Would I Be Insufferable If I Wasn’t a Musician?
Maybe art is the only thing keeping me grounded…
I’m thankful every day I’m not a man. I’d be the worst one. I play guitar, have a vinyl collection, love baseball caps and patchwork tattoos, use Letterboxd, and drink matcha. If I was a man, I’d probably have a mustache and make myself everyone’s problem. I’d be insufferable, but I realized today—Probably not as insufferable as I would be if I wasn’t a musician.
At work this morning, I was yapping with my work friend and he asked me what aspects of being a musician I liked the most. I said performing was consistently the most rewarding, but crafting songs had higher highs and lower lows. I can give a performance I’m satisfied with almost all of the time—Songwriting I can struggle with more. Songwriting is where I pour out all the stuff that would probably drive me crazy if I didn’t get rid of it.
My love of music has to do with having an outlet for aspects of my personality I don’t particularly like. For instance, while I’m content being bad at some things (roller skating and math), I cannot stand not being really good at things I love. I don’t think this lack of chill is very cool girl of me. Music, though, gives me pretty much infinite room to try and get better at it (and therefore I am distracted and don’t try to be the best at everything I like). I can practice guitar or singing or lyric writing or marketing or recording and spend countless hours on it. I have some workaholic traits I tend to slip into. Music lets me put as much work in as I want because it’s hard and multi-faceted.
Additonally, I am secretly a very emotional person, though I try to conceal it (re: would be the worst man ever). My songs are a place I can put all the messy emotions and slightly obsessive thoughts. I guess that’s what it all boils down to: I fear I am obsessive and music can handle it, in a way that I worry would not be good for my day to day life.
My songwriter-sona is not separate from myself, but she is a different facet. Where in day-to-day life, I am an extrovert, generally cheery, and love nothing more than a joke and an adventure, my music was once described by a friend’s boyfriend as “falalala I hate myself”. It’s a strange dichotomy. A part of me wishes I could solve it, merge the two selves. Another part of me knows neither part would exist without the other—yin and yang, or whatever.
My friend J once said my theme songs would simultaneously be “Sunshine Lollipops and Rainbows” and also any Phoebe Bridgers song—I don’t think he was quite sure which one is at the center and neither am I. As I grow up, I try to accept the contrast. A local musician I respect once told me I had a gift for connecting my heart and my brain. I think about that compliment a lot (and appreciated it) but I hope my heart isn’t as deeply sad as some of my songs tend to be.
Last night I was at an open mic with some friends, about 50% musicians at our table. We had a damn good time. The table was littered at various points with soda and martini glasses, cider bottles, empty plates of various sizes, capos, and picks. We spent all night thinking we were a little too funny. I was worried at various points the host was going to tell us we needed to do a better job shutting up during people’s sets. Somehow though, the musical performances themselves were some of the best I’ve seen from my friends, but also at the whole open mic. The vibe didn’t exactly shift whenever anyone went up to play, though the songs were serious and compelling, but an emotional complexity was reached. My roommate and I noticed the full moon on the way home.
When I had gone up to play, the host (who I am quite friendly with) introduced me as “Sena, or Asenath Rose if ya nasty” as a Hayley Williams / Janet Jackson reference and an easy way of mentioning both my nickname and my legal name / stage name (more dichotomies!). I was caught off guard, but it was admittedly quite funny. It reminded me of when I had been playing Baltimore Pride a couple weeks prior and I had to enter stage to Lil Wayne’s “Uproar” before playing three sad-as-all-get-out songs about the complexity of love and self. I contain multitudes, or whatever.