Sadness, Sweat and Sometimes Blood

I used to make music quite regularly and for a (modest) living. I poured sadness into song, and spilled sweat and sometimes blood on stage for handfuls of people who paid a few bucks and honored us with their attention. We were often paid in booze and low percentages. I spent weeks at a time showerless and in a van, resting my head on a different floor in a different city almost every night. Toward the end we earned the privilege of Best Westerns and familiar faces.

I quit making this type of noise almost a decade ago.

People ask me all the time why I don’t make music anymore and I don’t really have a straight answer for them. I’ve been thinking hard about this lately. It’s bigger than family or responsibility, which both hold water as an argument. It’s bigger than burnout, which certainly played a part. The answer, I’ve come to realize, is happiness.

When I quit sadness, I inevitably quit this type of creativity. Out of the hundreds of songs I’ve written, all were driven by sadness. The best songs, in my book, were the saddest songs. They still are. But recently, an opportunity presented itself to make some music again. And I think I’m going to.