When I was young, I loved Miles. Kind of Blue. Sketches of Spain. Miles Ahead. Bitches Brew. God, I loved that mellow trumpet and those artistic arrangements. Super cool, I thought. Powerful, too.
But some years later, in Irvine, CA, I saw Miles live. He was into his beep-squeak phase. God, I hated that music. To me, it was offensive, not even music.
OK, what does that mean? Does it have something to do with being true to yourself?
I always think that you have to be true to yourself, that you should follow your own lights. Screw everybody else's ideas of what you should do. Follow your own ideas.
OK, great, so far.
But what happens if you are in show business, as Miles was, and you lose your audience?
How important is that? How much attention should the artist pay to his audience? To his bread and butter?
Of course, it is nice if you can be true to yourself and still get rich.
I knew a woman once who was (and still is) a famous mystery writer. Twenty years ago, she was making a million dollars a book. That was real money, back then.
Wait. What am I saying? That is real friggin' money, right now.
Anyway, she said, "I never think about the reader."
What? I don't believe that for a minute. Everything she wrote, she wrote for the reader. Here is a line I remember, because it is one of the worst lines in all fiction:
"Wedges of fear drove themselves into his groin."
Ah, lord, how painful that must've been. Painful to experience and painful to read. Of course, I have no idea what a wedge of fear is, or where it came from, or how it drove itself into his groin. The line was complete BS, I thought.
But do you think that wasn't for the reader? Of course it was. Who was supposed to react to the line? Who was supposed to feel the fear? Who was supposed to get jacked up?
The reader, of course. For Christ's sake.
People create certain myths about themselves. She believed in her own artistic purity. I myself believe that I am 22 years old and play basketball professionally in the winter and volleyball professionally on the beach in the summer.
You see me out there, don't you? Well, I do too. In my mind's eye.
Meanwhile, back to Miles Davis, one of the great jazz musicians of all time, no doubt. I prefer John Coltrane and Charlie Mingus and Rahsaan Roland Kirk, but still Miles is great.
Do you think Miles should have paid more attention to his own artistic tradition than to his new music? Or more attention to my taste than to his new ideas? Or more attention to the rest of his audience? Who should he have listened to? Me? You? Or should he have followed his own lights and told the rest of us to flake off?
If you go too far one way, you sell out and become a hack. If you go too far the other way, you edge over into obscurity. That is what Miles did, I think, with that beep-squeak music.
As Napoleon Bonaparte said, "Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever."
My answer is that you have to find a way to stay in touch with your audience. After all, the work doesn't come to life if it's totally obscure, if the novel sits in a drawer, or if no one listens to the music.
You want to shock 'em, but not run them away. It's one of the problems of being an artist. Find a balance and bring your audience along with you, if you can.
Sometimes you cannot. But you should try. At least, that's what I think.
-- Roger
© Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle
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