keep faith

Last night I got super in the mood to listen to Sleigh Bells, one of my favorite bands ever, and found myself, as usual, floored. From Treats, an iconic bombastic genre-changing (no matter how you look at it) album, to their sophomore very dark, beautiful, and loud album Reign of Terror there’s a big difference. But the evolution makes sense.

They’re on their fourth album and have 1 EP. I have loved almost every minute. The thing about them is that Sleigh Bells became this noisy internet hit much like Vampire Weekend did with their, uh, borrowed african-in-indie pop sound. Like any band that type of hype puts a pressure on you. But, as far as fans know, they never want to go back to Treats but move forward.

Sure, some fans may have left and people may proclaim all albums after Treats is too different to be valid but their goal was never to be known just as what Treats is. It speaks to immense talent, hard-work, and best of all loving art, particularly music, so deeply that you must (as corny as this sounds) “follow your heart.”

I’ve always admired them as a band, a duo, the work they do on and off stage. Aside from my admiration of people who can create chords and music and write things that are sonically intelligent (or at least what I think is musical prowess) within the context of the world they have created, their approach to their creative process, music, and visual themes surrounding their work is unique.

Hype can turn into panic via not meeting others expectations. It’s happened to some of the greatest musicians and bands ever. The self is so tied to your work but what happens when that’s not enjoyable? Sustainable? What I have found in Sleigh Bells is constant experimentation but most importantly the belief that if you’re going to do what you’re going to do, you should have fun and enjoy it.

Being in film school was a representation of just how much attempts, mistakes, anything glitchy, anything that can go wrong means the end of the world for a lot of artists. We know that when we work on projects, in or outside of the film school, that productions aren’t always fun. They will always be stressful, oftentimes more than frustrating, and in the worst case scenario just fucking terrible. Awful.

I think that art breeds a cycle where the critique system can become stale or hard to understand. Without getting into too much speculative territory, some art isn’t good but oftentimes change and maturing are confused with getting worse. But it doesn’t matter, because as long as you have someone or someones to listen and love you’re doing something right.

These are such personal things but knowing that you are creating for yourself (and collab) is what I consider imperative to easing stress about your work but also the will to carry on. When you want all the love but know you can’t get it.

It may seem silly to some but I think that if you are so personally tied to your work and it is your life, like the only thing you can do and were put on earth to do, reception can be earth-shattering. But nothing, nothing, nothing matters if love doesn’t start from the core. It’s interesting to hear Derek and Alexis, but Derek in particular because he produces the beats, talk about the chords (or whatever music thing) and arrangement and pick things he hates or dislikes while I have no problem with it.

And others might have problems with it! And that’s okay. Even in an amazing piece of work there are flaws. And not all work has to be amazing. If this is your goal, creation when you have the capacity to get up and make more always indicates improvement and maturity. And if that evolution makes sense? To me, it shows a clear understanding of the medium and the dedication one has to it.

Art inspires me and, out of all the mediums, filmmaking is what I have chosen. But, I think, music and words motivate me to continue. It’s always interesting to read what artists that I admire think. Whether we agree or are completely different in approach, I feel as if there’s always something I can learn. Even more, I feel a kinship and an excitement to keep going even in such a dismal sense of stagnation (both personally and just like….the world in 2019.)

When I get into something I really get into it. It’s the whole feeling of what artists can proclaim, express, profess. Anyway, sometimes with my favorite things I go down this rabbit hole to learn the most I can about it. Sometimes I come away feeling awful and sad and other times I come away with new information and appreciation. There’s this interview between Ava Duvernay and Bradford Young talking about being in the film industry, being black, and intentionally creating space. I read this around 4 years ago, I think, and it has been with me all this time.

Anyway, in a specific interview with Derek Miller on Songwriters on Process, I didn’t necessarily learn but I finally heard what the message was. I’ve read plenty of interviews and tried to dissect the music of my favorite bands and pieces of work. This interview and another one where the band talks with photographer Lyz Olko (from NJ!) about the process.

Nah, that really doesn't happen with me. Jack White's whole approach to songwriting is a huge inspiration to me. He says that the song is an excuse to tell a story and that the narrative aspect of music is the most important part of a song. But I'm on the total opposite side of the spectrum from that. I'll use My Bloody Valentine's record Loveless, which is one of my favorite albums, as an example. On that record, the lyrics are indecipherable. You react on a purely abstract emotional level. There's no story, just sound.

I love that idea because it doesn't require any critical faculties. It's just pure sound. I don't like when you have to sit and figure it out. I like music that welcomes you in and wants to please you. In that sense, it's an extension of my personality. So even when our music is heavy, I hope that it welcomes people.

In all the interviews I went over in the last two days, with this band that’s been with me since I was 17 and struggling in college to now, it was inspiring and illuminating. The repeating theme is to keep trying and trying to ease the pressure. There’s nothing we should be doing as artists but taking care of ourselves and trying our best to grow.

It’s not something I feel like, as a black woman, I get to discuss a lot. I have no accolades to my name and all I have is what I have made to offer right now. There’s a constant doubt when I create anything, even when I’m just writing my thoughts about a piece that blows me away. I’ve been rejected a lot both overtly and, mostly, covertly. There’s a feeling of displacement even with the already high stakes.

I try to explain to people how I feel and it never comes out right. Even about the things I have learned, my politics, my goals, etc I have never been able to communicate perfectly. Which is fine, I think. I am fairly intelligent and I am an explorer. There’s a lot going on up there. But I feel lost and like a failure when I can’t get people to understand me even with explanations. I’ve always wanted my work to speak for itself, but is that enough?

After I left school, I was brighter in my disposition. I did this huge thing. But my self esteem, already something I struggle with because of my perfectionism which is probably one of the worst traits, took a major hit. Explaining this is still difficult. It’s hard for anyone to understand but the other black students in my school.

I never want anyone to feel that.

(last is a screencap from insta and a caption by alexis krauss, cutest in the world.)

Music is the only other type of art I feel inexplicably tied to. There’s so much history in music especially that black people have made. I feel pride knowing that bands will sample Funkadelic’s Can You Get to That. I get excited to read about Funkadelic who are a rock band. Who made amazing work but their goal was just to exist.

I could talk all day about culture, music, and myself. The only reason I do this (besides having no other qualifications) is because it’s a search for a voice and happiness. Film is the medium where I feel it the most. Narrative, words, story, the cutting, the technicalities? They’re all so important but when I watch something like Julie Dash’s first short, Diary of an African Nun, or her early work, or Arthur Jafa’s early work and current pieces. When I know of Kahlil Joseph, Cheryl Dunye, etc I know that I feel.

Empathy is a big part of artistry, in my opinion, and I also think it’s something we lack as a society but as creators. I’ve met some terrible people and I’ve met some really good people. I have never, ever, ever been in a deficit for feelings. I won’t ever be. I hear others discuss their experiences (in this instance, black women) and I wonder how you grasp onto that sanity and confidence and keep it even in the face of alienation.

I started writing this on Friday and I got so sidetracked. Yesterday I went to a bridal shower and felt happy but melancholy at the same time. The sun was shining, my cousin’s fiancé’s home life in Long Island is idyllic; white picket fence, 2.5 kids, white bodies. This is in no way an indictment on their family and will never be.

But it was stark the differences purely in the literal visual vibrancy once we arrived to this house on Long Island. The melancholiness had nothing to do with that and more to do with grappling with getting “older”, but I felt something in that house. I could capture it somehow with film. I could start writing something, put on some music to help me feel it even more, and hopefully encapsulate what I felt from my perspective. What I saw. What others could perhaps see.

By the time we are back, my reason for writing this is completely different. I started off from Sleigh Bells and I was purely intending to show the difference between their music video for their song Comeback Kid and Rill Rill and that evolution. Instead, it became about my feelings and the process. About explanations.

I desperately want to move forward and have the fear lead me instead of paralyze. I want to let go of needing to create the greatest thing in the world. Instead, I need to try my best and just do. I can make mistakes. I can live with those mistakes. I don’t have to love every part of what I do, what you do, what we do.

One of my favorite artists, Kim Jonghyun, once told a fan on a post-it note (if I recall correctly):

I just want to be happy. I will be happy.

A year later he committed suicide. There’s more than one factor. He was in a harsh industry, a place where mental health is even more stigmatized than it already is, and he believed he had to leave this earth. What he gave me I will never be able to repay. He sang in a different language, lived in a different culture, but I won’t ever forget him.

Why? Because he was himself. He explored what he wanted. And others appreciated him and his prowess because he had a sound that was his, his own vocal and production color, and he loved music, loved art. He was a true artist even though he came up in the most artificial farce of an industry.

All this to say, we can’t be who we are not. I cannot force perfection out of myself. I can only do my best. My best is what will keep me alive. My health, being able to feel. I can hear music, I can see paintings, I can watch films, I can analyze, I can learn. I can fucking breathe.

I cannot make people see me as whole if they do not. I cannot force people to listen nor can I beg them. I cannot make anyone care about me, really, nor change their attitude because I happened to be born my color, I am the gender I am, I am the size I am. There is nothing I can do about that except keep going.

No artist that has ever helped me to continue has ever, ever, ever said “you kill yourself doing your best or don’t live.” The artists I know, the artists I admire and love, have matured and tried their best—even if they couldn’t live through it.

At this point in my life, I’m scared shitless. I have no clue who I am still. I am young. I have no idea if the hard work I do is real. I have no idea if I am talented. I have no idea if I have grown. But I’m blocking my own way and this I know for a fact. The barriers I’ve put up are because I want to be so good that I’m almost untouchable but I can’t even get my feet off the ground to begin.

I was talking to a friend about my short The Big Chop and all the things I find wrong with it. She loves it. I find it juvenile. Pedantic. Not well done. And it may be all those things, but she still loved it. She still felt it. It made her smile. If I can get one person to hear me, if I can help one black kid out, if I can make money to share with my family and friends through my art, if I could help fucking anybody. If I could help myself.

I am an artist. I want to be happy. I will be happy.