Middle age sneaks up on you in different ways. Might be big, like a heart attack, or a pink slip from that sure-fire thing, or the left-field empty-nest divorce. So I suppose I’m lucky, so far, that my slow-rolling midlife crisis has mostly come through a series of disappointments.
This year I checked off my 40s. Looking back, the biggest revelation of the last decade is that things don’t automatically work out. Don’t laugh, but I had assumed that most of life was like a 401k: You keep pace, make your regularly scheduled contributions, and viola!, eventually you hit the magic number, grab the gold watch, and you’re all set.
Show up, punch the clock, and sooner or later you’ll be one of the big boys, one of the guys. You’ll drift to the top until it’s your turn at the wheel, your chance to call the shots. But it’s become quite clear that careers and creative pursuits are not always like that. Were they ever? Not sure, but these days they are definitely not. If anything, it’s easier to stall out than to succeed.
Here’s the thing: The challenges of life never ever stop, you’ll just face them with less energy. Eventually, you’ll take a pass on keeping up, checking out the new thing, or showing up for anything after eight o’clock.
And so the world starts to take a pass on you. Shinier baubles get the attention. More efficient processes take hold and leave you behind. Next stop, cynicism. Followed by bitterness, scorn, and gnawing resentment.
Or maybe not!
Maybe it’s the time to be a little more like Kevin Griffin — mildly famous as the lead singer of Better Than Ezra — and a guy who seems to be doing alright…by doing it right. Yes, the band still tours here and there, but he’s branched out. He’s now an in-demand songwriter, festival producer, and music educator.
Kevin put his thoughts together in a weird little novel called The Greatest Song. It follows around a fictional Nashville tunesmith named Jake Stark, who of course it a lot like Mr. Griffin. He’s a guy who’s not getting younger, who had some big wins a decade or three back, but has fallen off of the call list. The book covers a few weeks where he goes from getting dropped to slipping through the door to new levels of success. The trick? Be open to new thinking and new opportunities.
I got this book under the tree from my kid. She’s studying at Belmont University, a powerhouse pipeline for “The Industry.” Belmont’s just south of Music Row in Nashville, where the hits are assembled and the deals are struck. And it’s not just country anymore. It’s all of the catchy things that end up in your earbuds. Mr. Griffin gave her class a talk, and she thought I could use a dose of his juice. She was right.
Spending time down there as been a head-scratcher. Prowling around, armored in my usual array of boots and denim, I blend in a little too well. I could be just another never-made-it-nobody — of which there are legion — or maybe, just maybe, I might be one of the aforementioned guys. No one knows!
It’s fun. It’s weird. And I admit that I’ve spent way too much time in Music Row adjacent Air BnB’s thinking about it, wallowing in imposter syndrome and wondering where the hell to go from here, right around the corner from the events in the book.
Jake Stark’s in-between routine around the Music City feels familiar, and thankfully that cracked my head open enough to let in a some light, and to give his words a shot. Like Jake Stark, my gut goes for defense, throws up walls, and leads with complaints. But in the book he learns to “embrace contrary action” and try a new approach. He curtails the barbs, swallows the quips, and ends up in spots where the old guy can be the new guy once again.
You can sum up his advice in one cheeseball quip from early in the book: “Your ego is not your amigo!“
Can I take that advice? Can I drop my attitude and learn a few things from the guy from Better Than Ezra? In my mind, they were just another also-ran, coat-tail-riding, post-grunge “alt rock” band that clogged the airwaves when I wanted to hear more Jane’s and Smiths and Primal Scream. Who the heck were these guys that snagged Clear Channel’s corporate ear while my band, my oh-so-serious band, wallowed in obscurity?
Can I learn to respect, now at the age of 50, a guy who I didn’t respect then? Was there a reason why guys like this made it when I did not? Well, yes sir, there are. There are many.
Let’s list a few: Professionalism. Drive. Talent. And let’s face facts: I’m not in Nashville. I’m in Sioux Falls. The teeny tiny blips of success I had in the mid-west bush leagues of the indie rock world are nothing compared to what Better Than Ezra achieved back in the day. And of course, I’ve spent the intervening decades juggling fatherhood and paychecks, while leaving my writing to half-alert stolen hours and contenting myself with chicken-scratched shower thoughts. This is not serious effort.
But things are looking up! Embracing vulnerability, I’m checking out new venues and trying new things. I joined a songwriting group with some serious talent and much better résumés than mine. Fortunately, they are also kind. At this point I actually have enough material to record an album. The new friends are wonderful, and having a regularly scheduled thing has given me deadlines. About once a month we meet and I really, really want to have something to share. Yes, I hate deadlines, but they do get things done.
So thanks, Kevin. I needed that. The Greatest Song has been both a push and a confirmation that things are getting back on the right track. And sorry for the snark, buddy — we’re making progress!
