...and reading The Noise. Ah, being 40 in the Boston rock scene.
My Noise credentials? Well, I used to get quoted in just about every issue in Question of the Month, to the point where I forgot to keep the copy. Sometimes I just couldn't bring myself to be witty, and sat out a few issues. I was once listed as one of the 10 Sexiest Musicians In Boston. Of course I think it was Rita's list and she isn't too picky. My band was on the cover once. Well, with two other bands, and we were one of the little pictures, but hey, it's still the cover. And there was an in-depth interview w/ us. In between a few reviews of our 7" and our CD and some live show coverage.
That time period was sort of a blur. By the time we played our first real show at the Middle East, we had already self-released a vinyl 7" to local radio. We were the radio darlings of the moment - so the place was packed. We got approached by a small local label that same night and signed a record deal within the month . That was cool. We made a
really neat record, but then the band exploded before we even released it. The label exploded shortly thereafter. We got a replacement drummer and played in the WBCN Rumble, but we didn't make it past the prelims. We limped along for a year or two without label interest, played some really fun shows, and then called it quits.
It was almost like a barometer of my involvement in the music scene at that time whether the latest issue of the Noise was on the back of the toilet. Were the pages of The Noise ever used in an unholy manner? I'll never tell. But both times when I lived in Central Sq, 30 steps from the front door of the Middle East, The Noise was important. Other times, like when I moved out to Somerville, or went overseas, The Noise faded to a quiet 60 cycle background hum. But the Noise was always there, waiting.
Now I pick up The Noise and recognize maybe 1/3 of the band names mentioned there. I don't go out to shows very much these days, except to play, or support a friend, or on the rare occasion something special comes up, or maybe someone drags me to something new. I know there's a scene still going on, and I know who some of the players are, but I guess I really don't have a lot of interest in participating, in that way. I prefer staying home or actually playing music to standing around and drinking and talking about who's cool and who's not.
Because the NOT making it in the Boston Rock scene is a much bigger club than the making-it club. And who's to say what "making it" means, anyways? I'm more than satisfied with the shows I've played and the songs I've written and the people I've known and the music I've heard than I ever expected to be while I was a freaking-out adolescent with a head full of pipe dreams. I read Rolling Stone, too, and so I thought it all ended when you moved to a castle in England and recorded your solo record. You retired from rock n' roll and spent the rest of your life shooting pool wearing a fur coat.
It's natural to measure yourself against your peers, to compare and wonder. I was intensely aware of "where I fit in" when I was "active" in "the scene". But now I realize how unimportant all that stuff was, and how it's especially unimportant in the present. Most of the fear and nervousness and angst have faded, and all that's left, thank god, is the music. And I feel lucky, in a way, that we never really "made it" in a commercial sense, because it meant that I had to keep my day job, and now I have a career that has nothing to do with music, but that allows me to keep making and recording music.
I feel like I have more in common, now, with the now-40-and 50-something rockers I used to worship - more so than when I was a fan. Some of them have become my friends over the years. I can only hope there are a few people still wandering around out there who considered themselves
my fans, some of whom are probably my friends. But most important are those strangers still out there, the ones who might come up and say, "Hey weren't you in..."
The part I didn't really count on, the thing that had occurred to me but which never seemed possible, was that I would still be a musician AFTER everything died down. I didn't realize I could keep learning and growing and participating in music, without ever being sanctioned by some external measure of success. It finally occurred to me that I'm the only one who can really decide if I'm succeeding, who can decide whether to keep keepin' on, whether it's worth it.
The extra benefit I hadn't counted on is that now I get to be a "grown-up" musician. Now I get to play music with people I like, who like me, and who keep showing up. I learn more every day from my friends and books and the internet, more about equipment and instruments and arrangement and song-writing. I play better, and I'm learning to be a recording engineer.
And guess what!? If I want to, I get to do this for the rest of my life!
