I fumbled with my house keys at the front door in the icy night air, did the couple of trips from my truck with my guitars, pedal, cables and harmonica bag and with a bourbon on ice and The River on the turntable I sat down to catch my breath after a few gruelling days. It was just before midnight and my mind drifted to the farm, my American friends wrapping up another work day and the city with its millions of people sleeping and unwinding after holding itself up for yet another day of chaos, meetings, rolling blackouts and the general ups and downs of daily life. I thought of families and of the homeless, the drunks and the fearful and the nocturnal beings chasing the neon lights of stages and bars hoping to reach an audience and make a living.
I’ve been playing music for close to two decades now and I’ve been writing poetry and songs for even longer. I’ve formed bands, collaborated, performed and organised tours. Together with my fellow songwriters and musicians I’ve criss-crossed this country, travelled abroad and explored clubs, bars, festivals and any other occasion from biker funerals to birthday parties, trying to tell my own and made-up stories to friends and strangers alike. As a young musician I was consumed by a blistering fire. I wanted to play as many shows as possible, write songs, be part of a whole bunch of different bands and play the venues, festivals and clubs I read about in blogs and music magazines. I’ve had the great privilege of playing some of my dream venues. The old Cafe Barcelona in Pretoria, the Radium Beerhall in Joburg, The Old Imperial Inn close to the farm and even Malarkey’s Pub in Wausau Wisconsin. Throughout the years though there has been something eating at me, following me around like a black dog. At first I was able to ignore and rationalise the feeling. Then came the guilt for being, according to my own analysis, ungrateful. Then came resentment, jealousy, self loathing and eventually bitterness. I decided to go all out in 2019. I started and developed my brand as musician. I designed a logo, made Instagram and Facebook pages , went through the copyright process, did photoshoots and recorded two EPs. I played wherever I could, did my marketing and I payed for everything with my own money. I learnt long ago that freedom in music is being able to finance your own art. That is only possible because of my day job and I’m incredibly fortunate and grateful to have the schedule and financial position to be able to do it this way.
In my opinion the music got better and the live shows more polished and engaging. My experience allowed me to take an audience along with me for an hour or so sharing stories and it looked like people were enjoying it. I met incredible musicians, producers and venue owners. I made new friends and forged relationships that will hopefully last for the rest of my life. Something strange was happening though. People stopped coming, gigs and tours got little to no attention and even some of my fellow musicians stopped playing, performing and working on their craft. Pandemic aside, the world I was moving around in had become a wasteland. A dog eat dog sort of place. Hardly any gesture or support to other musicians were reciprocated and it felt like this whole thing had just become a waste of time. A selfish endeavour where it was no longer about bringing people together and serving the song but rather stepping on others to get a spot at a festival or venue and I was bitter, angry, resentful and frustrated because the songs stopped coming and the gigs dried up.
I was sitting on a rocky outcrop on the farm a few weeks ago and I was staring at the valley below soaked in pink and purples from the winter sunset. I made peace with a lot that evening. I accepted that it’ll never be enough if you look outward. It has to come from within. I accepted that people will always say yes and then not follow through on their promises and commitments. I accepted that most people are in this game for their own gains and ego and are not interested in sharing the spotlight. I realised that “gatekeepers” will always exist, ready to chuck your application for a spot at a festival into the bin. I accepted that I’ll never get the much needed live footage that was promised to me even though I offered to pay for it. I accepted that most musicians don’t want to do the necessary rehearsals to make something into the art it deserves to be. Some people are just not willing to put in the work even though they call themselves professionals.
I also realised that I had become part of a tribe. An exclusive club of humans willing to be brave, lend a hand and share a beer. Wiling to play for no money and perform to the best of their ability regardless of how many people are attending or for that matter listening to the music. People who show up everyday. People who you can call anytime. People who you can see wiping away a tear in the glow of the bonfire during a jam session. I started showing up everyday. I started writing again. I make sure that the muse finds me at work when she walks through my door. I am no longer concerned with gigs, festivals, streams on Spotify or people attending the shows. I am keeping myself busy with writing beautiful songs and stories. I no longer have any expectations about anything. I only hold myself accountable. I don’t care about what you think about my hat. I am not an entertainer. I’m a storyteller. I don’t care anymore about including “happier” songs in my setlist. I’m not there for you. You will let me down at the drop of a hat. I’m there for myself and for the muse. I’m there for my friends on stage and with me on the road.
I guess I’m turning Pro. It’s a lonely road and it demands humility, courage and self awareness. It requires dedication, ruthless self reflection and tolerance.
Maybe one day I’ll also be found at my desk like Jim Harrison, hunched over an unfinished poem, pen in hand. Gone to where the really good ones go when they move on.
JB