Growing Pains + Art

 75, 647

That's how many minutes I spent listening to music in 2020, per Spotify Unwrapped.

While it's not my highest number, it's pretty close - yet something was lacking. In all that listening there wasn't much inspiration, nor new bands I discovered. For the first time I can remember, music was just noise. I've been fighting that fact because I like to attach so much sentiment, nostalgia, and friendship to this thing called listening to music. So, I started investigating just what had changed. Let me tell you - there was a lot. 

Photo by joah brown on Unsplash

So bear with me if you will...  Let's go back to late 2014...

I had started my senior year in college and as a journalism major I had to create a final project. My project naturally HAD to do with music (not because I am musically inclined of course). I kept trying to think what was the underlying thing I as a non-talent LOVED about music. Listening ... I mean come on it was obvious. 

I'm kind of an old person. I've always been this way, not necessarily that endearing 'oh you old soul you' thing, but rather 'wow you're stubborn!' I say this because I have a hard time living in this age. I'm desperate for days before me. Times where writers typed on typewriters in smoke-filled newsrooms, or where phones were still attached to cords and your reason for not responding was that you simply weren't home. 

Because of this I've found it quite hard to like the way things are going. In 2014, I was no different. I had a flip phone, two ipods, and I had just gotten Spotify. Part of me loved the convenience of whatever music I wanted being accessible right when it came out.  Yet, I knew it was changing something: How We Listen. Then I was only trying to interview musicians and enthusiasts alike to discover what they thought of streaming, how they grew up listening, pivotal moments of first hearing a song, ect.

Now, I think how relevant that has remained. Not only in the evolution of physical, tangible music to steaming, but also how we have been conditioned as a society to listen differently because of it. 

Following this theme of 'how we listen' I'd like to jump back to those minutes I spent last year. In digging into why it felt like filler I started asking some friends and family why the music we're listening to today is popular. I was asking why I started to like this kind of nonsensical, catchy music. Why was I only listening to one song from a million different people I forgot a week later - instead of a few talented artists' whole album? Why didn't I know lyrics anymore? Wasn't anyone saying anything new or different or honest?

My husband and I have conversations about how popular music is overproduced to make us crave that perfect sound. How access to computers and making beats is as common place as having a phone, so anyone really can put music out. My brother and I talked about the lack of great performers, guitarists, or even people that want to sit and listen to live, flawed performances. We discussed those growing pains in music and how you can't help but feel people don't love it for the right reasons anymore. Maybe their hearts aren't in it. 

...

We were watching the movie "Free Guy" (which I recommend if you like video games or dabble in any creative pursuit) and the metaphors were sticking to me like glue. Without too many spoilers ( I said too many, stop reading if you want to be totally aloof upon seeing the film) - I was struck by this kind of theme where manufacturing mediocre appeases the masses, so creativity (especially from those without funds or influence) never sees the light of day. Making the same video games with sequel after sequel makes money off the familiar. Flipping the script runs the risk of asking people to open up their mind to something else. It's never as easy, but it's seemingly more important.

...

Maybe streaming has changed how we listen, and maybe it has even realigned us to crave a pattern of predictable. Maybe that has shaped a whole society to listen to whatever random-gen-z-pop-punk-newcomer-song-Travis-Barker-is-featured-on (I'm guilty of it, too). Maybe we've lost the lyrics, they're harder to come by. Maybe my ears are lazier because I picked a formula built to give a dopamine rush over the rusty poet trying to relay the heartbreaking, stunning of everyday life.

So, you're getting that curmudgeon vibe from me I imagine, and rightfully so. But I'd venture to say - there's something wildly crucial about realizing it's not just the headphones that are broken, maybe it's the whole orchestration. What I mean is that naming the problem leads to understanding there needs to be a solution. Looking at something in movement and knowing that it won't land right gives you the responsibility to step in to prevent what injury you can.

Great art, great music inspires other creatives. I haven't written a post since May - I watch this film and everything I've been thinking about my distance with music materializes into words. I can't change that some record labels or musicians only care about how much money or publicity they get - that's just part of the entertainment world. And let me say I WANT to artist to succeed financially! However, I want them to succeed because of their artistry, not just their ability to uncover the Instagram algorithm. What I can control is how I listen and what I listen for, and maybe that means listening less to better things. 

I can't place all this blame and critique of laziness within the arts without challenging myself, too. Realizing that you're following old lines and that it's hard to cross them is a painful place, but also being willing to fight your fear of crossing them - now that's something. 

...

It's hard to hold on to creativity in a world like this. It's hard to hold on to faith. Heck, it's difficult to hold on to much of anything. The grief of the pandemic, everything that's happening - it's hard enough to unclench your jaw or realize your fist was balled up. 

My mom was notorious for saying the weirdest, most profound things. One was that we were to be 'a cool drink of water' to our teachers or anyone we came into contact with. She told us we should be refreshing to others. Dang, I MISS that girl. She understood what mattered. 

All these years later as I think of what a cool drink of water is to a dehydrated body - I'm struck. As a Christian, a writer, and a woman all I might be is an empty glass. I might be a recycled glass jar with the sticky part of the label still hanging on, but I can be empty and refilled. I can offer this thing that is within: this hydrating balm that keeps us on the up and up.

But maybe I'm a painter's cup, filled with used color that has transformed a canvas. Or perhaps I'm a nutritionist's cup - filled with healthy fruits and vegetables. Maybe I'm the cup of a child with a fun straw. I am held, and I hold on to what is dear. 

...

There are growing pains, but don't let it keep you from listening for the lyrics that connect with you so deeply. Don't let it terrify you from the field - that all you do is sit sideline to avoid injury. Realizing the shoes don't fit anymore isn't reason enough to stop dancing. 

You might focus all your frustration on what you've outgrown and miss the fact of the matter: you've grown. That is not promised, it is a privilege. Usually, it's from hard work, too. Yes, you've worked hard. 

Thank you for letting me work through my stream of consciousness. Keep listening, but maybe be more selective in what you listen to. Ask yourself how you listen. Don't let your lack of formula keep you from creating. Maybe the formula is wrong. Maybe it sells because it sold out. I know you hear me. 

All love, sweets.