I don't know if it's this precise process (trying to criticize my own musical work) that made me aware of it, but somewhere along the line I realized that the workings of my brain are like a giant David Foster Wallace novel of which I am generally only dimly cognizant. It goes something like this:
- Brain has thought
- Thought is translated into English
- Translation is compared to original thought, and possibly retranslated
- Various other metaphors for original thought are constructed
- This happens, like, 20 more times whilst at the same time, the footnoting and reanalyzing of the original thought begins
- All of these thoughts must be translated, checked for translation accuracy, metaphorized, repeated, analyzed, footnoted, etc. etc.
- Repeat ad infinitum
- Thought evoked by listening to a bit of one of the rough mixes of last night's practice
- Translation: "I screwed up in that bit."
- Query: "How bad a screw up was it?"
- Analysis: "Your finger fell off the string and it killed the note right in the middle of the phrase."
- Metaphor: "Your guitar playing here mirrors your inability to produce anything of artistic value ever. Every time you venture towards something good you try to get too fancy and you kill it."
- Protestation: "But this is just a jam session. You're improvising here. Everyone makes mistakes in this context."
- Critique: "That's not the point and you know it. Your mistakes should be beautiful things, too. But they're not. Your playing is utterly without spirit."
- Rejoinder: "That's only because you're listening to yourself. All you can hear is the mechanics of it. You'll never be able to hear your own music as just music."
- Critique: "Um...no. It just sucks."
- etc., etc.
- Other thought
- A third thought
Next: The Sound of One Hand Clapping!
Tags: Meaning Of Life