I have been so unbelievably cynical.
How could I have aged so much, become so calloused, in such a short time? I’m in my mid 20s and I talk about my work like I’m an old, weary producer past prime and longing for the good old days. There has been something very wrong with me for so long I’d forgotten what it was like to feel right.
I am humbled. Right down to the core, that’s where I’m feeling it. I have crumbled to the ground. And it’s blissful.
Today I found out I am working with a sleeping giant. Never before have I met someone with such vast potential matched so well with an equal cluelessness about that potential. It’s a perfect equilibrium, really. It means ego isn’t an issue, hard work and diligence continues, and self-doubt isn’t present. Creative utopia. I don’t want to disturb it, and yet I can’t help but write and write.
I’m positively floored.
But this is exactly what I have wanted to hear this whole time. I wanted my faith to be restored and for music to regain its meaning for me. I wanted to stop constantly second guessing my every note. I wanted to be able to relax and enjoy the process of composition and recording without that little nagging voice telling me it’s all pointless.
I can now tell that little voice to STFU. I have just seen a real live giant snoring away peacefully while melodies you couldn’t imagine are pouring from his breath. Nagging Little Voice can go jump in the lake.
Music is my life. It’s my heart, my first love. Something I have cherished even in the times it was excruciating to even write a single line. Today all that pain feels worth it. And just now I realise something else.
Perhaps I have been asleep this whole time, too…