When I agreed to play a gig for Finding Jupiter, I faced two serious decisions.
1.) Do I really have enough time for this? Maybe I'll just play one gig and then say, "Thanks, but no thanks."
2.) Can this band live up to my expectations from my last band? We clicked so well as musicians...
It's finally time that I present the resolutions to that pair of conundra (there's significant debate over the correct suffix for the plural form of conundrum, so I'll go with second declension Latin standard). Now that I'm done being a language snob, I'll return from my tangent.
The first issue was, obviously, resolved in the affirmative. But recent events have brought me back to the topic, and I find it pertinent to touch on it once more. In the purest sense of the word, yes, I do have ENOUGH time to play with Finding Jupiter. A three hour-recording session on Thursday is, ironically, one of the lightest time commitments that I have dedicated to the band in a single day. It meant staying up all of Thursday night to prepare for two midterms, two meetings, and an assignment, but yes, I found the time for it. The stresses in my life have been compounding, though. I am finally carrying out my ambitions and have started the Solar Decathlon team for Stanford, I work at least 6 hours a week, I keep up (albeit poorly) with a friend's non-profit, I do private engineering work (not to be cryptic or to bullshit, but I can't elaborate), I find time to read at least two books for pleasure every quarter, I call my family and compose letters to friends, and somewhere in between all of that I still pull a good GPA in engineering and modern languages at Stanford and keep up well with my friends. Critically evaluating that bragging litany, though, I am stretching myself too thin. On nights when I feel particularly stressed, I will waste hours online or just watch a season of Futurama, and then beat myself up about it the next day. Do I deserve the abuse? Yes, because I know that I CAN do better. But what is "can"? My favorite quote ever discourages exactly that kind of "over-ambitious for no particular reason" behavior.
My career ambitions have almost everything to do with a simple mantra. Stop people from doing stupid, destructive things to the environment so that I can go enjoy the wilderness alone. Is it selfish? Yes. Is it indulgent? Yes. Is it unrealistic? No. There you go. So w
hy do I get wrapped up in so many things? Well, frankly, because they interest me. And, you know, I can't play the kind of music that I want to out in the woods (hint, I fuckin' hate Simon and Garfunkel...and acoustic guitar is rarely on my good list and only because of the guitarrón and Jack Johnson). So I will continue to suck it up. And yes, I find my ways to escape or just introspect. They just are more creative than you might expect.
As you're reading this post right now, I am facing the most stress that I have ever faced in college. I can pin most of the fault on my lack of planning and procrastination. I am so far off the ball that it may be rolling somewhere in Kazakhstan right now. But whether or not it's my fault, it's still daunting, and expressing that fact at least makes me feel better about what I have to struggle to accomplish in the next couple of days. So, if you don't see me for a week...understand, please.
Now, to touch on my place with the band. What I had to learn is that Finding Jupiter is not, and never will be, The Kingsfoil. We play completely divergent styles of music (i.e. Pop-Punk Rock versus 70s Piano Rock, respectively). And no, I'll be honest, I do not click as well with the members of Finding Jupiter as I did with Levi, Alex, and Thomas. That is an organic relationship that you can only minimally change. But my time with the band has been and will continue to be invaluable. I know so much more about recording and the music industry in general. While I'll never feel comfortable with the new paradigms of the industry, I do understand them and know how to exploit them. First, it's no longer the 90s and nobody gives a shit about ska. Sadly. Second, you don't make records or albums, you make hits. Third, don't expect money from your music, just love its performance. There are more intricacies, but I don't care to be prolix enough to cover them.
More positively, though, Finding Jupiter has honed my talent and made me a more skilled drummer and a more patient person. That latter is something I have always strove for. The former, though, is a bit trickier to quantify. Yes, I was hopelessly perplexed when Thomas Gonzalez and I reunited over Winter Break and he presented me with drumline music that I could no longer play. Yes, I do miss that world. But as far as the consistency of my rhythm, and the diversity of my abilities on the drum set go, I have come miles.
32 takes in the studio for a single 3.5-minute track was exhausting. I cussed furiously. I shattered and then irately hurled drumsticks. After fucking up for the umpteenth time, I screamed and smashed my hands down on the drums. Sarah pushed me further than I have ever gone. When I, and you, hear the mastered track of "Roses," though, vale la pena, as we say. Listen to that professional track, but know that it wasn't easy, and that my literal sweat and blood made it. I've finally found my place, and indelibly recorded my mark, with Finding Jupiter.
Thanks, CCRMA, for the use of your professional equipment. Shipley, Wolf, and Whelan: know that I still treasure our living room recordings of "Chicken Little" and "Survivor" more than anything I have ever made, though. You are best friends for life, and I hope you don't begrudge me on my new project as I wish you well on yours. Even if geography prevents us from playing together, there still is no excuse for not picking up your instrument and expressing your ineffable passion to the world with somebody else.
