Everything in its season... When I first burned out trying to record my own music, I was pretty depressed. I had always played in bands, so tackling a recording project as a solo artist was a daunting challenge. I really wanted to write, record, and produce my own albums. I had so many ideas that I thought were good. I thought that there might be an audience for that music somewhere.
In all the bands I had played in, I always felt competent. I was accustomed to believing in myself, my ability, and in my instinct. I then had a couple of failed recording collaborations. For years, I couldn't understand why it was so hard to collaborate with friends in a recording project when we could play together so easily as a band. It was a very painful realization when I finally admitted to myself that the reason was because I was not good enough in their eyes. Sure, they'd put up with me for live shows, but after burning through several hours of recording, they wanted to "go a different way". I really didn't understand. They liked my drum parts. They liked my lyrics. They liked my vocals. The overall perception, however, was that I'm too much of an amateur. For the first time in my life as a musician, I felt inadequate. Since my musician friends didn't believe in me or want to hear my ideas, I tried to go on alone.
I discovered that complete abject failure has a way of dimming some of one's enthusiasm. Gear broke down, schedules changed, the demands of life changed, and my available free time faded away. It was hard, but I finally started to accept the idea that in this season of life, I don't have all of the options and abilities I had in other seasons. As much as I hated to let certain things go, I had to give up on some goals and dreams for now.
Many, many years ago, I took a year long class in a local recording studio to learn the art. The teacher/engineer/owner had a favorite saying he would use at inappropriate times. He called it his "Producer" act. He would stab the talkback button and say, "Dude! It's just not happening!"
As I watched spiders and dust bunnies take over my little basement studio, i could hear his voice in my head. Not this...Not now... For now, during this season of life, I'm focusing my creative energies elsewhere. Maybe I'll return to the studio one day. Maybe I'll upgrade my gear and start over. I just don't know. Maybe later, when there's more time, when I'm better rested, or when the right season comes along, I may try again. I won't have all of the instrumental parts I hear in my head because I don't have the skill on each instrument to play them. I'll attempt to do the best I can with my limited skill and technology, but I know my place now. My audience is much smaller than I once believed it to be. At this point, I believe it is an audience of one. The dream is not gone, but it is far, far more humble.