Day in The Life of an Electronic Music Producer in India
A tortured genius’ work is never done.
I stumble out of bed and brew myself some Blue Tokai Vienna Roast. It tastes like the metabolised anger and alienation I persist through. Mmm. The universe is bleak and un-inspirational, but I go on persevering for the sake of art.
I place the steaming mug against my Macbook Pro, taking care to align my Maschine MK 3, Push 2, and the Korg Monotron I borrowed from talent-less hack 8 months ago, so that they are in plain view when I post this to my Insta Story, hashtag #dailygrind.
It’s Women’s Day, so I make sure I remind the women in my life of their import through a Facebook post. 80 people heart-react to it in, like, two hours. People don’t always get me — my references are too obscure, my ideological beliefs a bit complex — but sometimes we can be on the same page. At least they try.
There is going to be a workshop for budding female artists that I have an invite to as a speaker. I’m glad the scene is finally paying attention and actively attempting to include women in what is a severely cishet environment. It is also a good opportunity for me to reiterate how important it is that they call out harassers, creeps, and older predatory industry “veterans’’and associate only with the good guys, such as me and my crew. I scan the speakers’ panel and pretty much all my male friends and counterparts are on it; a rare exercise in good sense. I click ‘Attend’ without a moment’s hesitation. What good is art if it isn’t accessible? I must do my part.
I scroll down my timeline and spot a song shared by this girl I’ve seen at a few gigs before — always front left, putting on moves to grab attention, you know the type. She just posted this Ectomorph tune, and that makes me chuckle. I know for a fact she was introduced to it by my mate — who is a class dark-ambient-industrial-terrorcore-meets-extratone act but unfortunately does not know how to market himself — when they were sexing each other for a while. I leave a comment asking her if she knows what The Bunker is. She probably does not. LOL.
I finish my coffee and leave it next to the other five coffee mugs from before. That’s weird. Usually, they disappear in a few hours all on their own and somehow turn up clean on the shelf in the corner of my studio barsaati — the one with the toaster on it that doubles as my kitchen — but here they are piling up. Something is off. I should give Nina a call. She always knows what to do with those. She loves me.
She is working when I call her, but she answers anyway because she loves me. Things were not always this way. There were days when she would not return my calls for hours on end. She would leave me hanging with texts about how she was busy at work. She was just not invested enough in us. It took countless heartfelt discussions and meditations on how this was creating distance between us and consequently making me rethink our relationship, but we have since come a long way. I still regret my momentary lapse in judgement with that other girl. Nina and I were being driven apart by her need to put everything else before our relationship. It really wasn’t my fault. I still feel guilty, but at least it brought us closer together. Now, she never misses a call from me.
Because she loves me.
She comes to see me later with a box of pizza in tow. As she enters, she has already begun to shake her head in disappointment at the state of the room. She is a good girl, but I think she is limited by what she thinks is her pragmatism, and also her fundamental lack of understanding of the Creative Pursuit™and its immense weight on the being of an artiste.
I continue working on an old chilling, noir-ish electro project since electro-clash seems to be making a big comeback lately. There is a big chasm between danceable 808s and music that elicits deep emotion, but someone has to try I guess. My mate calls me asking if I know someone with a gamelan and I remind him to not follow emerging trends blindly and instead focus on developing his unique sound. We shoot the shit a bit more about how X has also begun to DJ and joke at length about how everyone is a DJ now. Our jokes are underpinned by our constant worry for the dignity of the scene and sanctity of the craft. The state of things is really depressing, what with only a select few truly contributing to the evolution of sound.
We are excited about the women’s workshops — place is gonna be crawling with thirsty bitches.
I am feeling very uninspired, again, so I give up trying to make my equipment sing, and find myself on Facebook again. Some up-and-coming idiot is complaining about how the scene is a big circle-jerk and completely closed off to those taking their first tentative steps. I comment telling him to stop whining, bro, and let your music do the talking because everything will fail, and music will prevail.
My song is beginning to sound more and more like a peak-time bomb with a lovely melody glittering underneath. I upload the outro snippet to my Instagram story asking people if they are ready for a beautiful shared experience. Less than a minute after, this coxcombing idiot messages me saying it sounds like Peggy Gou’s ‘Once’.
Blocked.
I share an RA article about pushing boundaries in music instead of prioritising musical fashion. It only gets three likes. I delete it. Don’t think anyone noticed.
In the middle of the night — which for me is 8am — I wake up with a start. My palms are doused in sweat and heart racing at gabber tempo. My Stüssy chenille applique hood is soaked. I throw this month’s dirty laundry off my bed in one sweeping motion of my arm, to reveal the Macbook which was buried underneath. I feel strong and sure-footed as I type:
“There is no such thing as an original idea, only authenticity. The problem begins when some people, with the best of intentions, take this as license to create repetitive trash that sounds exactly like 50,000 songs that came before it. It is on us, as serious musicians, to constantly reinvent the wheel and ensure progress. There are too many parochial posers ruining everything for the rest. But we stand for quality. Music that tells a story. No matter how many wannabe sellouts and those who have paid their way to precarious fame and don’t know the difference between happy hardcore and nightcore emerge with their formulaic bullshit, we will rise.
Like dust, I rise.”
329 people like it. Anything is possible.
