I feel a bit like Diego Simeone at the end of that Champions League Final in 2014.
Every day I plan to quit everything out of protest, but then I get bored or my mood changes. Are you gonna take part in the race or are you not? I’ve managed to detach some of the insecurity from what goes on, though. If I don’t get a reply, of course I worry that my music or voice isn’t good enough for those people. But that can lead to paralysis.
I’ve always felt better whenever I’ve heard people insulting musicians I admire. Particularly, maybe, Radiohead and Bob Dylan. Those seem to divide opinion, though both draw absolute loyalty from so many fans amid calls of genius, and I agree. I was listening to The Bends last night, wondering what they all think of it now. Especially now everything’s mastered for Alexa, haha! I thought how my little bluetooth speaker didn’t quite do justice to the second song. When Thom Yorke is screaming ‘You do it to yourself!!’ and then he screams “RHAHAHAA”. That bit stood out a bit at me last night when it never has before. I guess that’s the thing about masters and editions, isn’t it. Lots of people wouldn’t notice too much difference between the Spector / McCartney mixes of Let It Be. Wait a minute, what am I on about now? Why am I talking about this?
Anyway, there isn’t really anything for me to say. I’ve already used writing or blogging or noting or writing lyrics to try and articulate whatever great pressure weighs so heavily on my chest. But maybe I’m just tired or having a bad day. I remember in 2011 I just got so fed up with the world after my first album release that I stopped playing gigs for a year, or really doing much musically. I had a great year on Fifa 12 though, and smoked so much it’ll probably kill me down the line. So you see, even if something magically changes now, there are some of those scars which won’t really heal. And I agree with you that it would probably be best for me to get busy living and stop complaining. Well, I won’t. I like complaining. It cheers me up. Woe is me.