I was recently asked one of my favorite questions: why do I play music?
I’ll answer that in a second, but it is funny that when talking about music with others, it usually falls into one of two categories:
1) Why I love music and why being a musician is awesome
OR
2) Why I hate music and why being a musician sucks
When talking about number one, I extol the virtues and many gifts music has given me. The stories, the emotions, the connections to other humans (more on this in a bit), the comfort I receive from hearing a familiar album, the way it allows me to process my own emotions, the way music connects me to my past (I have terrible recall for my past, so I use music as my historical checkpoints. For instance, if someone asked me what I was up to in 2003-2004, I could probably muster up a few things but it would hardly be a complete answer. But, if you asked me about the time when I was obsessed with Arcade Fire’s “Funeral,” Sun Kil Moon’s “Ghosts of the Great Highway” and Death Cab for Cutie’s “Transatlanticism,” I could run you through a huge list of connected memories from that time in my life. I know there’s more than a few of you out there who can relate.), how music saved my life and gave me a purpose when I desperately needed a reason to stop thinking about killing myself, and on and on. Music has given me everything. It’s given me so many wonderful memories. It is the reason I met the friends I have. It is the reason I met my wife It’s literally the reason I’m writing this right now.
Being a musician allows me to live the lifestyle that feels most natural to me. No one criticizes me anymore for having longer, messy hair or not showering every day or waking up at 10:30am or spending too much time playing guitar/singing or RANTING ABOUT RANDOM THINGS or any of the other reasons people used to think I was weird. Now, people accept those things because I’m an “artist.” It’s great.
BUT, when talking about number two (ha! Insert poop joke here), which is usually with other musicians, I talk about the false promises music has made to me, how the industry has changed so drastically, and for the worse, in my lifetime, how I wish I could go back in time and tell myself everything I know now, and maybe persuade my younger self to choose something else to obsessively pursue, how I wish I could separate my self-identity from music but it’s tentacles have wrapped and swallowed up most of my insides, in both a good and bad way, how thinking about my future with music makes me so hopeful-yet-depressed, and all the other reasons my fellow musicians and I usually throw out as to why we should quit music (but, ultimately, never will).
As I stated before, being a musician allows me to live the lifestyle that feels most natural to me. Unfortunately, that also includes lots of bad habits and has lead to a number of terrible decisions over the years. Drinking too much, drugs, ill-advised sexual adventures, deep and cyclical depression, the disintegration of relationships, the inability to stay in one place for very long, etc., etc. Music giveth and music taketh away. Everything in life always comes to balance. The higher the highs, the lower the lows, and so it goes…
Usually, when talking about number two (ha! Bet you didn’t think I’d say it again but now you’re thinking about poop for a second time!), it will slowly morph back into number one. I don’t know for sure whether this is because at the root of it all we really do love music unconditionally or if it’s because we are trying to justify our commitment to music and all the years/time/energy/money we have already invested in it. I’d like to say the former but I don’t know if I can say that unequivocally…
Which brings us back to the original premise: why do I play music?
As far back as I can remember (which usually goes back to about age 5-6, when I would spend all day either trying to recreate Michael Jackson’s dance moves from “Bad” in the living room or running around the backyard all day with a plastic ninja sword pretending to be Leonardo, the leader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles…), I always felt a little different from other kids. Obviously, at that time, I was unable to articulate those feelings or thoughts in any meaningful way. When I started going to school, I remember starting to become more aware of it. So did others. But, remember, this was way before anyone was really thinking about how kids acted in a clinical way. It was either they were smart, dumb, hyperactive, disruptive, lazy, etc. and the kids who did receive any special attention were the ones who were severely learning disabled. Even our tiny town had a learning disabilities class, which is incredible (and so was the woman who ran it) given that our entire K-8 school housed maybe 400-500 students. But, any other kid that displayed “not normal” behavior was usually labeled slow, was told they had ADD (attention deficit disorder, before they added that “H” to it) and moved to the redundant class. I was also lumped into this group, at least for a bit.
Soon, after some additional testing and the incredible support from my mom, they concluded I should actually be taking advanced classes instead of being moved to the slower class. They landed on the fact that I was disruptive because I was bored and I didn’t understand why everyone wasn’t done with their work as quickly as I was. I’m not saying this brag, but to illustrate the beginning of my disconnect from the “normal” people around me which I’ve felt for a long time.
In Middle School, and especially in High School, these “outsider” type feelings really started to grow. Again, I had no way to verbalize this to anyone so they could maybe offer some suggestions or help; so, instead I retreated inward. I used to study people having conversations and try and figure out the mechanism behind it. It didn’t quite make sense to me. It was like an impossible math problem. I could talk at people but not with people. For some reason, it was hard, or almost impossible, for me to care about what anyone else was saying most of the time. Despite this, it wasn’t like I was a loner. I had plenty of friends. I was invited to parties and sleepovers and whatnot. People generally liked me. But, that was always centered around one thing: sports. Sports were my conduit and connection with others. I lived and breathed sports (Packers, Brewers and Bucks fan for life! In that order.), spent hours pouring over stats, collected massive amounts of baseball and football cards, and drew up plays in all my school notebooks. My friends and I would play sports all day, every day. Baseball season turned into Football season which turned into Basketball season which turned back in Baseball season. I could talk sports with anyone and for hours. I’m sure some people were likely sick of me talking about my beloved Green Bay Packers, and how Brett Favre was the greatest football player ever and my eternal hero (which he still is to this day). I didn’t need other hobbies or interests as sports consumed every waking moment. I was convinced I would either:
A) Become the starting shortstop for the Brewers
Or, if that didn’t work out, I’d fall back on:
B) Become a starting wide receiver for the Packers
Simple, right?
(I know, you’re probably wondering why I’m blathering about all this when the question was about music. Well, hold on to your butts, I’m almost there.)
Well, not exactly. First off, it would have been highly unlikely that a 5’7”, 120lb white kid from the sticks would be able to crack either of those major sports leagues. Not impossible per se, but not entirely possible either. Second, I had an Achilles’ tear when I was a Sophmore in High School. It wasn’t a complete tear, but it wasn’t far off. Coupled with my ongoing knee issues and my flat feet, I began to realize that sports were not likely in my future. It was a devastating blow for someone who didn’t really know much else. What would I do now? I briefly dabbled in nihilism, like a lot of High School-aged kids do, I’m sure. I had nothing left to look forward to. Things weren’t going great for ‘ol Bradley (or Brad, at the time).
When I stopped playing sports, suddenly most of my “friends” were no longer my friends. I wasn’t part of a group or team or anything. I had lost my connection to other people. Depression set in. Suddenly, that was my identity and I was really good at it. I started working at a factory so I had something to do after school. It was mostly mindless but passed the time and paid pretty damn well, especially for an unexperienced 16 year old in a small town. My coworkers became my new friends. Maybe this is what I’d do going forward. They all seemed to be doing OK. Until I started to see through that more and more. Some were. Some were not. Some were just as depressed as I was pretending not to be. There was a lot of drinking the nights away; and sometimes, the harder stuff would come out. I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted something more. And still, through all that, I never felt like I fit in. Even with other depressed, aimless people, I was still the outsider. I told myself it was because I was destined for greater things, which turned out to be somewhat true. But, mostly, I just couldn’t feel any real connection to most of those around me. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know if anyone else felt like this. It was lonely.
It was around this time we had to take one of those stupid aptitude tests that supposedly tells you what you should be when you grow up. Most kids were already scouting out colleges at this time and I’m sure the school was trying to help them towards picking their major. (I had no path for my future, and thus, no desire to go to college. I viewed it as a waste of time. And, it would have been had I gone.) But, as is often the case with standardized personality/trait tests like that, my answers were so erratic and diametrically opposed that it could not reasonably spit out an answer as I was seemingly two separate people. There was the loud, boisterous Brad who thought speech class was the best because everyone had to shut up, give me all their attention, and listen to me talk. There was also the Brad who preferred to hole up and read Kurt Vonnegut Jr. books, play NFL 2K (or Madden when the NFL/EA killed 2K. Sega Dreamcast for life!) for hours, and hang out with my little brother in our bedroom and not interact at all with the outside world. There was the Brad who would cut class with a small group and go get high outside the Taco Bell and devour double-decker tacos like they were going out of style. But, there was also the Brad who spent his study halls alone, practicing pep band songs on his trombone. There was the Brad that thought Metallica and AC/DC were the greatest bands in the world. But, there was also the Brad who loved Tchaikovsky and Outkast with equal vigor. So, how was this stupid test supposed to know which to choose? Which was the real Brad?
There was always one teacher who I greatly respected, had become friends with and rarely argued with (which, is a miracle, as I rarely got along with my teachers). He sat me down and said this test doesn’t work for people like me. He said the Brad he knew would never let a damn piece of paper choose his direction in life. “What are you passionate about? What do you love to do?” he asked.
The only things that came to mind were reading and listening to music, but never at the same time. I don’t know how people do that. If music is on, I can’t concentrate on other things. “Aha!" he said. “Then music it is.”
“But how?” I asked. “I can’t sing to save my life and the only instrument I can kinda play is the trombone. I wish I could play guitar…”
“Then figure it out.”
He knew what motivated me and how much I loved to be challenged. Years before, my first foray into music was short-lived. I had saved up my lawn mowing and snow shoveling money and bought myself one of those $99 specials out of the JCPenney’s catalog. Kids over the age of 30 probably remember how awesome that fucking catalog was. It would come like two or three months before Christmas so you could start dreaming of all the stuff you couldn’t have. My sister and I would earmark dozens of its 1000 pages, hoping to get at least a few of the treasures inside. But, in this case, I could finally get it on my own. I ordered it through the mail and patiently waited for it to arrive. When it finally did, I was beside myself with excitement. I was on a path to a new world! Except, I didn’t know what to do with it. We couldn’t afford lessons and I didn’t even know how to get it in tune. Eventually, I figured out that I needed to spend another $15 on a tuner. I learned how to strum a few chords but it was much harder to play than I anticipated. Both literally, as my fingers ached, and sometimes bled, each day after only a short while, and generally as I struggled to remember where my fingers were supposed to go. I gave up after only a short while. He knew that. He knew I hated struggling at things but if someone challenged me, then I had to prove them wrong at all costs. I had to go home, pick up that damn guitar and get to work.
He also played guitar and would stay after school to show me some simple things to go practice. He showed me how to play a few very basic blues and folk songs. I spent hours practicing each night. Eventually, I graduated to strumming along to Bob Dylan songs. I learned how to play “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by Poison and would host singalongs at the few parties I was still invited to. But, this all still felt like work. I wasn’t having much fun. I still sucked, still couldn’t play anything but a few basic chords, and had no idea how I would ever turn this into a career. Then, just like what had happened back in ‘92, when Brett Favre was introduced into my life after Majkowski went down during that Bengals game, as he seemingly always did, and he brought me sports as my connection to the world around me; I would be introduced to a hero who would show me a new path to connecting to people. Going forward, that connection would be music; and that hero’s name was Bruce Springsteen.
To give you the full experience, I’ll give you the full scene. When I was 16, my grandma was getting rid of a bunch of stuff, and one of those things was her old console sized record/8-track player. It was the kind that is about four feet long and three feet high, is all made of light colored wood and closes to be like a bar top. It was so heavy, I’m still surprised we were able to get it upstairs. The wooden monstrosity took up most of one whole wall when we finally finagled it into my (and my brother’s) bedroom. I was so excited to have my own record player but didn’t own any records myself. I started going through my mom’s collection and pulled a few to try out the player with. There was Neil Young’s “Decade” collection, Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumors” and Bruce Sprinsteen’s “Born to Run.” I had heard hits from all three artists, but never really dove into their records on the whole. Once I got the record player set up and working, I put on “Decade.” It was better than I had hoped. I loved his seemingly reckless and wild style when he played with the band and I remember the song “Helpless” really hit me hard.
I got ready to fire up a second album. I chose “Born to Run.” I had heard the song “Born to Run” on the radio a few times and I liked it, but thought Springsteen was mostly for the older crowd, not 16 year olds. I was so used to CD’s where the side you play is down that I put the record on upside down (B-side up). I pushed the button to start the automatic needle drop and found a spot across the room. I sat down on the floor next to my bed, back against my dresser. I closed my eyes. The Neil Young record had felt so alive and so real, I hoped this one would feel the same way. I had heard vinyl sounded different and so far it was 1 for 1 in my real life test. The needle finally touched down and made its silent loop around the outside groove, with a few cracks and pops so you knew it had found its mark. THEN… the intro to “Born to Run” kicked in (as it’s track one on side-B) with that drum fill and then that simple yet iconic guitar riff. I got shivers. By the time the vocal kicked in, I was already in another world. I couldn’t open my eyes. My heart began to beat faster. My whole body clenched up. My brain raced. What was this I was hearing? What was this I was feeling? It felt like it was all happening in slow motion, and suddenly, I was watching myself as I sat there paralyzed by the beauty and majesty of the sound coming from those old speakers. I could feel every drum fill in my stomach. Every word was perfect, every note necessary. Elation and anxiety washed over me. I searched my mind for a comparison to this moment. I tried to figure out the math behind this feeling while the physical version of me sat, eyes closed, on the floor taking in the this wondrous music. I wanted to be like him and just let this newfound glory wash over me but something was stopping me. I couldn’t stop trying to figure out what was happening. My brain kept spinning in circles and I tried to find something, anything to help me understand. I was panicked. But, looking down, that version of me was in heaven. Why don’t I get to enjoy this as he is? It wasn’t fair. I was having a meltdown and he was calm as could be. Finally, I gave up. I closed my eyes. And then something incredible happened. I slowly felt myself rejoin my physical body. In stressful moments like this, I’ve always felt a disconnect between my brain and body. But, suddenly, int that moment, they were reconnected and my brain switched off. There was no time for thoughts when this magical music is playing. For the first time in a long time, I stopped thinking. I was just being. I was just accepting. I was just being happy in a beautiful moment. It was something I had forgotten how to do.
“Born to Run” paused my thoughts and gave me the momentary peace of mind I had been longing for. It was the thing that used to happen when I would play sports. I could just be. I didn’t have the voices constantly chattering away as I tried to figure everything out like the world was one big math problem that I needed to solve. “Born to Run” allowed me to just be me for a while. It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off my shoulders, if only for those four and a half minutes. It was the greatest feeling in the world. Or so I thought. But, music had an even greater gift and was just waiting for me to find it.
I started the song over. Partly because I needed that feeling again. And, if I’m being honest, partly because I thought there was a skip on the record in the bridge when they do the descending line just before they all pause and wait for Bruce’s famous “1, 2, 3, 4” to storm back into the final verse. There wasn’t of course but the band hits those notes so perfectly at the end of the run, that I swore it was the same one skipping, what seven times, before resolving. This time I focused all my attention on the words. By the time he said “Baby, this town rips the bones from your back. It’s a death trap…” I felt like he was singing about me, but me in the future; and, somehow he was doing it from the past. Somehow, back in 1975, he knew exactly what 16 year old Bradley would need to hear about 20 year old Bradley 30-some years later (hopefully that makes sense). I felt everything that he felt as he sang those words with all his heart. I felt like I knew him and he knew me. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought and felt the way I did. Maybe someone else understood my thoughts and feelings even better than I did. I finally felt like I wasn’t alone anymore. I cried as that song played for the second time. I felt like I had found my way back home after wandering aimlessly for the past year or two after losing sports. Bruce unlocked that part of my brain and my heart that allowed me to be myself again. I owe him everything for that.
That’s what music gave to me. It made me feel “human” in a way nothing else could. I finally felt “normal.” The more music I really listened to, the more I felt like I was part of a larger world of people who knew exactly who I was. I could learn from them. They were teaching me it was OK to be myself, no matter how fucked up I felt most of the time. And whenever I was feeling bad, they gave me a place where I could leave that at the door, put on a record, and escape; even if just for a while. I knew this was what I wanted to do. I knew I wanted to give the gift of music to others. I wanted others to feel OK about being themselves because someone else out there knew exactly what they were feeling. There’s a comfort in that. It’s why people listen to sad songs to feel better. Music gives people permission to be who they are and lets them know they are not alone. I may not know Bruce Springsteen personally, but he’s given me the best friend I’ve ever had in “Born to Run.” I thought it was my duty to pay it forward. If I could make music and help one person feel less alone and less fucked up in the world, then I’ve done my life’s work.
This is why I play music: to help people, especially those who’ve lost, or still haven’t found, their connection to the world around them.
That is what music gave to me that day so many years ago. That is what I hope to give back to others.
I know a lot people who have Asperger’s/Autism might feel that same disconnect I did (and still do sometimes). But, I want them to know it’s OK and they’re not broken. And, there’s a place where you can feel at peace and at home. It’s music. And maybe for some, it isn’t music. TV also does a lesser version of this for me. TV still allows me to shut my brain off for a while so I can relax a bit (Rick & Morty for life!). It doesn’t provide the same life-giving energy that music does, but everyone is different. Maybe it’s books or movies, but these stories can help us understand ourselves better than we can alone.
OK, so I’ve just now mentioned Asperger’s in a long post about playing music and having Asperger’s. Well, there’s lots more of that coming in part 2. You see, the whole time I’ve been feeling disconnected from the world, it was really just a product of the Asperger’s. I didn’t know it then. I don’t know how I could have. No one was really talking about it much back when I was kid. They still don’t, really. I don’t think doctors, teachers, parents, etc. are given much information on Asperger’s and what to look for in identifying it early on. I don’t know what would’ve been different, if anything, had I known sooner. I, myself, have only recently found out and started learning about it. It’s been a crazy three year journey since I started learning about it and how it affects me, but my life has already changed for the better by just knowing I have it. Just as it helps me understand myself better, it also helps those around me (like my wife, friends, etc.) understand a little better why I am the way I am. I don’t think younger Brad would have been able to do much with this information. I feel like I found out at the right time in my life.
I also really want to impart that I don’t think of Asperger’s as a disability in any way. In fact, it has helped me in numerous ways in the pursuit of my musical career. I’ll talk more about this in part 2 but I don’t think I’d even have gotten into music in the first place had it not been for my Asperger’s; so I definitely think of it as a blessing. I think people will start to be able to better identify Asperger’s in kids once we stop thinking about it as a negative. Now that I understand Asperger’s (and myself) better, there’s been at least a handful of times where I wish I could tell a parent that their child is likely on the spectrum. But, even the one time I brought it up (when it was even about someone else’s kid) they were quite offended by the mere suggestion. Maybe I should just not care (as I’m good at that) and just say it anyways. But I don’t want people to think it’s an insult and then never seriously consider it for their child. They should realized it can be a good thing. It is for me. As with anything in nature, there’s always a balance. So, there will always be negatives to balance out those positives but I still think I’m much better off on the whole because I have Asperger’s. But, more on that in part 2. Stay posted…
