And there I go again. In my train that takes me home to bed where I will find my lovely wife in the arms of Orpheus, just like I left her. I have 7 hours to go, and I could use a lot more than that to reflect on everything I experienced in Rotterdam.
One of the main reasons I went there was to take singing lessons. I am self-taught in the rest, so taking lessons was quite a step for me, and hey, that concept really works. My first lesson – two months ago – opened my eyes to why so many things I tried to do before didn’t work, and I felt like someone handed me the keys to understanding that whole thing. In this second lesson I realized that there is still so much more I haven’t understood that 24 hours per day just aren’t enough for all the stuff I want to see and hear and practice. Still, after 15 years of singing without thinking about it and never being happy with what came out, I feel like I am moving to where I want to be. Horaaay!
My friends and me spent most of the rest of the time talking about how we approached writing stuff, why we do that and how beautiful and difficult and challenging and hilariously ineffective that is, money-wise. We all try to make music for a living, and it seems like right now nobody at all has any clue how to make a decent living off of it. Thank god we don’t give a damn.
Soon as I manage to keep out the thoughts about how to turn this into money, I am free to go and write with sheer unbearable pleasure and the utmost honesty, and create something that is so selfish and so much me that I sometimes find it strange that this matters to anybody else. At times that feels like someone picking up your toenail-clippings and telling you that it is great that you clipped them.
On the other hand I seriously want this music to be heard. I’d love it if it means anything to those who hear it. Charging money for that seems strange. But something’s got to to give.