What have I got to prove? If I wanted people to respect me I’d probably go for something a bit cleverer than writing music on my computer.
I’m not even that good at it.
I’m just some guy who wants to tell his story.
We all want to end up in the right place. That’s how I ended up here, saying, shit, I work damn hard because I want to get myself comfortable, and I want to do it because I can.
But I think I wanted to say something. I dropped out of university because I wanted to say something. I wanted to make music, and use that to say what I wanted to say, but I haven’t said it.
And I have to say it, because deep down I know the point of being here is not to be “comfortable”. I’m not really saying anything by declaring that I’m “comfortable” except that I’ve given up. The only meaning left is same old bullshit, life, on hold waiting for them to put your internet back on listening to fucking cat stevens, telling you to fucking “find a girl, settle down . . . ” I think I’d be happier if it was my funeral.
Anyway, so, as it turns out, life’s not perfect. It’s not easy to comprehend.
We hear stories, we tell stories, we make our own stories.
When I was younger I didn’t know anything, I thought making beats was a good way to express myself, I dunno it was time, I was romantic, I was idealistic, it was over so fast I didn’t know what happened and I thought writing beats would help me to explain it.
It’s not really it though is it? Beats tell stories but it’s not the whole story. Neither is me bleating on on my blog.
What I’m trying to say is that my art has become my story. Or is it the other way round? whatever, I hope we can talk about it.
Doing the business that I do is my story. Doing the blogs I do is my story, and rolling bass whether playing parties or putting together loops on the computer is my story too.
Do I get rich? Do I get the girl? Do I come to understand? Does it make a difference in the end?
This is the story I’m telling, whatever happens, I just want to tell it.
