So the muse just tackled me in the hallway, and I decided to put some thoughts into words. Muses are fickle things however, and rather than pontificate on a sensible subject, abound with relevance and utility, I’ve been forced instead by my own inclinations to expound upon a random course of discussion started by the illustrious Dean Quarrell, who often gets me thinking once I’ve had a few.
The subject matter was music, and how many, many artists debut with a strong first album, and have a dry spell during the second. Dean’s explanation was simple: after years of loving music, a young artist’s first endeavor is rife with the sum of years of inspiration, experiences, and memories from which to draw upon. In other words, if you’re inspired to create your first music album, you probably go into it absolutely full of ideas, and it’s easy to stuff the thing full of fresh material, to the point where every song is strong and heartfelt.
A second album, however, is often not so lucky — you’ve used the best bits in your first album (why wouldn’t you?) so you have to put in a lot more effort to be new and original in the next.
That was Dean’s point, and of course it got me thinking (artists are just people who attempt to professionally frame their shower thoughts, and so that’s what I’m doing here): perhaps what I’ve called “the sum of years of inspiration, experiences, and memories” is a lot like a fresh food source. A butcher starts off with an animal of some sort, and all the choice cuts of meat are there — there’s the prime rib, the tenderloin, sirloin, etc — hence the butcher’s “first album” is the quality stuff. But butchers can’t survive on just the quality cuts, especially the old world butchers, who know better than to waste anything. So our old-time butcher has to use every part of the animal possible, lest the food run out, and they have to be a little creative.
And what does the butcher do once he’s already sold the quality cuts? He takes what’s leftover, and rolls it up into bologna, or “baloney” as the slang spells it, which is appropriate here. Because an artists’s follow-up album often is just that — baloney — all the choice cuts were in the first album, and they haven’t had the time necessary to inspire themselves into finding fresh meat.
I’ve listened to a number of baloney albums over the years (I’m saving that term, now. Outdated as it may slowly become, it serves its purpose). Baloney doesn’t just mean the odds & ends that you make into deli meat. It’s also hogwash, detritus, (and, in the vulgar term, ‘bullshit’) that artists flounder with and make up as they go along, in lieu of more “choice” inspirations. If an artist is lucky, they’ll find new inspiration quickly, and keep the baloney to a minimum, but luck being nearly as fickle as my muse, there is no guarantee the artist won’t have a dry spell, and the least appetizing material becomes the staple of the diet until the artist sees better times.
What’s your strategy for finding new inspiration? Life isn’t always going to provide the choice cuts. I’m afraid I must lament just how much high-quality material I’ve left by the wayside in my youth, with nary more than a laugh to myself at how amusing it all is, without ever framing the thought or just writing the blasted things down. Nowadays, prime source material is fickle as ever, but the disciplined writer in me says you can only power through it.
Even if it all is just baloney.