It took me years to realize that happiness is something you have to fight for. This is especially true when you’ve forgotten what happiness feels like, and you’ve convinced yourself that the best you can do is to not be terribly UN-happy. So this Monday, I’m devoting my Moonday post to the subject of happiness, as illuminated by the song “Happiness” by Jónsi and Alex (Somers) as Riceboy Sleeps. The reason I chose this song is because the story actually involves Jónsi and Alex themselves. I met them several years ago at a show in Columbus, on a stop during their world tour for Jónsi’s solo album, Go. I had gotten permission to shoot “official” photos for the show, and had spent most of the show dumbstruck by the gorgeousness of their stage setup and the power of their performances. [If you’re familiar with Jónsi’s other band, Sigur Rós, just imagine that horizon-spanning sound with few more moments of boisterous, pop extravagance (lots of feathers and tribal drum fills), as well as a good number of intimate acoustic songs that put the spotlight squarely on Jónsi’s angelic voice and otherworldly presence.] I was lingering in the space after the show when I was invited backstage, by way of a friend who knew Alex though the London music scene. Immediately, I was swallowed up into a world I had come close to several times on a few other occasions (mostly through DJs, musicians, and dancer/artist-types). If you havent experienced it before, the surprising fact is that behind the curtain, many artists—even some of the ones working on highest levels—are brought down squarely to earth. The magic of stagecraft and live performance gives way to another, equally magical energy of everyday life, in the form of conversation, camaraderie, and friendship. What made this moment even more delicious for me was that I wasn’t there as a fanboy or official representative of the media. I was there because of a personal connection, so I was welcomed more like a friend or fellow artist. Jónsi himself was mostly aloof and erratic (as well as hilarious—in stark contrast to his somewhat more serious public image), so we didn’t see too much of him. But Alex and the rest of the band were eager to hang out, sip drinks, and discuss the nature of artistic life. As is often the case when I’ve gotten to hang out with intelligent artists from (or who live in) other countries, there was an urge to delve right in to ideas and culture, and to enjoy the possibility of genuine exchange. Needless to say, I was happy to find myself cocooned in this world, surrounded by these unique artists, each of whom had their own artistic lives independent of the band, but who had decided to come together to make something grand and glorious under someone else’s name. In that, there was no ego or attitude anywhere to be found; there was only humility, curiosity, and a clear devotion to the craft of music. Spending a few hours with these artists (as an audience member or just a cool bloke in a new town), it was impossible not to be impressed by the simplicity and naturalness of it all. The message of it seemed to go straight into my heart, reminding me that it is possible to live and work as an artist, and to do it full-time, without a trace of compromise and a maximum of passion. The usual American undercurrent of anxiety that seems to haunt most artists I know in the US—worries about survival, sales, and so on—was entirely absent. It’s not that these artists were unaware of their success, or the difficulty of getting to here they were, but none of them seemed motivated by the energy that seems to motivate most American artists. For these artists, success was more like a natural, obvious consequence of doing what they had dedicated themselves to doing. Simple as that. The message to me could not have been more clear: “Luna, you can do this, too.” I walked away from the experience swaddled in understanding, and a renewed commitment to continue along the path I had set myself upon, with some trepidation, a year or two before. I would need to remember this moment in order to to set the anxieties of American society aside long enough to let my own voice, and my own art emerge, naturally and organically. Four years later—this year—I found myself back in Columbus, feeling like a total failure. Actually, the correct word is the one used in Spanish, because it conveys a sense of total collapse as well as failure: “fracaso.” I had just spent most of the previous four years traveling and living in an open-ended way, spending weeks or months in various cities (including Columbus) without ever signing a lease or “legally” being anywhere in particular. I had taken a lot of pictures and written a few pieces, so I learned a lot. But in the end, I could not seem to MAKE anything out of it. Eventually, the cracks began to show, and the constant poverty and precarity finally left me a shattered mess. After a few dark weeks on a friends couch in Philadelphia, I decided to make one last snowy drive back to the one place I was sure I would not die: Columbus. Sigh. But I was right. I didn’t die. Unfortunately, I didnt learn how to live again, either. I was in a holding pattern, just barely holding it together. I made one catastrophic attempt to drive to New Orleans in sub-zero weather in a barely functioning car with no heat, but otherwise, I could barely motivate myself out of the house. I somehow kept my nose above water, but little more. As the spring turned to summer, I had barely left Columbus at all. Then, I realized to my shock that I had forgotten what happiness was. No, it was worse than that: I couldn’t even ENVISION what happiness was. Ouch. That brings us to this week, as I’ve received a further shock that has rattled me to my core once more. The difference is, this time, I’m ready for it. I’ve spent the summer preparing for this moment, slowly teaching myself the language of happiness and love again. It’s been hard work, but the rewards have been obvious. So when the blow arrived, I was ready to receive it without panic. Instead of unleashing a wave of anguish in me, it felt more like I had been released into a world where I could finally embrace happiness, perhaps for the first time. At long last, I’ve begun to understand what it means to be in love with life, and the path Ive chosen. Its therefore no surprise that I went right back to the moment I had with Alex, Jónsi and the rest of the band in the back of a tour bus, glowing in the happiness of a great show followed by a few hours of soaking up the energies of these committed, loving artists. I remembered wondering even then if I’d ever truly be able to “join” them in living as they do, as working artists simply doing what they do (and little else), instead of living in perpetual worry of poverty and failure to find my way. I wonder no longer. Happiness has arrived.
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 05:25:15 +0000
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