The Music Producer

 

It was 7 am in the rundown part of town. Parker found himself confused, searching for the address that he hoped would ease his troubles amid the rundown buildings. 

 

“This can’t be right,” Parker said to himself as he looked down the alley. He was at the right address, but according to any success story he’d ever read, in the wrong part of town. The entrance to the nondescript building hid in the alley, between a dumpster and the homeless who had no choice but to treat it like their own personal deli. Parker spared some change as he walked by, studying the brick building for a way to notify the inhabitants of his arrival. With no other options given than a knock, he pounded on the thick door with the underside of his fist. As Parker waited, his anxiety grew and he thought about abandoning this silly thing altogether. Before he could turn and run, the door opened and a young kid shuffled him inside.

 

“You must be Parker. Here to see the boss?” the kid asked.

 

“Yes, I am,” Parker replied.

 

“Hi, I’m Charlie. I’m an intern here,” he said as he waved his hand around the foyer of the studio.

 

“Hey Charlie. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

The inside of the building was the exact opposite of the outside. The room felt inviting and warm. Charlie escorted Parker down the hallway, past vintage guitars and gold records on the walls. 

 

“Take a seat in the lounge and Miles will be right with you,” Charlie said and pointed him towards a swanky room with plush couches surrounding a novelty coffee table in the shape of an old-school cassette. Stacks of music magazines sat on the table and framed posters of award-winning albums hung on the walls.

 

A quick googling the day before had told Parker everything he needed to know about Miles’s success. He was prolific to say the least. Most of the albums on the walls had become smash hits and he had worked on all of them. Although he wasn’t a recognizable rock star when he walked down the street, Parker had a feeling that Miles was just as responsible for their success as the artists who performed the songs. Miles was the man behind the music.

 

“Good morning!” a voice boomed from the doorway. “Parker, right?! It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Miles. Thank you for making your morning available for me. I really appreciate it.”

 

“Of course,” Parker said. Of course I’d make my morning available to someone far more successful than myself, Parker thought. 

 

Miles looked the part of a music producer: leather sneakers, fitted jeans and a blazer over an obscure rock band from an era when musicians didn’t need ten takes to get the song right. His tousled hair was just the right combination of American clean cut and Swedish bedhead. 

 

“I’m usually pretty defensive of my mornings,” Miles said in a matter of fact shrug as he sat down on the opposite couch. “But Ethan talked highly of you. He mentioned something about you being stuck in a rut?”

 

“Yeah,” Parker started, “I have all these ideas and I just don’t know what to focus on. I’m worried about wasting my time on the wrong things so I never get very far on anything at all.”

 

“Ah,” Miles said. “Seems like you’re overwhelmed with too much creative juice in your brain.”

 

How can somebody be too creative, Parker thought. Isn’t getting ideas and being constantly creative the entire point?

 

“You’re familiar with writer’s block right?” Miles asked.

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

“Writer’s block is scary stuff,” Miles continued, “I worked with an artist once who almost killed himself over it. His first record was fairly successful for an indie artist, which he was at the time, but then the scene exploded into the mainstream and he didn’t know how to deal with it. He saw all these other bands skyrocketing and it drove him into a downward spiral of depression”

 

“What happened to him?” Parker asked.

 

“Luckily, he realized he had two choices. He could either let his depression drown his creativity or let his creativity drown his depression. He chose the latter and made one of the defining albums of his genre.”

 

“Wow,” Parker muttered.

 

“Yep,” Miles said with a respectful chuckle. “But writer’s block is actually a blessing in disguise because you usually don’t get it until you’ve actually accomplished something. There’s a more sinister side to creativity that happens to new creatives who haven’t found their groove yet. I suspect that’s what’s ailing you.”

 

Miles continued, “Writer’s block is like turning on the faucet and nothing coming out.” 

 

Parker nodded in agreement, “Yeah exactly. No matter how much you try to fix the plumbing, there’s nothing there.”

 

Miles laughed, “Right! Not even as much as a drip! Creative decision anxiety, on the other hand, is when the faucet explodes and floods your room! There’s so much water everywhere you don’t know what to do with any of it!”

 

Parker snorted a sigh, “Yeah, that sounds about right. I get all these ideas and I don’t know which one to work on. There are only 24 hours in a day, and to be honest I could only really focus on any of these new ideas for a few hours at a time anyway. And because I can’t decide which one to start with, nothing ever gets done. I tell people about my ideas and then feel terrible when they ask me about my progress the next time I see them.”

 

“The dopamine rush of a fake job well done,” Miles said.

 

“What do you mean?” Parker asked.

 

“You know how you feel good after a job well done?” Miles asked.

 

“Yeah” 

 

“Well, that’s dopamine hitting your brain and making you feel good about yourself. Unfortunately, you can trick your brain into giving you that rush by simply telling people your plans instead of actually doing them.”

 

Parker nodded as he understood how many times he had played this trick on his brain in the past.

 

Miles continued, “It’s not about how many ideas you get, it’s about what you do with them. Telling people about your ideas might give you a dopamine hit but it won’t get you closer to the finish line.” 

 

Parker frowned and looked down at his shoes, “Yeah...you’re right.”

 

“But don’t worry. There’s hope!” Miles laughed and jumped off the couch, “C’mon, let me give you a tour of the studio!”

 

The lounge lead to a large live room with lacquered hardwood floors and acoustic panels on the walls. A large rug pulled Parker’s eye to the center of the room to the vintage Ludwig drum kit surrounded by microphones. A Steinway grand piano stood on one side of the room while various guitar and bass amps covered the opposite wall. The room felt serene yet cool, cooing with creativity. It felt welcoming. 

 

Miles, noticing Parker’s slackjawed stare said, “Yeah, this room sure feels like magic. Artists love it here. There’s just something about the sound and the feel of standing in here. When I get a good live band rocking out in here the entire world outside falls away. The only thing that matters is their performance.”

 

“I’m sure,” Parker said, studying every corner of the room and letting the vibe wash over him. 

 

Miles lead the way into the control room where a giant 48-channel vintage console faced the glass window out to the live room. Small white speakers sat on top while larger loudspeakers sat inside the wall itself.

 

Miles motioned to one of the leather couches for Parker to have a seat. 

 

“That’s quite the console you got there.”, Parker said.

 

“Oh this thing…” Miles said with a smirk. “It’s just for show. People like taking pictures next to it. I still use the preamps in the back but I run everything into the computer these days. It’s just more efficient really.”

 

Parker nodded as Miles took a seat by the computer. 

 

“Let me just bounce this mix out real quick so I can send it to Casey before we get going.” 

 

A few keystrokes later the speakers lit up with some of the most incredible music Parker ever heard. The band played in perfect rhythm and the pop-soul fusion arrangement felt harmonically complex, yet familiar. The powerful female vocals filled the room and the emotional delivery of the lyrics shook Parker to the core. The call and response of the background vocals weaving through the instruments made every second of the song engaging and interesting. When the song ended Parker stopped himself before he asked to hear it again.

 

“Pretty good right?” Miles asked.

 

“Good? That was incredible. Who is that?” Parker asked.

 

“That’s Casey. She’s got some soul in her,”  Miles said more as a statement than a question before he continued, “And get this, she wrote all the songs and played all the instruments herself!”

 

Parker’s eyes widened in surprise.

 

“All I did was talk through the song arrangements with her and give her a few ideas here and there. I was mostly a glorified and expensive button pusher. I did contribute some lyrics to some of her songs though. I think I added an “and,” or maybe a “the” here and there for flow,” Miles said with a laugh.

 

As they waited for the computer to finish uploading the song, Parker asked, “Do you always start work this early?”

 

“I’m not always in the studio this early, but I always try to start my morning off right. Some would call it having too many rules at the start of the day, but having a routine always helps me make the rest of the day more successful. If I start my day off right and get the most important tasks done before the world notices, it doesn’t matter if the world conspires against you that day. You’ve done the most important tasks anyway so you don’t have to beat yourself up about wasting away an afternoon. You’ve already had the morning to yourself.”

 

Parker nodded and said, “I’ve tried that, but I always get thrown in too many directions at the start of the day so it always feels a bit too erratic. I do so many different things that nothing feels routine really.”

 

Miles’s eyes narrowed, “I think that’s a cop-out excuse. If you don’t have the power to control the first couple hours of the day after you wake up, how are you going to control the rest of your life?”

 

Parker felt taken aback by the sudden forcefulness. He mulled Miles’s statement over, sat up in the couch and asked, “So what is your routine then?” 

 

“I’m glad you asked!” Miles said with a smile, his stern demeanor completely vanished.

 

“The routine has changed quite a bit over the years, and since I don’t have a job that requires me to get somewhere at an arbitrary time I try to finish my morning routine before I actually start working, regardless of what that time is. As I said, it helps set everything up so that once I get sucked into other people’s agendas, I know that I’ve done the most important tasks of the day.” 

 

Miles looked away, clicked a couple buttons on the keyboard and then shut down the computer. He swiveled his chair back towards Parker and continued, “Because I have a dog, the first part of my morning usually involves a walk down the street and back. You may think this is tedious but it’s actually a great way to get your head clear and start thinking proactively about your day and what you’re going to accomplish. I tried listening to books on tape or podcasts during my walk but I’m too lazy to take the dog for a long walk so I can’t really get into the substance of anything in the five to ten minutes it takes us to walk around the block. So I use the time to prime my day. Unsuccessfully sometimes, but the intention is there!”

 

Parker sat in a constant state of nodding his head.

 

“When I’m back at the house I make coffee and a green smoothie. I’ve been drinking smoothies for breakfast for years and I can’t live without them. They’re the perfect breakfast because they’re fast to make, they’re mobile and they’re refreshing. Back in my college days I used to make huevos rancheros every day and watch the news in the morning. Hardly a recipe for a productive start. You’re already bloated from the beans and you’re furious at the world before 9 AM.” Miles shook his head and chuckled to himself, “Now, huevos rancheros are reserved for the weekends.”

 

Miles continued, “While the coffee’s brewing, I spend about 10 minutes meditating. Sitting still and focusing on your breath and trying not to make your mind wander is simultaneously the easiest and the hardest thing you’ll do.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve tried meditating but it never seems to stick…” Parker said,

 

“Stick? It’s not a thing you can win. It’s not a game. If that was the case, I’d be really discouraged by now trying to win at a game for thirty years.” Miles said with a smirk.

 

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I just never find the time,” Parker said.

 

“Find the time? You make the time. Meditating is the only pure time you have with yourself. Just like I told you before, if you can’t control the first couple hours of your day then how are you going to control your life. The same applies to meditation. If you can’t make time for 10 minutes of meditation, you don’t have a life.”

 

Parker held up his hands defensively and said, “Ok, ok, I get it…”

 

Miles continued, “Once that’s done I usually spend about an hour or two doing some deep work activities like creating music, writing lyrics and articles, or coming up with new songs. These are the things that aren’t urgent but are probably more important than any email sitting in my inbox. Having the luxury of uninterrupted creativity for the first few hours of my day is probably the biggest reason for my success.”

 

Parker took in every word Miles said and compared it to the chaotic rubble of his disaster of a morning routine.

 

Miles saw the twinkle of Parker’s epiphany in his eyes and quickly added, “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not always fun and games. Creativity is a struggle sometimes. Creativity takes hard work and dedication and is not something you wait for inspiration to give you permission to do.”

 

“I feel like I’m always waiting for the perfect moment to get a burst of creativity,” Parker said as he curled his lips in disappointment.

 

“That’s the thing about creativity. It’s just as much of a routine as anything else you do.” 

 

Miles jumped out of his chair and became animated, flailing his hands for added emphasis.

 

“Creativity is just blue collar work disguised as artistic endeavors. It requires a work ethic you’re in control of and a schedule you can stick to.”

 

“But I’m worried that anything new I focus on is just gonna be crap work.”

 

“If you’re afraid of creating because ‘why would anyone care about my work’ then congratulations, you’ve already joined the ranks of famous musicians, artists, and creatives the world over. I deal with that every day, and there’s not a single musician who’s stepped through that door who wasn’t insecure about their work.” Miles said and pointed at the control room door.

 

He continued, “Creating consistently is better than creating nothing at all, even if you don’t like what you’re creating at first. A terrible first draft is 100% better than a blank page. It’s a significant step towards progress.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose…”

 

“Don’t worry about the quality at first!” Miles exclaimed. “It’s going to be terrible and you should love that!”

 

He snickered at his statement, then continued, “No song is ever great immediately. There are always some improvements you can do to the first draft to make it even better, tighter, catchier. And it’s not always going to be fun. The word routine basically means a mundane procedure. It’s boring! But it’s very necessary if you’re going to succeed.”

 

Parker sighed and said, “I get it, I really do.”

 

“I know you do. Sometimes it’s easy and you enjoy the work. Sometimes it’s painful and you hate it. When you hate it, every little thing causes you anxiety. You’d rather do nothing than endure more doubt about your work. You can’t become a better writer without writing. You have to write. Some of it will be garbage, but so what? I have to allow myself to write bad songs to get to the good ones. You have to wade through the sea of trashed paper to get to the good stuff on the other side. You write your way to becoming a better writer and it starts by making it a part of your routine.”

 

“I just have such a hard time figuring out what to focus my time on,” Parker insisted. “If I waste time working on things that suck, then I’ll feel like I’ve wasted both time and money because I could be focusing on making more money at my job.”

 

“Yes. There’s creativity to sustain your physical existence as dictated by what society requires you to have. Bills, food, all that jazz. But that’s not what creativity’s all about. Earning an income is a byproduct of your creativity. It’s not the purpose by which you do it.”

 

Parker was getting a little agitated by Miles’s holier-than-thou attitude. Who was he to argue that you don’t need to think about money when creating? He had platinum records on the wall, rockstars knocking on his door and royalties flowing into his bank account. He didn’t need the money.

 

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re a successful record producer that makes bank on every project you produce.”

 

Miles smiled like he knew the push back was coming and he had already dodged it in his mind. “Parker, there are a million better ways to become a millionaire than trying to hack it in the recording industry. There are no budgets anymore. I don’t make records to make money. I make money so I can make more records. Creativity for creativity’s sake.”

 

Miles paused after his last statement to let his point sink in. 

 

“Anyway,” Miles started, “arguing about the role of money is certainly not why you’re here. You’re stuck in a rut and you need some advice. Is that about right?”

 

“Yeah, that’s a simple way to put it.” Parker answered.

 

“Well, what if I told you I already gave you the two best pieces of advice already?”

 

Parker looked puzzled, “What do you mean already?”

 

“The advice you seek has already been given. Sure, there’s more to it, but we’ve already talked about the core components.”

 

“Which are…?” Parker frowned and silently cursed himself for not paying more attention.

 

“Having a routine that fuels your creativity and being creative for creativity’s sake,” Miles offered. 

 

“Is that something you’re interested in learning how to do?”

 

“Yes, very much so.”

 

“Ok great. Here’s what I propose: Every week we meet and you’ll learn the next piece of the creative puzzle. However, you’ll need to adopt these habits into your daily life if you want to dig yourself out of the rut. If you don’t, our meetings will come to an end. If you don’t want to practice your creativity, there’s no real need for me to help you. There are plenty of people hoping to learn from me that will take the time to practice. If you’re not interested in putting in the time, then there are plenty of other students waiting to take your place.”

 

The blunt harshness of his words rattled Parker to the core. This was it, he thought. He knew that one of his biggest flaws wasn’t his ability to get ideas and get started. It was following through and finishing what he started. Agreeing to Miles’s program meant taking a real hard look at himself to break a barrier within that he had ignored for so long. 

 

Miles noticed Parker’s hesitance. He leaned forward and looked Parker square in the eyes and said, “If you’re unwilling to practice and improve, you will be passed over in life. There are always other people behind you in line that are willing to put in the time. Things will rarely be given to you, but when they are, they usually come with a catch. But earning something because you took the time to practice and improve your craft over time, that’s something to be proud of. To get better, at anything, you must practice. You will suck when you start, but it’s the continuous improvement you make every day through your practice that develops you as a creative in any field. It’s still terrifying to let your thoughts escape into the real world. Keeping them bundled up in your brain is easier because you don’t have to worry about whether your creations are any good. If you don’t release your work, nobody can tell you that your work sucks. But to get out of a rut, that needs to change.”

 

Parker sighed, but a newly mustered conviction said, “You’ve got yourself a deal. Every week we’ll meet and you’ll teach me how to get out of this rut.”

 

Miles laughed like everything Parker just said had been utter nonsense. “Me?!? No, you’ve learned all you’ve needed to learn from me.”

 

Parker’s confusion returned, “What do you mean?”

 

“I’ll not only do you one better than that, I’ll do you five times better than that. You see, I could teach you everything you need to know. But I’d rather show it to you instead. So, in the next five weeks we’ll meet some of the most creative people I know, and they’ll teach you their own methods of success. I know for a fact that all these methods work because I apply them myself, but you’ll have more fun that way.”

 

Parker liked the sound of that. Five different creative people each with their own secrets to fueling their creativity.

 

“So that’s my offer. You’ll learn how to get yourself out of the creative rut you’ve found yourself in over the next few weeks, but you must promise to apply everything you learn. Having good ideas is pointless if you don’t act on them. Sound good?”

 

This was it, Parker thought. Either shit or get off the pot. Do the work and get out of the rut or feel humiliated in front of some of the most creative people in their field. Pushing the doubts away deep inside him, Parker responded.

 

“Sounds great!”

 

“Fantastic,” Miles said. “Charlie will give you my contact details and set up a schedule that works for both of us for the next five weeks.”

--

 

Every day for the next week Parker forced himself to get up an hour earlier than normal to make sure he got the time in to work on his routine. He loathed meditation at first. He couldn’t clear his mind for more than a microsecond and didn’t see the point of wasting time like that every morning when his mind was clear and ready to work. Yet, after a few days he could feel the gap between his reactive thoughts and the awareness of his mind widen. He felt more in control of his thoughts and even though his mind wandered constantly throughout his routine ten minutes of meditation, the clarity to which he approached his work improved immensely. 

 

Waking up earlier meant that he had enough quiet time to put some words down on the page before the rest of the world woke up. Sometimes his writing sucked, especially at first, but after a few hundred words each day he felt more connected to his subconscious and could relate meaning to ideas and connect disparate thoughts in ways he hadn’t thought of before. Picking at his brain a few hundred words at a time each day meant that at the end of the week he had thousands of words to work with. The writing got easier and the reward of scrolling through the pages made his figurative chaining to his desk worth the effort. Best of all, starting each day off with a small win made any hurdle easier to handle throughout the rest of the day.

 

After the week was over he felt more in touch with his creativity than ever before, but he knew that this was just the start.