I got tagged in this post today by someone I don't actually know, and it was a very timely tag given the kind of thought I've been indulging in lately.
I remember the gig quite well, I was added to the bill at the last moment in order to fill-in for someone else who had unexpectedly cancelled. A particularly popular booking agency asked me to play, and I figured if I did it might curry favour with them and allow me to book some more shows, since up until this point they had yet to really allow me to lock in (spoiler: they never did). The show was quite minimally attended, I believe when I began there was nobody else in the venue but me and the bartender. Slowly two or three more people trickled in - including this guy apparently. I remember walking away from the show at the end of the night, having received no pay (it was an original gig and I figured it wasn't worth taking money from the headliner), and thinking "What is honestly the point in this?" I have never had the kind of external validation that I imagine even mildly successful artists get - I am largely an esoteric songwriter who finds appreciation in the words of my friends and family. And intellectually I am ok with that. But every now and then, as on this night, I can get down. Whether that be as a result of a perceived poor performance, or because of a lack of vocal appreciation - or both, as on this night.
So to see this rapturous comment, perhaps a year later is particularly mind blowing to me. I could have gone my entire life thinking this performance was a waste of my time, it likely would have drifted from my memory and perhaps I'd have eventually struggled to recall performing at the venue. But this guy, randomly, decided to share that he'd been impressed - and that forced me to confront (once again) that my reality is entirely subjective.
I continue to try and perceive myself and my pursuits in an objective light, trying to prove that the things that I accomplish are either good or bad, allowing no in between. But comments like this demonstrate the flaws in my perception. Whether or not my performance on the night failed to live up to my own standards, for him there was a moment which became locked in his memory. Quality is such a difficult thing to categorise, as the protagonist of Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance would attest. As an artist I tell myself that my tastes are grounded in an objective measurement of quality, I hold the music of others and myself to a certain standard and the failure to achieve that elicits my derision (a significantly more damaging thing when applied to my own self worth).
But the fact I despondently walked away from a performance which provoked such pleasure in another human being grants me room to breath. What is self-criticism but the subjective perception of my most savage enemy - I am incapable of viewing myself but through the lens of my failure, since I so often face the consequences of my human frailty and allow it to build up as mounting evidence for the prosecution in a case against my worth as a person. Recognising the subjectivity of my own pursuits means that I might think, upon hearing a vocal flub or a guitar solo flub, "For someone else, that may be but a moment of levity in a performance otherwise marked by perfection", and my confidence remains undiminished. The effect of this is significant for someone as internally focused as I often am. The live stage remains an arena where ruminating on ones flaws does not make for a better performance - it leads to distraction, further mistakes, and (at least vocally) an inability to reach for the notes you'd otherwise hit. So I am learning to revel in the subjective on stage.
But what of the quality of my music? I have spent years aiming to create an objective masterpiece. Recently I have recognised my incapacity to reach the lofty heights I strove for in youthful exuberance, and for a time this left me down-hearted. But the posted screenshots also provides an example of a further comfort I have begun to allow myself in determining the quality of art. Ultimately, I have come to recognise that all great art will be forgotten. The heat death of the universe is certain - so regardless of how much civilisation may strive to enshrine artistic works in cultural memory, they too shall pass. Recognising the transience of culture, I recently asked myself "Why do I allow the vague concept of artistic legacy so much more merit than the rapturous appreciation of an individual in the moment?" Were I to be assured by someone that my thoughts would last a millennia, I believe I would gain less comfort than in the assurance by one of my peers that they appreciated something I had created in the moment. This is a freeing thought for me.