If you were to ask me what instruments I can play, I would tell you guitar, piano, and clarinet, and I would only be completely lying about the clarinet. I can sing in tune if you don't judge me with the ear of Jacob Collier, and I can clap on the beat as long as the beat is on the two and the four. Basically I'm good enough at music that I can semi-competently lead a four-chord worship song at a small church in Maryland and have nice older people tell me they like my singing voice.
But I'm not very good at music, and that's just a plain statement of fact.
I'm not very good at guitar. I'm a four-chords-and-a-capo kind of guy, and when I throw a minor 2 into a bridge you'd better look impressed. I'm not very good at singing. Jacob Collier would kindly say I'm pitchy and I would less kindly say that my falsetto sounds like a gas leak. I'm only a little more melodically and rhythmically imaginative than a car alarm. One time when we were kids, my brother Tim and I were drumming on pots and pans at my grandparents' house, and my grandpa told Tim that he had a really special talent for drumming (which was true) and then gently told me that I should probably go try something else.
I went to Nashville a couple of weeks ago to record a few of my own songs. The whole time I was both chuffed¹ to be there and convinced I shouldn't be; I felt hyper-aware of everyone else's musical talent and my own comparative lack. Everyone in Nashville knew jazz theory and the exact right thrifted t-shirt to wear with cool baggy jean shorts, while on the other hand I'm someone who mostly plays pop songs in G and wears khaki shorts from Target. I kept assuring people that I wasn't very good at music and that my songs weren't very good, until eventually my other brother, Tom, whom you know, looked at me and said, "If you don't think your songs are very good, why are you recording them?"
I've wrestled with that question before and after. Here's where I'm at.
Probably some of what I've just written above is from imposter syndrome, but I also think it's a true statement of fact to say that, musically speaking, neither I nor my songs are very good. Still, there are reasons to make music other than the objective quality of the end product.
Personally, I have two: 1) I genuinely enjoy the process of recording music, and 2) I want to communicate my feelings via music regardless of whether I'm good at it or not.
Don't you think the desire to communicate, musically or otherwise, is worth honoring? Would you tell a three-year-old not to talk until they've conquered their lisp and memorized the thesaurus? Would you tell a person not to paint a mountain landscape until they can paint it as well as Turner? Knowing your great kindness and wisdom, I'm sure you would not.
Well, I wouldn't either. I want to make music, and while I'd sure like to be as good at piano as Billy Joel, the fact that I'm not won't stop me from pressing the keys.
Three other things I'll say.
One: Yes, of course I also want to try and make music well. I'm not satisfied with being not good; I really would like to be very good. But ideally my desire to be very good at music won't suppress my desire to make it, and actually I think both desires stem from the same root, which is the longing to know and be known by truth and beauty. (You can disagree with that if you want; I think we'll end up saying the same thing in different words.) I want to communicate, which is ultimately the same thing as saying I want to communicate well. So I'll make music, and I'll try to get better at it as I go. I told Tom I'm going to finally take guitar lessons.
Two: As long as the desire to be very good doesn't morph into a twisted drive to be better than others, it itself is very good. But it's so damn easy for my desire to morph. I know this because my limited musical ability is an unexamined source of pride when I'm in Frederick (where almost nobody is a full-time musician), and a surprisingly sharp source of insecurity when I'm in Nashville (where almost everyone is). Someday I'd like to quit comparing myself altogether, put both pride and insecurity aside, and be at peace. Tomorrow, hopefully, or next Tuesday.
Three: There is something to the idea that personhood makes art valuable, or, to put it another way, that you merely need to be a person to have a perspective worth sharing.
I believe in objective truth, but I also believe that diamonds glimmer differently depending on the angle from which you look, and that one body is made up of many parts. Musical skill matters, but art is also valuable because it expresses personhood – just like listening to a three-year is valuable not (only) because of the rhetorical quality of their speech, but because of the human value of the speaker.
Okay, one last reason why I recorded my new songs. I'll admit it: I like the sound of my own voice. But you read these newsletters. You probably guessed that.
– Jon
Jon Anderson
Founder @ Two Story Media
Surprisingly Good @ Being a Hater
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100% Human Guarantee
I wrote this, not AI.
Today's random photo: The sun through wildfire smoke last week. I got used to the sky looking like this in Denver, but it feels even more apocalyptic on the east coast, like the whole world is worn out and old.
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P.S. – I shared a bunch of your wins and goals for the year last week. You can read them and get inspired here.
¹I'm not British, and speaking of imposter syndrome, using this word makes me feel like I'm doing a fake British accent. But also, what a great word.