The American Dream is, more accurately, a pathological pre-occupation with dominance. We have such a broken idea of success that it turns all kinds of worthwhile pursuits into “failures” simply because we didn’t reach the top one percent in the field. It’s a terrible way to look at hobbies or side-gigs.
I was in a band called The Black Math Experiment for four years. Incidentally, that’s what our own late music expert John Nova Lomax said was the average lifespan of a local act. During those four years, I had such a wild time I ended up writing a book about it. I played shows with musical heroes, went on tour, recorded some songs I’m really proud of, and spent time with weirdoes and artists all over the city. Without my time in the band, I would never have become a journalist.
The highest level of success we ever reached was some local awards and an appearance on MTV’s “Ridiculousness,” from which I still get a small royalty check every three months. Then, it was over. We did what most people in bands do: have kids, get more demanding jobs, or burn out from the effort. Producing and performing just became more pain than pleasure.
That doesn’t make The Black Math Experiment a “failed” band because I enjoyed every minute I was there, and I am happy with the art we produced. It was a thing we did hard, fast, and fun for a while, and then it was over. Things end. Just because you put a book that’s been read back on the shelf doesn’t mean you didn’t love it.
Maybe it would have been nice to reach the top, but then again, maybe not. I’ve interviewed a lot of rock stars over my journalism career, and the happiest ones are the people who turned music into a regular job rather than simulated godhood. In my opinion, those people succeeded far beyond the big names.
You can and should do things even if you never get rich and famous at them. Only a tiny fraction of one percent of any kind of artist reaches the top, and virtually none stay there. Any one person can be the best, but by definition, not everyone can. That doesn’t erase the impact their music or books or films had on people, or poison the time spent happily making them. Never confuse the definitions of winning from the owner class with your own criteria for personal satisfaction.
I teach an online introduction to fiction writing class. The first day I meet students, I tell them that every single one of them can be a success, no exceptions. All you have to do is define what success is for you. If you’ve always wanted to write a book, and then you do, you have succeeded, even if it’s not very good. If one person pays to read your book, congratulations, you’re a professional writer. Even if no one reads it, the very act of turning a dream into a concrete work is something magical.
It’s really a shame how we’ve let profit eat our love of craft and creation. Defining success only by how much money it makes you is terrible for the soul and art as a whole. After all, NFTs are full of expensive art assets that no thinking person would ever want on their wall except as a status symbol.
The thing that separates humans from animals is that we can imagine the world not as it is, but as it can be, and channel that into something new. Sometimes people do this and create a generation-defining work of art. Sometimes they spend their entire lives pursuing it. Sometimes it’s just a thing you do for a while and then you stop because it doesn’t bring you the same joy or takes too much of a toll.
I have spent 15 years as a music, art, and culture journalist in Houston. None of the people I’ve ever interviewed or reviewed went on to fill stadiums or have their books turned into blockbuster movies or directed a classic. I cherish them all, though, because they gave me so much pleasure.
Ten years ago, there was a band called Featherface in town. Odds are you haven’t heard of them. They produced this incredible music video for the song “I Saw You Dancing” directed by Randall Hopkins and starring Jessica Bell. In it, Bell tries to remind a zombie of his humanity by dancing in front of him. It’s a beautiful, poignant piece of art that I think about at least once a year.
That video isn’t online anymore, at least that I can find. However, it lives in me, and it colors my opinion of every music video I’ve seen since. Featherface ceased to be an ongoing concern in 2016, but to me, they were and are and always will be a success because what they did mattered so much to me.
So, as a professional appreciator I beg you: do the thing. Do it even if you think there’s no way to make a living at it. Make something because it’s good to make things and you like it. Go hawk it at community events because meeting other creators is fun. Show it to people so they can see something they’ve never seen before. It’s not a failure just because you can’t fill a swimming pool with champagne off it.
This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2023.
