Creating Simplicity
Ever since I was a teenager I have had an interest in and affection for local music. Perhaps it is because I came of age in a small, rural town where my only opportuni- ties to see big bands were either at the state fair (where the old, washed-up acts often perform) or by driving four hours across state lines. The latter was not an option I had the means to regularly exploit, so whenever word spread about local shows, I made it a point to be there. Combine the circumstances of my youth with my long-time inter- est in independent and under- ground music, and you will start to see the profound connection I have to small venues, local bands, lo-fi, and minimalism. You don’t need a huge stage and a 7-minute long guitar solo to play rock music—a bunch of sweaty kids at a house show can attest to that.
Have you ever experi- enced music without electric- ity? It was in the living room of a stranger’s house in Boise, Idaho where I learned that
the simplest set up could be the most beautiful and most rewarding. Jason Anderson was singing his heart out to a small group of punks all cuddled up on couches or lounging on the floor; and then there was me, propped up against the wall bobbing my head. All except for the light- ing, the show was completely unplugged. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know anybody there—it was an environment that was comfortable, communal, and friendly. It was more than just the passionate lyrics and heartfelt choruses that drew me in: it was the freedom from convention and the defiant rejection of what it means to put on a rock show. That night I learned that if we want to experience something genuine and momentous, we are going to have to create it ourselves. Not only that, but things don’t have to be grandiose to be memorable. I rode my bike home that night feeling empowered and free, spreading my arms out like wings as though I could fly.
Do we need all the stuff we have? I oftentimes wonder if we are fooling ourselves. We work and toil our lives away to pay for things that are far beyond necessity. An education is a good thing. A comfortable place to live and food on the table, we need this. Consistent contact with good friends and family, that is what sustains us. A healthy body and mind and a clean and safe environment, these are good things. But the rest? The rest is probably just excess. Do you need more cowbell in your epic, rock
8 Winter/Spring 2012
greenwomanmagazine.com
‘n roll jam? Probably not. Must you have the laser light show and all the smoke machines to prove to the world what a guitar god you are? I don’t think so. If we can learn to dance without it, we’re probably fine. That is the beauty of simple living. As we en- deavor to live smaller and more mindful lives, we will begin to see how we can pare things down, cut things out, and get by without it. We can learn to find enjoyment in the moment and purpose in the process. We will realize that we don’t need to travel across the country to find entertainment or spend half of our life savings to have a good time. Beauty surrounds us, and opportunity abounds. However, these things may not seem so obvious at first. Answers may not just come to us by accident. Instead, we must go search- ing for them. We may have to find the courage to begin to build before we realize what it is we are building. Over time we will develop a taste and a love for simpler things, especially as we debunk the myths that encourage us to seek out extravagance and
excess. If the things we love and need the most don’t exist in our immediate vicinity, we will need to create them. We must become the creators of the worlds we’d like to see and inhabit—and we must do it ourselves, because if we don’t, we may not like the outcome, and if we wait for someone else to do it, it may not happen. I not only enjoy hearing music, I enjoy creat- ing it. I am not a great guitar player by any means. Sure, I can strum a few chords and pick a few notes, but if you were to ask me to hammer out one of the classics, I would reluctantly shrug my shoulders and shake my head. “Sorry, man,” I would likely say, “I don’t know that one.” I mostly make up my own songs. I play the same few chords over and over, and I improvise as I go. I don’t have a band backing me up; instead it’s just me in my apart- ment bedroom, rocking out. I have no clue what it must sound like to anyone who catches an earful, and I realize that I will never compare to any of the guitar greats. All I know is that when my amplifier is cranked and I am in the zone, it feels spectacular! It’s not because I’m making great music, it’s because I’m creating some- thing real. It’s simply a moment that I have made. It’s small, but it has the potential to be powerful and transcen- dent. It may not be perfect, but it’s all I really need.
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