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How Can I Get Started?

Music. How can I start being involved in music? I’ve been asked this in some form or another from time to time.

There are lots of things books don’t (or can’t) cover, which is what I’ve tried to talk about in this blog post. But still, it’s worth mentioning that there are tons of books that cover the topics of how to start a band, music business know-how, how to write songs, and how to engineer and mix for records and live settings. Read these books! Take classes on this stuff! Here are some books and courses that made a significant impact on me (you can find these online and at most community colleges):

But listen. There are no books or classes that are going to give you a clear idea of your path. Only YOU can know your path and the only way you can get to know it is to start following it. There will always be more paths to follow, I promise. So, perhaps the real question is, how can I start following my path? Well, here’s what I wish someone had told me. (Or maybe they did, and I was too busy to stop and listen…)

Step 1: Be Obsessed. I got started the way that a lot of musicians do, which is that I was totally enamored. Music. The people making it. The instruments and machines used to make it. Listening intently with my head next to my boombox. Reading every millimeter of CD inserts. Memorizing every word of every interview I could get my hands on.

I never for a moment worried that I would become sick of music. (There are bits and pieces of the industry that drive me nuts, but nothing that doesn’t all go back to issues with capitalism and the patriarchy.)

If music were your job, would you get sick of it?

Step 2: Commit. At some point, you commit to learning more. I picked up the viola in the 4th-grade orchestra. I learned my keys and scales and how to read music. Eventually, I picked up the guitar.

Then you make a commitment to practice. I committed myself to learn to use the guitar in all the ways I wanted to: as a songwriting tool, as an accompaniment to my voice, as an instrument for playing the work of prolific composers, as an essential part of pop and rock music. Practice in all of your free time. Do more of what you love.

Then you make a commitment to expand your knowledge and apply what skills you have. Pick up another instrument, go to music school, play in someone else’s band, intern at a studio, intern at a label, try producing beats and recording your friends, try making your own records and performing them and self-releasing them…

You plant a lot of seeds, and you want all of them to grow up to be big strong trees. But in life, there is always ebb and flow, and sometimes change flows through you without you realizing that it was coming at all. For example, I always wanted to be in a band, and I always thought I would be in a band. It took quite a bit of work, and practice, for me to understand what it means to be a solo artist and how much it truly suits my work style and personality and communication styles. Early on, I tried to have bands. But I didn’t really understand what it meant to be in a band and a bandleader, either! When things didn’t work out, I’d eventually find myself in another situation where I was trying to start a band. Long story short, I had to let go of that seed because it wasn’t really rooting. But another seed was starting to root, and I had to give it a chance at getting strong. I was initially lukewarm about the solo seed, but now I am happy to say I am currently nurturing my solo artist seedling, and it’s beginning to look like a tree!

In summary: Just start. Try harder than you think you can. Learn new stuff. Keep moving.

Step 3: Figure out what matters to you. In the same way, one plants lots of seeds with band configurations and playing instruments, one will do that with their relationship to record making. This stage of musicianship can really irk people. It can be very confusing to have spent most of your life honing your craft as a songwriter, or guitar player, or in a band with your friends, only to leave your first recording session with the feeling that none of your actual ideas got captured. Some version of them got recorded, but now it’s this whole other thing, it doesn’t sound like how we sound when we practice so what now? How do we get the sound that we want? And why do we need a recording anyway? What are we going to do with it again?

Making recordings is as complex as making music, and there are as many styles and applications as there are types of people. (Pair this with the process of marketing yourself, and you have a brain explosion of exponential proportions. Be prepared!)

Even musicians that loathe the recording process often end up making recordings, to help get gigs or just to share with their family and friends. Other musicians love the process but don’t care to become exceptionally good at it, and love experimenting with their growth and evolution as musicians through the medium of recording. Others make artistic statements, others tell stories, others play with sound and stylistic trends and shift cultural boundaries with their work that makes massive ripples. The level of engagement you want to have in your record-making process is totally and completely up to you! If you are interested in the whole process and want to be as involved as possible, you will also need to practice some patience–it’s going to take years to become a skilled expert at every aspect, and patience will help you get there gracefully. Again, do some reading and take some classes. But more importantly, try and learn from people that are already doing it! Watch YouTube videos by the pros, reach out to a recording studio or venue near you, see if you can intern or shadow someone. Be yourself. Be respectful. Be grateful. Stay in touch with people who make you better and treat you well.

Also, you don’t need to be “in the spotlight” if you don’t want to. There are tons of ways to be a musician and/or involved in music that doesn’t require you to be in the spotlight! Studio engineer, front of house engineer, producer, songwriter, instrumentalist, lyricist, arranger, artist manager, live production manager, label staff, A&R for brands.

Step 4: Fail. It’s essential to fail. Through failure, we learn almost everything we were unable to learn in the process of trying. Failure is a test of strength and quality. There is never one way to make your statement as an artist; there is never one way to produce a record, there is never one way to prepare a space for live sound, there is never one way to make something work. Through failure, you will learn everything you (unwittingly) refused to learn the easy way. It’s okay to be wrong. It’s okay to try something another way. It’s okay to admit that it wasn’t your best effort. Even when you have “succeeded” you will fail again, though hopefully with more grace than the first couple times.

Failure is like heartbreak: nothing but time can ease the pain. I’m sorry. Someone had to tell you, and it might as well be me.

Step 5: Return to Step 1

It’s okay to try again! Horseback riders know that when a horse bucks them off that it is imperative that they get back on immediately. They know that if they think too much about the scary feeling of getting bucked off, they will never get back on. Be a horseback rider.

Closing Statement:

Ultimately, to be a musician means bringing music into your life in some way. If you want it to be how you make your living, then it’s going to occupy most of your life. So do yourself a favor and put in some real effort, because you’re the person that’s going to have to deal with you later on! Practice, ask questions, try, embarrass yourself, get better, ALWAYS understand that you can grow and get better, pay your dues, treat other people with respect, keep moving no matter what. As a very wise friend always says to his students: “You get good at what you do.”

“In You You Trust”

It’s the beginning of January which means it’s the beginning of a new year. Year-end lists and New Year’s resolutions abound. As corny as it sometimes feels, the end of a year and the beginning of a new one really is an excellent time to take a step back and reflect on yourself.

In this modern capitalist society, we are not taught to trust ourselves. Someone else is the expert on our happiness and success and how to get there, and there is always something missing that we need to purchase to become truly fulfilled.

But instead of thinking about how we can keep changing ourselves, let’s look at what we’ve already accomplished and how we have already grown. First, ask yourself: what is you? We sometimes forget that we are not defined by just our career, or only our relationships, or just our health. We can become so focused on one aspect of ourselves that we fall out of step in other areas. But each piece contributes to the whole. YOU are your current life, your goals (your future life), your relationship with yourself, and your relationships with others.

If you have cultivated a healthy home life with yourself, a partner, a dog, a child, a friend, or a family member, this is something to be proud of.

If you are in a business or creative partnership with people or a person with whom you trust and are inspired by, this is something to be proud of.

If you meet new people who excite you and make you want to get better at what you do, this is something to feel good about.

If you actively engage with your creative process, you should be proud of the love and respect you are showing yourself.

If you actively support someone else’s creative journey, however deep into it they may be, you should be proud of the love and respect you are showing someone else.

If you actively engage in your professional skillset and continually work toward greater mastery and new perspectives, this is something to be proud of.

If you mentor those that can learn from you, in any capacity, this is something to be proud of.

If you have open and honest conversations about money, business practices, gender gaps, race, and the ways you can participate in change for good, this is something to be proud of.

If you have ever wanted to quit, but you didn’t, this is something to be proud of.

We have a lot of work ahead of us. We have songs to write, bands to form, sounds to record, albums to make, stages to mix, setups to design, decisions to make about futures we hope to have. We have girls wanting to learn the ins and outs of an industry we know is uncomfortable for women to work in, and fortunately, they can learn in an environment that is vastly more comfortable for them than it was for us. There are so many more steps forward we will make. But today, please take a moment to acknowledge all of the steps you have already taken to make this industry, this world, your life, and the lives of those around you, a kinder, more loving, and inclusive place. Let’s keep it up!

 

 

A Good Attitude Will Keep You Going

And Zero Tolerance for Sexual Harassment

I recently embarked on my first tour ever. Yes, I’m 27, and yes I’ve been playing in bands and making my music for over a decade. I’ve done long drives and weekend “mini-tours,” but I have never been on a real tour. And then this September, it happened!

Before I left, I was feeling grateful that I was going to go on tour this year and not last year, or the year before, or the year before. I had finally reached a point where I stopped caring about what other people thought of me. My anxiety about making an ass of myself in the years between absolute-and-total-beginner and goddess-of-pop-and-production-and-also-successful-film-composer—aka my ultimate dream—had pretty much diminished once I turned 27. I knew that this was going to be a very valuable asset on my first tour because my band was the opener for two other well-known bands, our budget was next to nothing, and at the end of the day, it was entirely possible that the headliners’ fans wouldn’t like us. The thick skin was a welcome change. My newfound penchant for not giving a shit, paired with years of work that had led to this moment was, without a doubt, feeling pretty good right about then.

Another reason I was glad to be touring later rather than sooner: I had worked in restaurants a lot, and my restaurant “skills” that I had previously seen as invaluable were suddenly feeling extremely valuable:

But one of the things I had not foreseen was how much my live set design* affected the entire flow of my band’s setup, our soundcheck, our show, and any challenges that came up along the way. My live setup was lightweight, looked good, and got the job done. At the onset of my first-ever national tour, my live set consisted of:

Drum World:

Bass World:

My World:

The music we were performing contained synth riffs and all sorts of expressive percussion sounds, as well as swells and other emotive drops that were integral to the songs. After tweaking frequencies and decibel levels according to the feedback of a number of trusted sources, I was proud of what I was going to be working with on stage every night, and I was excited about the live musicians I’d chosen to play with me.

However, midway through our tour, I had to fire one of the musicians I’d been so excited about. The reason? Sexual harassment of underage fans.***

That this happened mere weeks before the Harvey Weinstein stor(ies) broke and dominated our news feeds. Of course this person tried to defend himself with comments about how “no physical harm was done” and how “the Internet isn’t really real.” (Yes, these are real quotes from a real adult who was a working professional. And no, they had no bearing on my decision to promptly remove this person from my tour.) By the time he got home, our entire nation was fuming over sexual harassment scandals. Perhaps it’s silly of me to think that he learned his lesson by reading the news? I’m still hopeful.

Anyway. My remaining bandmate and I were five shows deep into a ten-show tour, and were suddenly faced with a huge task: play a set of (relatively complex) pop music for an audience of about 1,000 people in an expressive and engaging fashion, all while being short one musician.

So how did My World and Bass World pull it off?

First of all, I was lucky. The Ableton project folder I had saved to my brand new, purchased-on-credit solid-state laptop**** happened to include the Ableton session I had used months before for a couple of impromptu two-person shows. The day after we fired our rogue drummer, I fired up said session in the minivan and promptly began adding any bells and whistles I believed we were missing in his absence. This consisted mostly of drums tracks and one-hits that I had to mildly adjust: some pocket issues here, some EQ issues there. I made a decision to add a bitcrusher effect to any drum tracks that felt too “acoustic” to play on the house speakers. For those who don’t already know, a bitcrusher is a rudimentary distortion that digitally alters resolution. It adds a bit of a prickly sound to sounds that don’t have much prickle. Too much bitcrusher and things can easily get chaotic, but the right amount and things sound more interesting. Put another way: drum tracks that sounded too angelic were transformed into a sample that sounds something like the lo-fi quality of Sleigh Bells or Crystal Castles. (Side note: I still haven’t decided if I am still a Crystal Castles fan after member Alice Glass’ public statement about her prior bandmate’s extremely abusive behavior toward her. Considering Crystal Castles is the work of both of them, is it more supportive to engage with her work, or to denounce his?)

After this brief editing, my bass player/backing vocalist (who herself is a talented producer and songwriter) and I rehearsed in our minivan while our photographer/tour manager drove us to our next show. Our rehearsal was my laptop, my Push, and us singing and playing air guitar and bass.

Our first show without a drummer I told the audience to “take care of each other.” Our second one I told the audience “we used to have a drummer but they had to be sent home.”

I was under the impression that something was wrong. But, as it turned out, I was the only person on the tour that had that impression. Myself, along with my team, had communicated with the tour team about what had happened, and we were scooted off with nothing but blessings and anecdotes from similarly sad experiences. For the remainder of our short but sweet tour, new fans poured their hearts out to us, took photos, purchased autographed posters and t-shirts, all without so much as a mention of the absence of a live drummer.

So what was at play when I pressed play each and every remaining night on that tour?

First: and foremost: songwriting. Before this tour I’d spent years working on singing styles, lyrics and character perspective concepts that (finally) seemed relevant and original to a wider audience.

Second: our live setup was simple, but it was also capable and flexible. I’d never anticipated needing to let a core player go in the middle of a tour, but I could when I needed to. My remaining bandmate and I were at a slight advantage because we had played a two-person set before (albeit to a much smaller and drunker audience), Also the fact that we were the first of three acts meant that it was totally okay that our setup was simpler than the other bands’. But, we were also open to the objective criticism of what we would be missing without a live drummer, namely dynamics and the energy of another person on stage with us. So we made up for that with some lightweight native plugins and mad stage presence. We had so much stage all to ourselves now! So we used every square inch of it to keep energy high.

We did not see any decrease in merch sales or new fans. We did not need to field any questions about the absence of a drummer. Anyone who spoke to us about our music was excited and wanted to know when they could come to support us again. Most surprisingly, myself and everyone on my team took it in stride. The weight of sexual harassment among our personnel had been dealt with swiftly and strictly. We had exercised morals we lived by, and now we had shows to play.

So. What’s my point?

Sexual harassment is never tolerated, even when the harasser’s role is theoretically indispensable. Make the most of what you already know. And most importantly, be prepared for anything. A good attitude will keep you going.

*Music Directing is the design of artists’ live setups and is a profession unto itself. I will be sure to devote a whole blog post to this topic soon.

**In the past I have played with having my own vocal rig. At one point I ran my vocals through Ableton Live because I anticipated the possibility of wanting to play with effects and looping in real-time without having to purchase expensive pedals. At another point, I invested in the TC Helicon VoiceLive Touch which afforded me amazing on-stage effects. However its signal flow also provided a great deal of noise and confusion, usually from front-of-house people. Ultimately it didn’t do the job I wanted, so I sold it.

***Again, this story will eventually be a blog post unto itself.

****If you are going to use a computer on stage (especially one that you interact with while you are performing), it needs to be a solid-state drive laptop. Traditional spinning drives can skip when they feel vibrations from drums, stage monitors, your own body accidentally knocking your computer over. And you don’t want that!

Sign SoundGirls Open Letter to the Professional Audio Community & Music to Address Sexual Harassment

Find Information on Sexual Harassment in the Music Industry

I Am A Puzzle

When I was 17 and an intern at Interscope Records in New York City, my boss, head of radio promotions, said to me, “Don’t get into this business. The music business is a terrible business.”

I can handle it. I thought to myself. I looked at the photos on the shelf next to her desk. “Haha, yeah, it seems pretty crazy. Hey is that you and Eminem?”

“We’ve been together since the beginning. He is a true artist.”

I sort of listened. And I sort of knew what she meant. Mostly I was thinking about how badly I wanted to prove, mostly to myself, that I could handle it.

When I was 11, I learned to play finger style blues guitar from the guitar teacher and music store owner in my town. He is now one of my closest friends, but at the time we barely knew each other (also I was 11, and he was a man who owned a music store so…yeah). One fall day he hosted an open mic at our community center. We never had stuff like that going on in town, so I didn’t even know what an open mic was. He encouraged me to perform, and I ended up playing “Foolish Games” and “Save Your Soul” by Jewel, and an old swing number called “Believe.” I was so nervous I was shaking. My dad filmed the whole thing on our camcorder, which my little brother recorded over a week later when he and his friends wanted to document their backyard dinosaur-bone excavations.

1991 – me and my older brother Ariel in 1991 in East Chatham, New York

For my 12th birthday, my dad took me to see Ani Difranco headlining the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival in nearby Hillsdale, New York. He bought me a pentagram—I was really into Wicca at the time—and sat on the grass hill with me, surrounded by RV hippies and babies on boobs, and watched Ani give herself to us. Her body was a channel, and her voice and guitar were the message. She hit the strings so hard that the buzzing and the sliding out of tune became part of her songs. She roared her lyrics like a lion, completely free of all fear. It felt like the first time she’d ever been in this moment, and simultaneously like she’d always been in this moment. She was her, and she was us. And yet she was beyond herself and us. I don’t know how or why, but I wanted to do that, and I felt like maybe I could. So I decided to try.

A few days later I performed a song I’d written for my dad and grandparents. It was called “I Am A Puzzle, ” and the guitar part was inspired by Ani’s playing. The lyrics were:

   I am a puzzle

   I am hard to complete

   it’s hard to find the whole thing

   and then put it all together

   but I have a missing piece

   I have a part of me missing

   if you have a puzzle

   and you wanna see

   the whole damn thing

   you’re gonna need

   that last piece

I don’t remember exactly how 12 year old me felt at the time. But I do feel like those lyrics, however silly, bore an uncanny resemblance to my life that came later.

There are so many pieces to this puzzle.

I spent my teen years performing songs like “I Am A Puzzle” and “Tears On My Pillow,” and “Crying and Cold”  to farmers, bikers and any friends and parents I could get to come out to whatever Columbia County bar and cafe would let me play. I took great pride in my ability to make bikers cry when I sang the sad songs.

2012 – Setting up Ableton for a show in Bushwick, Brooklyn

That summer at Interscope was the only summer since I was 14 that I didn’t have a paying job, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was living off the student loan I’d taken out earlier that year. I mostly stayed at home and worked out acoustic covers of my favorite songs by The Knife.

For my birthday in July, my then-boyfriend gifted me a Focusrite audio interface and a pair of AKG headphones. He’d given me a bootleg version of Logic 9 and was adamant it was going to be my “new favorite thing.” My grandparents gave me an SM58, which I’d asked them for. In my spare time between school and work, I would play in Logic. Over the next year or so my boyfriend and I collaborated quite a bit. But we ran into issues because he didn’t have to work and I did. I would get frustrated that he was making more than me, and he would want me to sing the things that he’d written. But I wanted to write and produce too. Was I territorial and stubborn? Or was I just in a different position than him?

Writing good songs was one piece of the puzzle. Producing was another. And yet another was the balance of work (for money to live) and art. It was becoming painfully obvious that the cards I’d been dealt in that regard were not the most generous.

2017 – Rehearsing with my live band this past summer, Los Angeles, CA

In the years since then, I have experienced all kinds of resentment toward those that have more cushion/support/time/money/etc. But resentment is a heavy thing to carry around, and I decided at some point to stop carrying mine. Perhaps it was when I realized that, even though I’d spent most of my life working on music, I still had many many pieces of the puzzle to find and put together before I was going to have a career.

Ten years later, I wonder where I would be if I’d heeded the advice to stay out of the music business. I have never truly considered another path aside from that of a musician and artist. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the complexity of it all. But mostly I still feel like I want to prove, mostly to myself, that I can handle it.

What I Know Now

As a non-male* songwriter, performer, and producer, I am always grappling with the concept of ability and credibility. In press on artists that I admire and follow, I see unconscious sexism. Figures like Grimes base their entire brand and music around “doing it all” themselves, while powerhouses like Kendrick Lamar call their producer-artist relationships “collaborations” in spite of the fact that Lamar is decidedly unfamiliar with music technology, i.e., while he never touches a computer making a record.

Where is the line? When can non-male take ownership of what they have created? When can a non-male artist become a figure like Kendrick Lamar without being criticized for not doing everything, from writing to engineering to playing to producing to performing? It makes me angry. It makes me feel like I have a lot of teaching and showing to do. In an effort to do that, I have given some thought to what I know that I didn’t know before I was producing. Here are some of the most important things I have learned thus far that I would like to pass on to anyone who is just starting or needs a pick me up.

Your ears have to practice too

When I first started recording and producing myself, I thought that what I was making was sounding pretty good. I was always reading up on engineering and different production techniques. I even went against the wishes of my pride and would show other producers my sessions so they could give me feedback. Since I was aware of how to make something sound pretty good, I thought that I was already doing it. But there is no substitute for time and practice. Your ears will get better at their job the more that you use them. Engage with the sounds and arrangements you are working with. Ask other producers how they are hearing something. Get a perspective. Make decisions. Play. Wear earplugs for loud shows! You will find that your ears get better with practice.

Vocal production is extremely critical.

This point is related to the first one in some ways. I think that when I first started, I was so enamored with my voice just being recorded and effected that I didn’t think about all the ways to produce it even further. Eventually, I will do a whole post about vocal production, but beyond your chain (mic, preamp, compressor, etc.) being as good as your budget can afford, there is the physicality of vocal production as well. You have to ask yourself, what kind of record are we making? What kind of performance are we aiming to capture here from this vocalist? What are they capable of? Now how can I get that to come out of them and into the mic? Are they excited or turned off by the idea of being in a vocal booth?

Once the performance is done, then you get to work comping—the best bits of each take in a composite—though there are exceptions. Beyond the main vocal comp, you can also make use of doubles, harmonies, ad libs to create the perfect vocal for your record. The possibilities are endless. But it’s your job to make the decisions about how to get the best vocal audio into your DAW so you can continue to make it into an incredible record.

Silverlake kitchen studio – one of my many makeshift home studios

The more you make stuff, the more stuff you will make.

This one is pretty self-explanatory. If you haven’t experienced this firsthand, it may seem like an oxymoron. But it’s not. Trust me.

Working in groups can make you better, but isn’t the end all be all.

If you have the opportunity to write with other writers/producers, especially if they are more experienced than you, take it. If you don’t have that opportunity, seek it out. You will learn something, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment. Sometimes co-writing sessions can be tedious. Sometimes they feel like all you are learning is what you don’t like. But that’s very good to know! On the flip side, sometimes you make great new friends that blossom into much bigger relationships.

Co-writes are big in the music business right now. It’s an easy way for publishers, labels, and managers to make their clients feel like they are doing something for them, with minimal commitment and cost. At a certain point, it can start to feel like if you don’t do it a lot, then you’re doing something wrong. But that’s just the status quo that the big businesses created to have more control over their creative people. At the end of the day, YOU are the creator of the music, and it’s up to YOU to figure out how YOU make the best music YOU can make. If that means lots of co-writes and co-productions, then that’s awesome! If that means producing your friend’s bands out of your bedroom studio, alone, then that’s awesome! If that means making beats all day long in your friend’s studio that they let you use, then awesome! Your talent is your business, and you need to constantly be thinking about the things that affect your talent and business.

You are strongly affected by the company you keep.

This statement is made so often I think we have stopped listening. But try listening to yourself say this out loud: You are strongly affected by the company you keep. If you are not genuinely challenged—creatively and professionally and personally—by the people around you, then go somewhere else.

I was surrounded by lifelong friends and some great musicians when I lived in New York City a few years ago. But when I wanted to take my music to the next level, I felt like there was nowhere for me to go. My immediate circle was too comfortable for me to feel like I could take chances, and as a result, I wasn’t meeting new people or trying new things. Eventually, I met ONE professional songwriter, and I decided to move to Los Angeles when they moved out there. I left all of my closest friends and collaborators on the east coast and hoped for the best out west. I almost immediately found myself surrounded by people who were similar to me, but 10, 20, 30 years into their careers. I had found the challenge I had been missing. This new perspective motivated me to try new things and start putting together my skillset in ways I’d never imagined. I also started to take better care of my mind and body, another essential habit to have.

Everything happens for a reason.

No matter where you are on your path, there are always going to be ups and downs. Always. And sometimes your path can feel especially winding and long. But if you keep your heart and your mind open, you will see that everything happens for a reason. Every dumb day job, every bad partnership, every mistake, every ditch you dig for yourself, every delay—there is something to be learned and built upon from each of these, and that is a beautiful thing. You will never stop having ups and downs. Ever. Get used to it. Learn from it. Build on it. See the beauty in it.

Don’t stop doing what got you started in the first place.

Unless you are extremely lucky, are going to be points in your career where you are limited on time and resources. During these times you might find yourself compromising and eliminating things that you maybe shouldn’t. For me, those things were producing and guitar playing.

When I first moved to Los Angeles to pursue music professionally, at some point along the way I stopped producing and playing guitar. Mostly it was because the settings I was in just didn’t call for it. I’d go into a session with a producer and another writer, and I would be the person to write and sing the demo. I had a day job as well, so with everything going on I wasn’t playing or producing much when I got home at night. I felt like maybe I was never really going to be that good anyway, and this negativity toward things I had previously loved made me feel very disconnected from myself. At the same time, I was gaining writing and singing chops. By putting down my guitar and taking a break from the computer, I was definitely opening my mind up to new techniques and genres that I had not previously delved into.

But boy did it feel good to pick them back up again!

Beatz By Girlz – some students in a Beats by Girlz class I subbed last year

I encourage you to find a way to keep in touch with yourself and the things that inspire you, no matter what seems to get in the way.

In conclusion: as my good friend Rob Caldwell always says to his guitar students when they ask him how much they should practice: you get good at what you do.

So let’s go and do it.

*I use the term “non-male” to include anyone that does not identify as male.  Gender is a social construct, and supported by science, and backed up in legal rulings. I believe sexism frequently oppresses people who identify as non-male, especially in tech-oriented industries.

 Gender Laws Are at Odds With Science

What’s the Difference Between Sex and Gender?

Too Queer for Your Binary: Everything You Need to Know and More About Non-Binary Identities

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