| Oh Joy! | ||
| 2001-01-18 || Paul Stanley Fantasy World | ||
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There's a point I like to call "The Point". This is reached when you get to a certain level performing music. It can last for twenty seconds, or twenty minutes. The music starts playing itself. You're no longer playing the guitar, it's playing you. Music is being channeled out of you through a guitar, and you're not really aware of what you're doing. You feel it. You know you're there, you just can't put your finger on it, and you can't control it. This is enough, an audience would help, the right audience that is. You can reach "The Point" and not notice. I try to let it just happen, rather than be aware of it. I'd rather it just happen. I would love to share this with the right audience, as it's even better to play off of the energy of an audience, no matter what the size. Once everyone is into it, everyone in attendence can reach this transcendent point, and that's the bottom line regarding how I feel about playing music. I'm doing shitty at work right now. My attention span is that of a baby. I haven't been able to concentrate in weeks. I'm not getting the "correct" amount of sleep (here I am typing this at 2 am). I'm letting things pile up. Pressure from higher ups to finish projects I forgot about. All this in the face of a promotion. Am I fooling the world or something? I think part of it has to do with the little bitterness I have from working in the "music business". Working at a record label seemed like such an appetizing thing. My dad did it for years, so I sort of followed him I guess...Anyway, the fact of the matter is, there are a lot of fake people. They call me on the phone a million times a day, and are my best friend when they need something done. Other times, they don't give me the time of day. Fuck them. Fuck them all. Office violence is not an option, I have things outside of work I love. Thankfully the four people in my office, and the 6 or 7 on my crew, that I will probably be overseeing soon, are not like that. They're pretty normal for the most part. We have a good time, and feel like we are outsiders in the company or something. I just can't deal with the fancy cars, and schmoozing on the phone, and e-mails with promises and inquiries about "how you livin?" and that kind of thing. I don't operate like these people. It's so much better when you can smell the dirt. You can walk on the pavement amongst the smaller people at work. There is nothing in the air to smell. Up on the stage it doesn't smell like anything if you're not working. A bunch of men with gray hair on homemade pedestals waiting for roses to be thrown, and there is no sweat or blood at their feet, Well groomed fingernails, and cellphones filled with promises of the best coke in town, and more money than God. It's still a farce when I have to drive in a speeding lane so I can get to work fast, so I can leave sooner. The people they make me think there really is no hope. You expect people to fill expectations and be different, but they're just like the guy on television. God help me when I become that. I enjoy the smell of sweat and tears and blood and dirt. Air conditioning is only an option if you brush your teeth twice a day. |
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