defining myself

Sometimes I think that what you surround yourself with reflects who you are. I can do a half turn in my one room apartment and see eight instruments. There’s even more in the closet, a fiddle and a mandolin to name a few. I wonder if anyone else is struck by my identity when they first enter my living space. Do they say to themselves, ‘yes it’s definitely a musician who lives here?’

            I am often too busy to define myself, so I wonder how others define me. I can’t even decide what I want to be. Do I simply want to be a musician or do I want to be a songwriter? The many roles I play sadly do not define what I do independently. They are just pieces of the puzzle. To some I am a producer. To many I am only a guy trying to play social catch up with melodies.

             I know in my heart that I am a naturalist, trying to translate pure emotion into universal sound. But when someone asks you what type of music you play you cannot respond in such colorful words. I have found that they will ignore your responses. They will quickly lose patience. It’s no surprise that I am annoyed by casual inquires into what I do. Music is who I am.

            I’ll never be the guy you know who plays guitar. I’ll never be the friend who once wrote a song for your sister, and, ‘you know what? It was pretty damn good.’ I want to be the guy who you failed to know—the character in your past who you must deny. Say, ‘yeah, I knew him but he was not that good way back when.’

            Therefore, I will not force my music upon you. Rather you are too close to be impressed or too far to care, makes no difference. I might be smarter than you. I might know better. At least I have an idea that what I am doing is great. It’s great because I am great. And everyday this greatness and I become more connected. Soon you will not be speaking to a man. You will be speaking to the songs you have ignored.