I have recently been assaulted by a number of arm-chair musicians. Most of them have good intentions – they see something in our music and they think they’ve figured out exactly what we need to do to take it to the next level. They feel it is their moral obligation to share this information with me, as if the long-term success of my music is in jeopardy if they were to just keep their mouths shut.

Every once in awhile, I run into an arm-chair musician who actually doesn’t like our music. For some reason, these people feel obligated to make me aware of what needs to be done to make my music more appealing to them. It’s almost as if these people have the attitude that I write songs entirely for the gratification of them. Who the fuck are they? If you don’t like my music, fine. I’m not offended. Don’t listen to it. Listen to whatever helps you get your rocks off and let me make the music that I want to make.

The vast majority of these arm-chair musicians have no credentials to make me feel like I’d even want to take their suggestions to heart. Most of them have never played an instrument or written a song. Many of them don’t listen to remotely the same kind of music that I do, and they certainly don’t listen to the style of music that we play. In short, they have absolutely no business telling me what I should do with my music. And the worst part about it is that their suggestions are completely unsolicited.

If I had a more portable instrument, I might shove it up their ass to teach them a lesson. But unfortunately, I don’t think my electric piano will ever fit up the tightly-wound assholes of anyone who would actually have the nerve to tell me what they think I should do with my music.

I am talking about the worst breed of people. The type of people who don’t have any conception of appropriateness or couth. The type of people who don’t have any background with which to offer thoughtful, insightful information on the topic. The type of people whose only musical experience comes from playing Guitar Hero. Yet for some bizarre reason, they consider themselves to be experts with a moral duty to steer me on the right path. I wish these fuckers would just choke on their own vomit and die.

Let me add some context to this tirade. I don’t want to come across as an arrogant egomaniac. I actually care very much what other people think. I’m always curious to hear how others react to my music. I hope that most people like it and connect with it, but I also realize that not everyone will. 

I will never be rude to someone who wants to tell me how they feel about my music. I’m always appreciative of that kind of feedback, whether it is positive or negative. It helps me learn which of my songs appeal to and connect with others. I’m always curious to know this information. Just don’t ever tell me what you think I should do with my music. If you do, don’t be surprised if I tell you to fuck off. And honestly, if you really think someone should be making that music, then start your own band and create it yourself.

There is another factor in this discussion. When you play in a band, the direction of the music is never dictated by one person. Especially in Jababa. We play in a true democracy. Each member of the band has the freedom to add his creative input to all aspects of what we do. Jababa is a continuous compromise between 4 people with a very strong mutual respect for what we can all do in an attempt to create music that we can all feel proud of and stand behind.

So before you tell me what you think I should do with our music, you’d better think about what the other 3 members of the band would think about the suggestion. Because we all need to want to take our music in that direction for it to ever happen.

Sorry to burst the bubble of all you arm-chair musicians out there. But it is just not that simple. So instead of telling me what you think we should do with our music, why don’t you just tell me what you like and don’t like about it.

“The Jababa Chronicles”: All musings, philosophies, anecdotes, rants, ramblings, and tirades written exclusively by Andrew Martin unless otherwise specified.

This post contains the poem written about my night stuck at the airport hotel in Cincinnati. I suppose you could consider the last post to be the story behind the poem. If you haven’t read part 1, I would suggest you read it now. Whether you read the poem first and then read part 1 or whether you read the story first and then the poem is entirely up to you.

But they both go together, so if you haven’t read part 1, you may as well. It provides a lot of context for what is about to come next.

So here goes…

10 Dudes in a Bar

All by my lonesome, nowhere to go
Lampooned by weather’s crushing blow
A caged animal in this dingy hole
Beaten by forces beyond my control

You never know when opportunity knocks
When a wayward traveler wants to interlock
In a torrid night of passion and lust
Fueled by the desire for an anonymous thrust

I set my sights on the meeting point
In this most unconventional of pick-up joints
But to my displeasure and great chagrin
Musty testosterone permeated the den

Vagabond dudes packed the bar
Weary and hungry from traveling so far
I looked around in great disgust
Not even a cougar to satisfy my lust

It seems bad luck has put a stop
To my hopes of a rollicking, raucous romp
For in the entire bar there were only 2
And even now neither lady would do

One old and busted, toothless and coarse
I couldn’t stand it, she smelled like a horse
The other a socialite of Kennedy stock
Ashamed to rub elbows with this sordid flock

I shared a moment with 10 dudes in a bar
On an evening nothing short of bizarre
We drowned our sorrow in a pint of beer
All of us wishing we were anywhere but here

“The Jababa Chronicles”: All musings, anecdotes, philosophies, ramblings, rants, and tirades written exclusively by Andrew Martin unless otherwise specified.