IT’S WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU’RE AFRAID THAT COUNTS

Admittedly, these days it’s more than a little frightening to be a human and, as we all know, fear is a virus.

But here’s the thing – the categorical, undeniable, and ofttimes discomfiting truth: It’s what you do when you’re afraid that counts. It’s what you do when you’re afraid that reveals who you really, truly are. For instance:

Do you become a retail bandit and scramble to purchase as much toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and gloves to hoard, thereby leaving your friends & neighbors with none?

Do you show up to your essential role as a grocery cashier on time, day-in and day-out while risking disease to serve your community?

Do you volitionally abandon whatever critical and analytical thinking skills you may possess to wholeheartedly embrace every scintilla of misinformation, lunatic speculation and conspiracy theory that drifts across your transom?

Do you refuse to outsource your thinking and use credible, evidence-based data to draw your own conclusions?

Do you allow yourself to be worked into such a shrill pitch that, in a blind panic, you sell your equity holdings, thereby further destabilizing the market and locking in your losses forever?

Do you do absolutely nothing with your investments, trusting in your plan based upon hundreds of years of history and a keen understanding of human psychology?

Do you see this as a time to take to social media and freak-out, capitalize, monetize, or spread your own strain of fear?

Do you see this as a time to “be vigilant, to be quiet, to pay attention, to be mindful and observant?”

Each of the above questions is entirely rhetorical, though, perhaps they offer some ammunition in an exercise to attain enhanced self-reflexivity, heightened awareness, and a more accomplished sense of being. Or perhaps, not. That choice remains entirely yours.

In his outstanding blog, The Red Hand Files, musician Nick Cave commented in a recent article, that “When we eventually step clear of this moment, we will have discovered things about our leaders, our societal systems, our friends, our enemies and, most of all, ourselves.” And he is, of course, spot-on. The interesting thing is that even during these past weeks, characterized by uncertainty and isolation, I have discovered much about myself. More importantly, I have unburied a particular lurking fear.

A REAL ROCK N’ ROLL ZERO

Certainly one could easily exonerate me from any lack of legitimate artistic progress or output given the anomalous circumstances of today, let alone the fact that I had just moved cross-country and was trying to settle in to a new home and life.

Furthermore, I could, quite defensibly, argue that a worldwide quarantine stymied the completion of my music studio and, as a result, my purchase of the requisite equipment. That would be all fine and dandy and, let’s face it, no one is particularly interested in what I’m doing. Except maybe me, that is. And, more importantly, why I’m not doing and haven’t done anything with music.

I will forever remain guilty of many offenses in this lifetime, but lack of self-awareness is not one of them. Sure, I can intentionally delude myself or purposefully mask reality like the best of them, but in my heart of hearts, I always know what’s motivating me, even if I try to hide or disacknowledge it. And, here’s my realization.

The only thing preventing me from making any progress on my new music project is fear. Plain and simple.

I was unconsciously aware of this fear, of course, and had done a yeoman’s effort of burying it far below and continuing to stamp it down good and hard every few weeks when it reared its ugly head. However, after reading Cave’s statement, it arose like a blazing Phoenix, awakening my conscious to the searing reality. I was afraid to create. Period. And I used this fear as an excuse to do absolutely nothing in the way of music. For the first time ever, I really, truly felt like a rock n’ roll Zero.

HERE IN THE DARK

After the energy, passion and, ultimate, letdown of last year’s original Rock N’ Roll Zero project of attempting to reunite my former punk band for one last tour, I still walked away newly inspired to create original music again. My intent was pure, my plan simple: move to the rural Fate Estate, build a small studio and make music. I was all sorts of fired up and ready to rock. It was that simple. Or was it?

Once we arrived, the world shut down in extremely short order for obvious and prudent reasons. That said, the studio remained undone beyond framing and drywall, let alone outfitted with recording equipment, computers, and whatnot. The lone occupants included only my guitars, amps and a few effects processors. Mind you, for the entirety of my music career, these were all the tools I ever needed to create. But something was off. I’d sit impotently in that vacant space with my old pals, just staring….daring.

Nothing happened. I felt strange; it should not be this way. I just sat there in the dark on the cold cement floor asking, “Why me, why this, why now?” Totally unaware that it was plain old fear driving all of this.

DANCING WITH MYSELF

Ultimately, I got to the bottom of the question, though it took many a fine Pacific Northwest brew and some hard staring at my equipment to do so. It began to dawn on me that I’d never danced with myself musically. Sure, I’ve written tons of tunes, bass-lines, and beats on my own, but only while part of a band. A part of something bigger than me; than all of us.

My plan had me as a sole creator, locked here to create alone which was a fine premise. But, it unconsciously scared the shit out of me. Sure, I could make music on my own and upload it to the Interwebs. In fact, some of it might possibly even turn out to be pretty good. But the more I began to think about it the more the plan didn’t feel quite right.

A SONG FOR A NEW DAY

As part of my Get Your Read On! Artists Combat Isolationism article, I read Sarah Pinsker’s magnificent debut novel, “A Song for a New Day” and specifically as a musician – predominantly a live musician, this book spoke to me – that is to say, it woke me the fuck up. Who’s to say books cannot change the way you see things?

I need not belabor my argument with Pinsker’s subtext, but in reading the thoughts of protagonist, Luce Cannon, I quickly came to realize that a) as a musician, my gratification of music comes, predominantly, by playing with others and b) I only, really thrive as a live musician.

I continued to read about Cannon’s indomitable drive and compulsion to perform irrespective of the size of the crowd; despite all the ridiculous odds. Even with only one person to watch you perform (and, yes, I’ve been there), the visceral experience of participating in a live show, that connection between the performer and the audience – That, I know now is critical to the formation of social and human consciousness.

It took me a minute to realize that this is what was instigating my fear – being a “one man band.” As a musician, it is the human connection that comes along with it all – forming a band, being in a band, recording, performing – all of it together is what makes it truly worthwhile. Of all the fantastic memories that I have as part of a life of making music, they all center around a band, my band, my gang. Our collective strive to reach toward the sky and bring down the stars.

A CONSPIRACY AGAINST DESPAIR

So there you have it – I was very afraid and, according to the title of this article, what I do now matters.

And here’s what I’ve chosen to do: simply stop being scared. The first part of the creative process is to cease being afraid to create. Now that I am aware of my need to collaborate with others and, ultimately, perform live, my plan will change. For the better I think.

Sure, with all of us still in isolation and the world contending with a frightening, fluctuant situation, it will take more time to find fellow partners in crime to orchestrate my jubilant conspiracy against despair and that’s okay. As I shared with someone recently, so long as the process is moving forward, it’s still an active endeavor, irrespective as to when it may give birth to something tangible. In the meantime, I now feel unrestrained to begin developing ideas and write songs.

As Cave mused about the ultimate passing of this moment in time, “Perhaps we will be unified by a greater dignity. Perhaps we will see the world through different eyes, with an awakened reverence.” This has certainly been true in my case – of realizing and subsequently choosing to vanquish my fear; doing what really matters.

Fear may be a virus, but music is a virus, vaccine and a cure.

P.S. – This is an open invitation to anyone reading this and a summons to anyone with whom I’ve made music with previously. I want you! Technology is such that we can collaborate across time zones and continents. You know who you are. Don’t let fear be a barrier. Let’s be a conspiracy against despair.