And look, I get it. There's this myth about being a musician on the road. "Oh man, you're living the dream!"
No. No I’m not. I'm living a dream. A weird, horny, existential one where I’m always 15 minutes late, and everything smells vaguely like 💩 and broken promises.
I'm a musician. Which means I live like a broke wizard who casts spells on stage for 45 minutes and then sleeps in a Motel 6 that smells like unresolved trauma and cheap air freshener.
We’re both looking for something ... love? Closure? A soft place to land before daylight and judgment hits? I don’t know. But we made out behind a hay bale like autumn was gonna fix us.
So…subscribe to my Patreon. 5 bucks a month 😘
So now it’s fall…ish. Everyone’s wearing flannel pretending ciders not just hot juice. And I’m standing in the back lot of a pumpkin patch at 1am, flirting with a woman who ghosted her book club to chat up a guy who owns 2 harmonicas. That's me. I'm that guy.
Musicians are influencers
Influencers are podcasters
Podcasters are DJs
DJs are life coaches
At what point do we just admit that, no one wants to create anything anymore, they just want to be witnessed?
I work in an office by day, play sad songs in dive bars at night. By Friday I’m filing expense reports with one hand and writing lyrics about sirens with the other. One pays in direct deposit, the other in PBR and regret.
I didn’t plan to be the guy thirst trapping in between existential spirals, but here we are. I post one video of my bulge in jeans and then suddenly I’m a brand. You think being hot makes it easier? It just means more people watching while you unravel. Follow me, I guess.
Tech bros in hoodies paying us .0003 cents per stream. I buy vinyl to feel like I’m helping us and because it fills a space on my shelf. But really I’m just hoarding grief in 12 inch circles. It's not collecting so much as I’m mourning. Mourning with a turntable and incense.
Being a musician now is like being a blacksmith after the invention of the microwave.
Still noble still cool still respected... but no one’s asking you for swords man.
They want content.
“Can you make a TikTok of you forging your sadness into something danceable?”
There’s something special about words.
Thoughts are liquid, and actions are solid.
But words, are ambiguous and playful. Open to interpretation. They are dangerous in their own special way.