I received the prognosis that I'd feared from the day I carried my laptop out of the same Apple Store over five years ago with a grin from here to Peoria : my computer is near death. I bought my laptop with student aid funds, and, knowing that this day would arrive, I'd planned to buy another in five to seven years (I based this estimate on conversations I'd had with other Mac owners whose laptops served them in good stead over a longer than ordinary period of time, including two people who'd used theirs for seven years and counting) after establishing my library career. One laptop near death and no career, a disability check presently serving as my brightest career prospect, later, I faced the irretrievable loss of five years worth of hard work. Needless to say, I was not grinning upon leaving that day, but not "frowning from here to Peoria."
I explained the situation to my mom, and, with aid of a generous loan from her and my dad, bought a back-up drive (my previous back-up drive died approximately 500 days prior, if a message from my computer that I hadn't backed up Time Machine in approximately 500 days has any veracity), which, thankfully, enabled me to salvage the best of my past five years' work. We bought the drive at, let's call it, "The Computer Cable Superstore" (this place has a truly breathtaking variety of cables among its breathtaking inventory of computer arcana.) While there, my wife and gathered pricing information for the dying computer's replacement.
There were two associates on duty in the Apple section that day. My wife talked to the "Helpful Associate" about iPads while I talked to the young turk who doesn't understand that those pants don't go with that tie about the Mac Mini. Thinking about it now, I may have been in a bad mood that day because I was in a store bursting at its seams with fully-functional computers, while at home sat a computer I wouldn't be able to type the ABC's on before long, but I didn't like the kid's vibe. Simple questions, and to be fair I had quite a few of them, were answered with both indifference and smirk, the latter of which, I can assure you, is not something I categorize under "value added."
At one point during my fusillade of questions, I caught the young turk smirking out of the corner of his mouth. Again, maybe I was in a bad mood, but at that point I asked him, "How long have you been using Macs?" He replied, "Since 2008," elongating the 8, which rose and faltered in pitch over its inordinate course (again, in fairness, the kid had a mustache, one that could grant him admission to an R-rated film on the right day.) I shot back, "I've been using them longer, so don't give me any 'tude." Nonplussed but briefly, the turk returned to working on the permanence of his smirk in no time. Oh, the price of ownership indeed...
During the course of my exasperating encounter with G-Rated Mustache, I did manage to squeeze some useful information from him: a Mac Mini, fully outfitted, comes in at $802. Everything considered, a brand new Mac, one that will do everything I need it to do, for well under a grand is a steal. Plus, if I were to buy a mini monitor, it's portable. That getu-up is not as efficiently or elegantly portable as a MacBook Pro, but I could still take it to the coffee shop.
As reasonably priced as the Mac Mini is, it still beyond our financial reach. I suppose we could liquidate a few things, but experience has taught me that doing so is almost invariably regrettable; besides, what could we reasonably expect for a twenty-year old convection oven that seems to work only on holidays? I'd entertained the notion of creating a Kickstarter campaign before, and with my present career outlook nebulous, save disability, I could sure use a benefactor.
Even after I'd received the prognosis and exhausted all other foreseeable funding options, I had reservations about starting a Kickstarter campaign. My chief concern was the ethics of embarking upon the endeavor. Essentially, it seemed like I'd be asking my friends to give me money so I could continue my musical capering, and my friends have their own capers to attend to. However, my attitude changed dramatically as I fashioned my campaign. In an abrupt volte face, I, as I stated in my pitch, arrived at the answer "Why shouldn't I?"
Without trying to rehash my pitch, I realized that my ideas are as valid as anyone else's, regardless who that person might be. Amanda Palmer, also known as Amanda "Fucking" Palmer, received over $1,000,000. Qualitative concerns aside, I believe that my ideas are as valid as hers, and as valid as anyone else's who's decided to seek funding through Kickstarter. Furthermore, and, again, quality of ideas aside, we all wish to realize our ideas. For many of us, that realization is something concrete: a film, a book, or a recording, to cite only the immediately salient, most general examples.
To put the matter in the broadest terms, I'm a multidisciplinary artist. Within most of the disciplines I practice, I'd characterize myself a dilettante, albeit a happy one who's really not trying to put one over on anyone. I am mostly comfortable calling myself an artist in two disciplines: music and literature, and even the latter might be an overstatement. Music and writing, then. I've proven to have more affinity for those than the others (e.g. film, graphic design), I've practiced them longer, and I enjoy them the most. Regardless of the discipline, I harbor few ambitions for creating a product. For the purposes of this piece, music will serve as the example.
Speaking for myself, I have little desire to release an album as we know it in traditional terms. Several limited-run EP's with unusual artwork in the future maybe, but not a full-length album. Having said that, I think I understand the motivations behind an artist's decision to make an album. I don't share any of their motivations.
A couple of nights ago, I told my wife a story about a duo I was in called Wasp And Pear (named this painting.). A good buddy and I formed W/P in 2005, and, as it looks now, packed it in in 2011. Speaking for both of us, W/P was truly something special, especially when we started. We may have played twenty shows all told, and most of them were truly something to behold. To make a long story short, we simply couldn't sustain the band, for a number of reasons. Not the first time that's happened. We had a fine run, though, and to be involved with something like Wasp And Pear for six years is more than what most of us deserve.
In early 2006, we caught the ear of a well-regarded producer whom I will not name, as I swore to maintain his confidence. This gentleman had no ambitions of making us rock stars, which was fine by us because ultimately, we didn't have those ambitions, either. I will say, however, that a career making music sure seemed like a fine thing. Many musicians would not have thought twice had they been offered the opportunity he presented to us. We declined that opportunity, and, seven years later, I'm glad we did. If we'd accepted, we'd have boxes full of Wasp And Pear albums and CD's stacked to the rafters.
Within the ten years I've been making music, I've become self-sufficient enough to produce and master the work I've written and arranged, services that cost all but the most well-heeled in the industry a small fortune. Right now, I'm perfectly happy to put my recorded output on Soundcloud. Any money I'd stand to make from a recorded piece of music would be gravy. Honestly, few people turn down gravy.
My true musical ambitions are as a performer. The best forum for my music, which happens to be my favorite, is the live setting. On stage, I assume another persona, that of the performer. Freed from the relatively clinical conditions of the studio environment, I engage the music more physically and intuitively. My music, much of which is prerecorded, undergoes a change as well.
The studio environment provides relative immunity; as a performer, I take my case directly to the people. Barriers are largely eradicated. Typically, people are not ginger about expressing themselves, which is understandable: they paid good money and they could have gone to the movies that night. If I'm wasting their time and money, they'll let me know. I'm there to assure them that I'm not wasting anyone's time, and that includes mine.
I'm happy to say that over the course of my performing career, most reactions have been positive (but don't get me wrong here: I've also had plenty of opportunities to sway indifferent audiences. Ask me about the time Wasp And Pear refused to turn it down, and watched audience members walk out. Their loss.) Furthermore, if, on a given night, I've performed particularly well, I not only expanded my audience, but also formed deep friendships. Speaking for myself, that's one thing I live for. That helps keep me going.
My desire to keep going was not enough to sway Kickstarter. I'm not going to say that a "lack of ambition" doomed my campaign; again, I believe in my ideas, and, further, I believe that the means of realization of those ideas has validity as well. Arguably, my realizations are more reasonable. I don't have boxes of albums and CD's cluttering my place.
The graphic below depicts my Kickstarter campaign, which was ultimately declined. Perhaps I could have stated my case more convincingly, but my premise was clear: I just want to keep going. The desire to keep going, in Kickstarter's words, "does not meet [their] criteria." Right now, let's just say that I suspect that there's more at play than my not meeting Kickstarter's criteria.
NOTE: During my campaign, I scrupulously took screen captures as I learned that mine was surely destined for denial. Likely, you will note that the graphic has a "cobbled-together" quality. The graphic is, in fact, cobbled-together. I took five separate screen shots from my Kickstarter campaign page and attempted to create one graceful looking document. In short, I did not tamper with the originals, unless cropping and resizing in the name of creating a graceful looking document constitute tampering.
My campaign page is still available for now (I'm not sure whether Kickstarter will take it down, hence the cobbled-together graphic.) If you'd prefer, you can view it here:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/945990942/291031050/edit#submission
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| The Thrill is Gone |
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