I have forgone enough dinner parties attended by disapproving elders and their sneering , snarky remarks at the expense of my desired career path to know that music and the arts in general can appear, at least from the outside, to be a foolish pursuit. My response would be something like the following…“If you take pleasure in our failure then I shall fail gladly, knowing I will not have to share your tragic tale of never bothering to try” or at least it would be if it weren’t merely an imaginary conversation had in my head during a shower the next morning but thats not the point. Art is, if anything, the complete opposite to the puritanical, ‘don’t bother’ mindset. Fuck that, fuck it forever lets move on. Of course it matters and is understandable when it comes from a concerned loved one, seeing you barely able to feed yourself, never-mind your family and you are refusing to work a real job because you seem to think you’re some tortured artist with no one one in your lifetime ever truly understanding your perennial genius. As I say, their concern is completely understandable but that isn’t who we are talking about here. I’m referring to a resentful, bitter type of person who derives genuine pleasure from knocking the enthusiasm straight out of ones soul. So once again, fuck those people. They are good motivators however. Whether they realise it or not, the prospect of proving how wrong, and in the process how bitter and resentful, they truly are does spark a certain naughty desire in me. It might be my new kink.