The Oppenheimer Report 3/11/13

Last week, I talked about some of the artists I have had the pleasure to know and, while most of my creative friends seem grounded and fairly well-adjusted, there are a lot of creative people who are a few spices short of a goulash. Creativity often goes hand in hand with narcissism, or in some cases (like mine), self-loathing. The artist, or the commercial artist anyway, is putting his or her personal statement out there for others to judge. To varying degrees, when an artist starts to become recognized, it feeds that narcissism, or the self loathing. Most of the artists I have known are musicians. Playing open mics for the past twenty years, I have met a lot of good musicians; some of them are doing O.K. Most of them have “real” jobs, because making it as a singer/songwriter is about as likely as becoming successful as a movie actor. I’ve watched so many try and fail, and for a nanosecond in time, I even deluded myself into thinking I had what it takes. I think it’s the narcissism that keeps that dream alive, and I simply did not believe in myself strongly enough to chase that carrot. I’m no expert, but it sure seems like a lot of truly gifted artists are train wrecks.

I mentioned that I have been reading a lot of biographies lately, and especially some of the successful musicians seem to be high maintenance. Having read his autobiography Life, I’m not sure why Rolling Stones guitarist / songwriter Keith Richards is still alive. He certainly burned his candle at both ends. His band mate Brian Jones bit the bullet early in his career, and to hear Richards talk about him, Jones was a dickhead. I enjoyed Richards' stories and thought the book was intelligently written. I wrongly assumed he had lunchmeat for grey matter, because he took a lot of drugs. I just finished reading a biography of Kurt Cobain, lead singer and creative force behind the rock band Nirvana. I once wrote a song about Cobain, based on a newspaper article I read after his death. It interested me to follow the rise to fame of this man, a boy really, because in some ways, his downfall fit the stereotype (Club 27). I knew what most people knew about him, which is to say, not much. Cobain had a troubled family life, he was self-destructive, got into hard drugs about the time his career took off, and ended up blowing his head off with a shotgun. I was especially interested to read how many musicians that I admire are also fans of his music. I never loved grunge, but lately, I‘m liking it more and more. Really any form of visceral Rock ‘n' Roll appeals to me. I spoke a few weeks ago about the joy I derive from watching my artist friends grow. Cobain’s progress was unusual in that, as he started to grow and take off creatively, his demons swallowed him whole. According to the book, there was a lot of evidence to suggest that he was self-destructive from an early age. Watching him unravel as he achieved recognition, was a disturbing foray into the bowels of fame and fortune. Growing up, I was surrounded by creative under-achievers, and I used to envy them. I have learned that with creative genius often there is a price to pay.

We live in a culture where fame, notoriety, and fortune are deemed the products of success. Just look at Who Wants to be a Millionaire, American Idol, The Voice, the perplexing celebrity of reality television, and the strange and growing phenomenon of criminal celebrities (and if I hear Jody Arias’ name mentioned one more time, I’m gonna puke). Child athletes dream of being in the NBA, the NHL, the MBL, or the NFL. I dreamed of being Eric Clapton or John Lennon. But most of us want to do an end run around the hard work necessary to become a celebrity. The older I get, the more I am gravitating to the opposite extreme. While there is no danger I will ever be famous, my dream is to be a completely anonymous success.

Beloved Canadian country singer/songwriter Charles “Stompin’ Tom” Connors passed away last week at 77. I read somewhere that Stompin’ Tom recorded 61 albums of music. He wrote The Hockey Song, hands down the best Canadian hockey anthem, and my personal Stompin' Tom favorite. He was kind of the Canadian version of Woody Guthrie, writing songs about his vast experiences traveling through Canada’s heartland. There are not a lot of minstrels left out there.

Finally, I have made it a custom to walk out onto our frozen lake at least once during the winter, and I did so yesterday. I was a little wary, because we are experiencing a bit of a thaw right now, and the lake was slushy. I walked as far as a new house being built down the lake, and I was alone in the yellow-orange dusk light of the snow-covered lake. My own personal tundra. Shauna took a picture of me as I returned, and there I am, as I imagine myself - a speck in the universe, the anonymous success.

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED