Confessions of a Proud Amateur

When I was in high school and college, I identified myself as a writer - kept a journal (still do), started out by writing pretty awful material in that painful way that precocious, over-thinking young people do, but eventually hit a sort of stride - just in time for graduation. Wound up in California, working in a bagel and dessert shop down the street from the house I rented, with the thought that I would hole up in my room after my shift and write - something great. And I choked. Wrote stuff that I hated even before I finished each page.

Meanwhile my pals in the late great band Skywheel made their way to the Bay Area, a few at a time, and most of the band moved in with me, until our three bedroom house was home to ten people. As the band reassembled, I somehow wrangled (sounds better than "weasled" or "wormed") my way into the line-up, mostly as backup singer and percussionist (tambourine, maracas, conga), and I poured my heart and soul into whatever bit part I played, because the writing thing made me feel useless and sad and isolated, while the music made me feel alive.

So, was I a musician? Yes, especially after the band exploded and I helped found one of the spin-off groups, and got more front time, and also in the sense that we made our living - or part of it - from our music.

But the bands all dissolved or relocated and suddenly I was stranded. Again. Fortunately, my pal Greg cajoled me into forming a group with him, and even convinced some solid players to join.  Up to this time, I'd been going through the necessary process of writing a bunch of terrible songs, but persevered until I had four or five decent tunes; those, along with some of Greg's, enabled us to offer our players the chance to bring this material to life (god knows we had nothing else to offer).

I was proud that I hadn't quit, even as I accepted the reality that I would never be able to support myself, let alone a family, with my music. What I had slowly begun to understand, is that "amateur" does not mean "second-rate", "dilettante", "dabbler", or "poser". It just means no one's paying you to do it. How good or bad you are should only matter to you on your own terms, and speaking for myself, I play for smiles and praise, and the "pay" is pretty good.

It's only our reductive culture that insists on dividing us into the categories of "performer/creator" and "audience/consumer". Sorry, I ain't buyin' it.