Diary of a Portland Musician

Abducted by the Work Aliens

by Mr. Indie

Chances are that if you’re an independent musician, unless you’re on one of the bigger indie labels (Sub Pop, Touch and Go, Matador, etc), you have a day job. It’s a sad fact and an age-old struggle. “Do I make art that I believe in and am inspired by or do I ‘sell out’ in hopes of actually making a living doing what I love?” If you do sell out, you’d be playing music that you’re probably not that into, so does that still even count as doing what you love? Then again, playing bad music for a living has got to be better than say, waiting tables. Yes, it’s a conundrum.

I’ve been experiencing the push and pull dynamic of these questions especially intensely as of late, as part of coming to terms with what I really want to do with my life. I’m in my mid-twenties and I’m no longer satisfied with leaving those looming questions unanswered. I need to pick a direction and follow it, jump in with both feet, because it’s become impossible to ignore that, when I’m 50 or 60, I do not want to still be working the same shitty jobs. So for the past six months or so, I’ve been reevaluating my life. Going to therapy, getting more serious with my girlfriend Kitty, and perhaps most importantly, actively pondering my career. I guess one could say I’ve been growing up. Scary thought.

Anyhoo, about a month ago something became glaringly apparent: I hated my fucking job. What job you ask? Waiting tables at a large Portland brewery/restaurant chain that we’ll call McMusclemans. Basically, a shitty restaurant job. I won’t go into why or how much I hated it because we’d be here all day; besides, I’m sure most of you have a good idea of what I’m talking about.

Have I told you about my parents? No? Well then... my parents are two lovely people who live in northern CA. My mother is a dental hygienist and my father is a retired building contractor. Dental hygienists sure do make a lot of money in CA. And my dad still has money coming in from various investments. Lovely people, my parents.

Oh yeah, so I was saying how my job sucked and stuff. Taking stock in my life and, more specifically, my career, helped me realize just how much I hated my job. Every day I’d go to work and think, “god, I could be writing a song or booking a show or having band practice right now, but instead I’m wasting my fucking time at this shit-hole”. Then I’d serve people fish & chips and burgers and low-quality microbrews and get 10% tips for eight or nine hours, sometimes with no break. It was becoming unbearable.

My parents are always trying to give me money. Every time I see them or talk to them. “You got enough money? Don’t be too proud to ask us for help if you need it, that’s what family’s for”, my dad says. I’ve always been uncomfortable with accepting money from my folks. They’ve spoiled me my whole life, and I’ve always had a sense of guilt about it. Most of the people at my job were putting themselves through school or supporting a family or just supporting a drinking habit. The point is, they had to be there. I was only there because I didn’t want to take money from my family. But how do you resist that kind of offer when you feel so trapped by what you’re doing?

Kitty has been telling me for months that I should consider swallowing my pride and letting my mom and dad support me. That way I could focus on music and hopefully get to the point where I could support myself doing what I love instead of waiting tables. My therapist, after hearing me bitch endlessly about work, encouraged me to be open to opportunities and not be afraid to take advantage of them when they arose. There was no question that my heart was disagreeing with the direction in which my life had been headed. I HAD TO make music my career. I had gotten tired of the old excuse, “I’d have to sell out to make any money anyway, so why try?”. I realized that I was scared because, what if I failed? What if I put all of my energy into actually doing something with music and it didn’t work out? It’s a frightening thought that you might be unsuccessful with something you love so much, and it’s often easier not to take the plunge at all.

But I’d had enough. Even if it meant taking money from my parents, I didn’t care. I had to get out of my job. I had to make music my first priority. I felt a desperation that I’d never felt before, like I was wasting precious time. I began to have visions of an eighty-year-old me, reflecting pitifully on a lifetime of waiting tables. It seemed silly not to take advantage of what I was being offered. I had people who were willing to fully support me so I could do music full time, but I had too much pride to accept the offer. Fuck that!

In retrospect it seems obvious, as so many things do. Having opportunities that most of your peers don’t have doesn’t call for guilt, it calls for being thankful and knowing that you have a responsibility to do as much as you possibly can with those opportunities. If I’m going to accept money from my parents, I won’t feel right unless I’m putting all my energy into making music something self-sustaining, and I won’t stop until I accomplish just that.

I quit my job last week. Actually, today is the first day of my new full-time music career, and I’m wasting my time writing this goddamned column. What am I thinking?

-Mr. Indie

Most names have been altered to protect the privacy of persons/entities involved. Any similarities to actual persons or events are probably pretty accurate, but you can't prove anything.