BoR BLOG Week 6: The Beginning of the End
1-30-09
When I first moved to NYC with Break of Reality, I was ecstatic. Playing shows in the city, in the subways, and in Central Park was such a great feeling. To this day, impromptu street performances are some of the most memorable experiences of my life.
But, as the season changed from fall to winter, performing began to turn into something else, something that eventually cracked the band in two. Since we had to rely on performing to make a living, we never had time to write new music. So, we ended up slaving over the same songs, OVER, and OVER, and OVER, and OVER again. The worst part was that it was becoming noticeable. We just didn’t have that energy that we did when we first started. It had become work.
There was one thing that didn’t change: the bills. They were still due at the end of the month, only this time, (at least for me), there wasn’t as much money in the bank as there was when we first moved. For one, real gigs had slowed down a bit, and because of the cold weather, our audiences got smaller in the subways. On top of all of that, Erin’s tendonitis was getting worse.
Although the logical solution would have been to get “real” jobs, for some reason we just didn’t all think the same way. Some were worried that if we got real jobs, we would lose focus and the band would go nowhere. Others were worried that if we continued to play out the way we did, the band would eventually fold. It was a catch 22, a predicament caused by poor planning and youthful thinking.
My Conversations with Erin
Erin and I were super close, best friends really – we lived in the same apartment complex and went through both the ups and downs of BoR together. I remember one night, after a long day of subway playing, Erin was feeling really down; her arm was completely numb, and she just wasn’t herself. Her spirit had been broken.
I knew she was battling with whether the band was really what she wanted to do. We had talked about it numerous times, and the only thing that was keeping her from leaving was the fact that we were all dependent on each other; if she left, the rest of us would be in bad shape. She didn’t want to let any of us down.
I tried telling her that her well being, both emotionally and physically, were more important than anything or anyone else. She finally came to the same conclusion. Although she didn’t come out and say it just yet, I knew she was leaving us.
In a subtle way, I tried to tell the others, but they didn’t get it. After all, guys are oblivious.
“At our next band meeting, I’m making an announcement,” she said one day. This was it. She was finally ready to let go.
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Next week on BoR Blog: Erin makes her announcement, and the rest of us try to figure out what to do next.
You know …. I’m really sad to hear that Erin is leaving, I think she really pulled the group together.
By the way, can I suggest that you put dates on your blogs? It’s kind of hard to get a real time sense of when you posted up if you put “week 6″ instead of dates.
I’m very sad to hear about this. But it’s so important for everyone in a band to be wholeheartedly involved. When everyone’s heart is in it, and the players really gel, a band can be so much more than the sum of its members. But when it stops being a labor of love and just becomes a labor for some of the members, it may be time to move on.
It sounds like you guys have been under tremendous pressure and I have immense respect for everyone for sticking with it despite all of the challenges. This blog wasn’t here last time I visited the site, and I had no idea you guys were managing to (mostly) make a full-time gig out of busking. Eight hour performances! That’s an incredible commitment, and an impressive accomplishment. I’m glad to hear that the band will survive in some form, and I wish everyone from the band success in whatever they choose to do.
Sadly, even success doesn’t always bring relief. The modern music industry seems designed to break people and destroy the wonder of music. Pressure to conform to established genres labels know how to market, tours that are little more than forced marches, and mechanical, lifeless recordings made with everyone in iso booths or tracked on different days to give hit-factory producers the ultimate creative control… it all quenches the vital, creative spark that makes collaborative music so powerful.
But if you have music in your soul, and you have the talent to play it, what can you do but continue to play? Even from the periphery as a sometimes engineer, photographer, avid consumer (and privately, a talentless player) of music, there’s something powerful about musical performance that will always hold me in thrall. Those of us who don’t have the talent and don’t take the risks–not only financially but emotionally–to pursue music full-time will probably never know the stress, the triumph, the heartbreak that you go through. Know, though, that we appreciate it nonetheless. Thank you all for your music and the magic it brings to our lives.