Diary of a Portland Musician

Will you sign my tit?

by Mr. Indie

Even the most talented of us have acquaintances that we admire, someone in our lives whose talents just blow us away. And most of us have probably been that someone to someone else at some point. If I had a dime for every time one of my friends or friends’ friends tried to coerce me into playing music with them… I’d have quite a few dimes (I know I’ve covered this before, but I’m getting to something). Well, anyone who’s been pursued by the less talented knows how it can make you squirm, trying to improvise a way out without damaging the friendship.

But what about being the beggar instead of the beggee? I know that when I approach people about playing music, I usually consider them honored. Still though, as my opening sentence states, even the most talented blah blah blah. So it follows that I, self-proclaimed “most talented”, would have friends of whom I am in musical awe.

This phenomenon first occurred upon moving out of my hometown after high school. As some of my more dedicated readers may know, my place of birth was pretty lacking in musical culture, so my move to an undisclosed city in southern California at the age of eighteen was propelled primarily by the need for fresh meat—“meat”, of course, meaning “talent”. I’d discovered some quite impressive music from this city while in school (Large Cucumber, Four Inch Driver, Fly like Moses, etc), and had managed to become somewhat friendly with some of its purveyors through my own bands and through mutual friends. After graduation, I decided to make the trek from No Cal to So Cal (I know, I hate those terms too but they’re easier to type) and set up camp amidst my musical mentors.

I spent four years in So Cal, playing music with people whose bands I’d listened to constantly in high school. While it was slightly intimidating at first, it was a huge learning experience, and I never got the impression that these folks had any reservations about my talent or skill. By the time I decided to leave So Cal for Portland, I’d reached, even surpassed, many of my goals. Of course, there were still a number of people there with whom I’d intended on collaborating but never had, and I was never quite sure if this was because these people weren’t interested or simply because it had never panned out, but at that point I was headed out of California, so how much did it really matter? No use crying over spilled milk, as they say.

Once here in the Northwest, I started The Plural Males and began the long and involved process of learning how to be a “frontman”. A couple years went by, and I forgot all about whatever opportunities had passed me by in So Cal. That is, until a few months ago when my So Cal friend Teddy told me that he’d finally decided to move to Portland (a side note: every goddamn person in this southern California city talked incessantly about moving to Portland—it was practically a cliché—but very few of them actually followed through). He and his girlfriend were evidently already in the process of looking for a place to rent.

Let me give you some background on Teddy. Teddy is a musician. Teddy is a very good musician. Teddy’s in a band that I, and probably you, listen to and respect a lot. I listen to Teddy’s music and I’m floored. One reason that Teddy’s move was possible was that his band was taking a break for a year or so, and he figured he might as well live in a house somewhere he loved for $850/month rather than live in a studio in So Cal, which he hated, for $1,100/month. Smart guy, that Teddy.

When Teddy gave me this news, I was excited for two reasons: 1) I was going to have one more friend up here 2) I was starting another band and now had the opportunity to try to rope Teddy into it. This was my chance to play music with one of the musicians I’d always wanted to work with in So Cal but never had! I wrote him an email that went something like, “Hey, um, I know you’re really good but, um, well I was wondering if you’d want to be in my new band. If you don’t, I totally understand.”

He wrote back and said that we should get together and “see what happens”. While it wasn’t a rejection, it sure wasn’t a resounding “YES”.

Since Teddy’s been in Portland, I’ve approached him about the band thing a couple more times, and have gotten the, “um sure, let’s try to do that next week or something” response. Ouch. It’s not an outright dis, and whenever we hang out, we talk almost solely about music, so I know he has some sort of respect for at least my knowledge, if not my abilities. But come on, I’ve dished out the old “let’s do it next week” line enough times to know that it truly means, “I don’t want to be a dick but I have no interest in playing music with you—ever”. The bottom line is that Teddy’s lived in Portland for two months now and we’ve yet to “see what happens”.

I guess ultimately I’m not ready for any response that’s not, “Hey, we should play together soon because I think you’re the best musician EVER! And I bet you have a huge cock, too!” I suppose I’m not much for rejection, and that’s what I really need to work on. Any jackass can claim confidence in his abilities, but isn’t the true measure of self-assurance one’s ability to deal with criticism? If my confidence is so low that I’m trembling at the mere thought of rejection, how do I expect anyone to be interested in what I do? Nervous people can be entertaining, even enigmatically charming at times, but constantly second guessing myself does absolutely nothing for my art but hold it back. That’s why I’m proclaiming, right here, right now, that I couldn’t give two shits whether Teddy respects me as a musician or not! I know I’m a talented guy and that’s all I need, so there! Column officially over!!!

-Mr. Indie

PS: Teddy, if you’re reading this, my new band still needs a keyboard player. Call me, ‘kay?!

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.