The New Basement Tapes is a project created around a box of lyrics written by Bob Dylan that had been lost for nearly fifty years. Dylan offered the lyrics to producer T Bone Burnett, who assembled a collection of artists to write the music that would go with these lyrics, then perform and record them as a band. The idea of a project like this was too intriguing for me to pass up.
Showtime presented a documentary that showed these musicians, all considered enormous talents in their own circles, writing and recording the album. Not only was it interesting to see how this collaboration took place and all the behind-the-scenes activity that came with it, but I was struck by how almost every one of these artists -- including the likes of Elvis Costello and Marcus Mumford -- displayed so much insecurity about their work. In one segment, Mumford (he of “and Sons,” if you aren’t familiar), was stressing heavily about how to finish one particular song in a matter of days, since he said it usually took him months. Full disclosure: I’m a big fan of his. I find a lot of poetry in his lyrics, and I feel the music his band performs and the expressive quality of his singing joins to create songs that seem both effortless and perfectly constructed. So it was almost jarring to see him so insecure about the work he was doing, to the degree he wouldn’t let the other musicians play any of the song until almost the moment they sat down to record it. Of course it turned out beautiful, and seamlessly complemented the Dylan lyrics. He went into the recording session with a heavy fear of failure and ended it by needing to wipe his eyes clear.
So much of this resonated with me. I have insecurities aplenty as an artist, to the point where I literally just spent ten minutes writing and rewriting this very sentence because I’m still learning how to refer to myself as an artist without feeling foolish or arrogant. For example, I recently finished a new revision of my manuscript and soon after sent it back to my agent to see how well I’d addressed the points we had last discussed. As soon as I clicked the send button I felt, “Okay. There we go. Done.” And for the time being I’m still thinking of it as (tentatively) done, because I absolutely refuse to go back and look at anything in this newest revision before I hear back from her. Is this impatience? Not a bit. After all, I just sent it days ago. Is it insecurity? OH yes. I’m not exactly stressing about what she’ll have to say; I know how excited she is about the project. But I don’t want to look at any of the new work and give myself a chance to doubt and second guess what I’ve done. Did I reach my goals as solidly as I thought? Did I go as far as I needed to? A week ago I thought, heck yeah, sure. Nailed it. But now? Well...mmmaybe?
I think I can make a good guess what Mumford was feeling when he was obsessing over the placement of each chord and each note, hesitating to let the others hear what he was doing for fear of exposing what he felt were his inadequacies. And when the song was finished, I suspect the tears he wiped away might have had more to do with relief than anything else, feeling lucky that somehow he’d managed to pull it off.
On one hand, it’s daunting to think about how artists in any field can be established and widely respected and still filled with self-doubt. But on the other hand? I kind of like knowing that a tendency which can be so useful never really goes away.
No comments:
Post a Comment