For years I played melodies in my apartment. Some were good, some were bad, but I played and I played and I played. I played because I wanted to play, not for any particular reason, just the feeling I felt when my fingers hit the keys and the sound — music, they call it — was produced.
Looking back, I did not record very many of these melodies, although some I did; still, it wasn’t enough. And so the music happened, it existed, but now it is gone and I can no longer play how I once played, not that I am bad but I am no longer very good if I was ever any good at all. I just know I could never play that way, exactly, ever again.
This, I regret. I regret because it was a moment in time and so much of that time was spent there, playing that piano, playing those melodies. Perhaps I could have made money with those melodies, perhaps not, but I don’t know, something had come over me then, a lack of concern about money and recording and even time itself. I was there and I guess I was lost in that moment, enjoying it for what it was and not what it could be.
If there is a lesson to be learned it is that one should always be recording, even if they are lost in that moment. The moment will pass while the recording will last forever if you want it to. And in the end, nothing matters unless it is preserved because the moment itself has no real value beyond the personal satisfaction one gets from it. You must get it down, because in the end, that is what counts.
An artist must produce work. All that matters is that the music gets on the tape, the words get on the page, the paint gets on the canvas. Otherwise, you are just a hobbyist and frankly, you are just fucking around. Like I was.
Disclaimer: in the text above there are links to products which can be purchased on Amazon.com. In the event that you click a link and purchase a product, I — the author of this post, for which I have received no prior compensation — may receive a small referral fee.