  I realized that I was setting myself up some deadlines because I believed that I wouldn’t get anything done without them.

Actually, the opposite is true here:  if something requires a deadline to get done, then that something isn’t something I want to center my life around.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have plenty of deadlines and I am good at honoring them.  But with it comes stress, scheming, and the need to be efficient. And you know, efficiency isn’t a synonym of effectiveness or fun.

I am self-motivated and driven.  I’m lazy only when I’m overwhelmed or tired. I don’t have problem getting things done.

So if something requires a deadline to get done, then that’s not something I really want.

Oh, I will still play my guitar and make music.  But how and when that will happen — I have no idea, except that they will get done when they have to.

I often think of why it’s taken me so long to realize my dream.  I’ve been wanting to be a musician virtually all my adult life, yet I seem to be everything but.

Now, notice the last sentence: “I’ve been wanting to be a musician.”

What does that mean, to BE a musician.  Are you a musician when you have a degree in it?   When you publish a song or a composition?  When you earn money from performing music?  When you don’t have a day job?

Well, I know what my definition was, but now I see that there is a problem here.  I’ve been just focusing on a status, a certain condition I wanted to create.  Which takes the focus away from the very essence of what I’ve always wanted to do.

Why did I want what I wanted, to begin with?

It’s because music meant to much to me.  In my darkest times, music reached out and filled me.  It was an outlet, one faucet attached to the ever-growing tank of rotting muck.  Through its exorcism, I found strength to go on.

And because it gripped me so powerfully, I felt passionate about giving back.  To create music that would offer the same kind of healing catharsis. To create music that finally articulate all the hurt, insecurities, shame, guilt and despair we carry hidden deep inside.  To make music that really channel the depth and the complexity of our darkest emotions — an expression that’s thoroughly realistic and authentic, without a shred of caricaturing or over-simplifying.

That’s what I want to do.

See?  That vision has nothing, really nothing to do with being a musician.  I mean, I already am a musician.  I do not need to change or achieve anything in order for me to start doing the above.  Today, this very moment, I have what it takes to do what I want to do and give it everything I got.  There is now waiting, no need for approval permission.

Yet, for so many years, it was really not about music.  It was about status, about proving something.  I wanted to validate myself, make my desire to make music legitimate by turning it into a recognizable success.

And I’ve been wondering why I make so much more money as a web developer, and doors and opportunities open so easily for me in that avenue, with people clamoring, asking me to do that.  Well, the following lines from The Deeper Secret by Annemarie Postma really articulates what’s going on here:

You are given the things to which you do not attach your ego.  When you free yourself of neediness, then you are ready to receive.

My true vision has nothing to do with achieving anything.  It’s about creating to give.  Yes, it will be nice if it somehow turned into a situation where I don’t have to work other jobs, so I can devote more time to it.  But that’s really not the point.  And yes, it’ll be nice if I get recognized for the excellence in creating music.  But that’s really not the point, either.  The more I focus on the essence of my heart’s desire, the more I lose interest in these accessorial benefits.  And the more I feel amazed that I actually have everything I need to start living my dream today, this very moment.

For such a long, long time, I kept myself from doing it, thinking I needed to meet other conditions.

All I needed, all along, was simply to tear down the wall I had put up myself.

The wait is now over.  My time has arrived.

I feel that I have finally honed in on the essence of what I love to do as a musician.  But being both a goal-oriented (or I should say deadline-oriented, as I never get anything done without those) and See-the-Need-Meet-the-Need person, I am feeling the need to frame my artistic pursuit as a set of specific goals, complete with deadlines and priorities assigned.  Maybe I am treading back to the familiar terrain where I got stuck, but really — I just can’t seem to spend any time doing anything unless it is meeting a specific need (of someone else’s) or making some kind of deadline.

But what should my goal be?  What I need to do is to make music.  I can further define that as writing, recording and releasing music.

So — my goals should be set so that I do those things, right?  It sounds simple enough.  To release music, I need to have a finished recording.  To have a finished recording, I need to record, mix and master a recording.  To start recording a song, the songwriting should be finished.  No problem — I have a whole bucket full of unreleased songs.

But my mind quickly wonders into areas outside of that.  Like how I want an audience for my songs.  Like how I want a nice-looking web site as a platform for my songs.  How I’d love to test new mics or mic preamps to record my songs.  Are any of these things necessary for me to write, record and release songs?  NO.

My time is extremely limited.  If I clatter it up with unnecessary things, the precious little I have will be gone — forever.  So I feel that I have to be disciplined about this.

It’s funny to say that I have to be disciplined about spending time doing what it is that I love the most, but I think that’s true for many of us.  We just don’t allow ourselves to do the thing that feeds us the most, because we get used to starving ourselves.

So, I’m going to try and set the right goals this time.  To actually do what I love to do.  This is not about business or promotion or proving anything to anybody.  I need to make myself do what I love.

I am a father and that is a very, very big piece of my life right now, probably the biggest.  So I’ve been wondering to myself, why don’t I write songs about fatherhood? If nothing else, it’s a niche or a social group I relate to and belong to — won’t that be an honest and genuine self expression?

Well, no matter how much sense it makes, I haven’t been able to really bring myself to write songs about fatherhood. I’m simply uninterested and unmotivated.  There are several reasons:

• The person who writes my songs is the same young man who I was when I was between 18-22, somewhere before marriage and parenthood and all that, wrestling with the more fundamental issues of who I am and why I live.   I am older now, yes, but that young man really hasn’t aged.
• Rock, to me, is the sound of existential angst.   In the modern times, as we discover that there’s more to life than merely surviving, we noticed this gap between the life that we live and what we could be.  That schism is the sound of rock n roll.
• Parenthood, on the other hand, is ultimately  joyful to me.  Yes, it’s challenging and yes, it’s very difficult, but this joy, I can readily express and experience everyday.  So I have really no great need to channel that aspect of me into my music.
• I am not a comedian.

In short, making music is an impulse born out of somewhere very deep, below the apparent but temporary roles I take on, like being a son, husband, and a father.  (Of course, I don’t consider being a husband as really a temporary occupation — it’s just that it’s not lost on me that ultimately most of us die alone)  Now, there are many fundamental and universal layers contained within those roles — need for love, acceptance, forgiveness, tenderness.  Or more to my realm, the angst, the longing, the injustice, the frustration — those, I am very interested in expressing.  And I may even use some of the roles to frame the situation.

For example, as a father I feel that I have a song in me that express my dedication to “be there” for my children.  But when that song comes out, I’m sure it’ll probably be obscured so that it’s applicable to more than parenthood.

It’s funny because there’s universality in being very specific — but yet, if it’s about specificity, you lose the universality.  It’s a fine line.  I am a father and it definitely informs my writing.  But in distilling some essences, the framework often gets left behind.

My fellow Twin Cities musician blogger Steve Goold posted a well-written thought piece on artistic success.  His post inspired this, which is my response — an expansion on what he started.

I won’t repeat what he wrote, so go read his piece.

I’m not saying this is what Steve said this, but his four levels CAN be taken as “the more people get it, the better.”

Which is not necessarily true, though it can be.

Another factor involved here is not in how may people get it, but how deeply it moves the people who get it.

There are artists out there, some who are considered highly successful, who solicit a strong love/hate reaction from people.  Tori Amos comes to mind, for example.

Not everybody gets Tori, not even close.  But people who get her, she tends to really touch them at a deeper, more fundamental level.

While she may not be Steve’s level 4, that still constitutes a very high degree of artistic EFFECTIVENESS.  Or perhaps it could be called artistic maturity.

Of course, the very ideal is to reach many people AND move a great portion of the listeners.

But more often than not, artists are regarded highly even if they don’t appeal to the mass — especially those with elementary level of appreciation for the craft.  There are deeper realm of the craft that can only be appreciated by those who are more experienced in the realm.

So, here are my four levels of artistic maturity:

–

Level 1: Reach Yourself

What you created are satisfying and fulfilling to you, the artist.  You feel good enough about it that you start to share with other people.  This is the foundation of artistic success — of course, perfection is seldom attained, but we must be good enough so that we ourselves think our output is satisfactory.

Level 2: Reach Others

When other people like what you like, then you have created an effective piece of art.  It communicates something.  Now, what is being communicated is in the eye of the beholder — ultimately, it is a self-conversation that is sparked by the art inside the receiver’s head.  But the more people get it, the better, at this level.

Level 3: Reach Experts

Elementary art is easier to understand, but it takes a certain level of mastery to reach others who are experienced/masters in the art.  Now, these “experts” don’t necessarily mean other artists — they can include critics, fanatics, and other enthusiasts.  When you start to reach these people, you begin to be regarded as a mature artist.  But many artists who reach this level, unfortunately, lose touch with the foundation and cease to create art that can also be appreciated by the mass/uninitiated.

Level 4: Reach Everyone Where They Are At

This is the ultimate, and only precious few artists attain this level.  The Beatles, Beethoven, Bach…. they were able to create art that the uninitiateds and enthusiasts alike marvel at, for different reasons.  It has layers that appeal to more people, wherever they are at.

–

Most artists do progress from level 1 to 4 in order, though some simply just “have it” and start at level 3 or even 4.  (Mozart comes to mind)  But seeing some masters like Picasso or Miles Davis, you can see the progression through these stages.  I’m not into jazz at all, yet Kind of Blue appeals to me.  And I know it appeals to jazzheads, too, for reasons that may be different from mine.

Now, I realize that the above four levels still don’t address the profoundness of how the art impacts the receiver.  If a songwriter is at level 2 but the people who get it really are profoundly moved, that’s still have to be considered a high degree of artistic success — even if it doesn’t appeal to experts.

So in the end, reality is much more complex than what Steve or I can summarize in these tiered definitions.  Multi-dimentional, really.

The other fascinating and challenging thing about being a songwriter is that a song must be performed in order to be realized.  But the performance can greatly affect the delivery.  An amazing song performed lousily is still lousy, while a mundane song performed superbly can reach a good number of people.   Even for those who are pure songwriters and not performers, they have the daunting task of assembling a demo with more accomplished performers, so that they full might of their songs can be properly delivered.

Musicmaking is a deep, deep art — I do feel fortunate to have discovered something so deep, that I can easily spend my life time pursuing it knowing that I’ll never scale the full depth of it.

Well, there are many advices out there for us musicians — do this, do that, sort of thing.  They all focus on the techniques, the little tricks you can do to sell more CDs or bring more people to the show or build your fanbase.

And they can be useful. I’ve read them and I tried some of them, sure.

But these last couple of years, I started realizing how much of the foundation I was missing.  I was looking for tips on roofing, when I hadn’t dug the proper foundation.

Let me explain.  As a guitar player who started playing in the late 80s, I was initially influenced by very technical playing of that era.  To be a good rock/metal guitarist meant that I was supposed to be able to pull off flashy techniques.

So I spent a lot of time trying to play fast.  Because if fast wasn’t there, I wasn’t a good guitarist.  I scoured and tried practice tips that supposedly helped me get faster, fast.

15 years later, I am a guitarist who can’t play very fast and who can’t play very slow — well, all right, I’m not bad — but I am nowhere near where I thought I could be.

In my pursuit of speed, I failed to realize how important it is to build a solid house.  There were some licks I learned to play fast, but I couldn’t modify them or apply them — they were just habits of my hand.

This last year or so, I finally realized that if I want to really play fast, then I better be able to play softly well first.  Like learning how to hold down the strings with the very tip of my fingers (it gives me the most expressive control), instead of pushing the strings down carelessly, letting my fingers fall wherever they do.

The same thing happened with my singing.  I was trying to sing high, and I sounded terrible.  My high range expanded, once I stopped trying to reach out there and focused more on notes within my range.

Ironic, isn’t it?

There’s a Japanese saying “if you want to go fast, go around.”  Don’t look for shortcuts, but take the long way.

That’s the lesson I’m having to learn.  The long way actually is the fast way. Because shortcuts either fail to help you get there or even if you do, you won’t stay there.

So, as a musician, I am digging deep to identify and isolate my core.   Instead of employing every technique that supposedly produce success, I’m going to figure out who I am and what I have to offer, first.

After all, what good is a haphazardly put-together roof without any foundation?