I worked at an Advertising Agency on and off for 8 years. My boss and I would spend hours and hours focused on the issue of H.R. It was our Holy Grail. (It wasn’t part of my official job description, but it was an area that fascinated me, so I’d try to sneak into his meetings all the time. He always valued my input, because I’m judgmental and paranoid.)

We were hiring Salespeople, and the talent and skill combination we needed was essentially Acting Plus Specialized Technical Knowledge. It was the most difficult combination to find in people.

As a result, the sales department was a core of two or three immensely talented and self-managing people, and a revolving door of newbies that just didn’t have the gift. The best salesmen would spend their valuable sales time trying to fix the salesmen who were broken. It would infect the entire company.

Even the graphic artist and secretaries would be distracted by this problem. We’d have company meetings, analyze everyone, tell them to read books, try to figure out why they couldn’t do it. We’d make up rules, give them quotas, try and counsel them. No amount of micromanagement and training ever helped.

The squeaky wheel was getting too much grease.

Jim Collins has this concept called First Who, Then What — better known as “Getting The Right People On The Bus.” Since reading his book in 2001, I have followed this principle and it’s always worked like magic. 

The problem is that it can take a long time.

How long should you hold out? As long as you can. Having just one of these gifted, self-managing people will make up for the time and energy you would have wasted on the other fifty.

When you’re looking for The Right Person (whether it’s an employee, band member, co-writer, creative partner, or mate), you can try to quantify and measure it, but the truth is:

You will know it when you see it.

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I don’t talk about this often, but this is part of the reason I stopped playing an instrument.

Watch that above video about Levaquin, starting at 4:26. (And check out that mighty obelisk while you’re at it.)

Levaquin is an antibiotic that caused me massive pain in my hands back in — was it early 2002? I took one pill, looked up the side-effects, and unsuccessfully tried to puke it back up. What this woman describes is what happened to me on a small scale.

I had to wear braces on my wrists and could barely lift my arms for weeks. I lost the nuanced control of my hands, and to this day, I have not gotten it back. I still get sharp pains in my arms if I play guitar for more than a few minutes. They actually hurt right now, just thinking about it.

The pain was mysterious. I tried many types of doctors back then (even going to a witch doctor who burned a stick and chanted at my hands). I finally went to a good chiropractor / holistic doctor and his techniques seemed to help relieve the pain so I could work again. There never was a satisfactory conclusion about what happened to me, but I’ve always suspected it was the Levaquin.

A few years later, I went against my better judgment and took another Quinolone for an infection. I protested, but the doctor mocked me and assured me I would be fine. What came out of me for the next week was a toxic chemical that was incredibly unpleasant. My digestive system has not been the same since. There are not many things I can eat without getting sick. I am still paying hundreds of dollars a month for a hospital stay last year.

It doesn’t ruin my life. I just choose to live with it. I change my lifestyle and go on. Plenty of people experience worse. I don’t think I have enough evidence for legal action, but I can at least warn others.

So here it is: Quinolones are bad. I’d happily trade in the side-effects for those original infections, which would have been long gone by now.

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People love to argue about Capitalism and Socialism as if they’re sports teams. It’s tribal mentality that over-simplifies and encourages chanting. Everyone on the other side of the line is evil, and we must destroy them.

Capitalism: The Government says, “OK, People. Here’s the Money. We’ll entertain the idea that you won’t screw it up. ”

Socialism: The People say, “OK, Government. Here’s the Money. We’ll entertain the idea that you won’t screw it up.”

Unfortunately, both teams screw it up.

I see the concepts of Collectivism and Individualism as valid techniques to be applied to different situations on different scales. Sometimes one guy should do the job, and sometimes we need group input. Somewhere between the extremes, there’s usually a holistic, realistic approach for achieving goals.

For my own creative career, I’m a believer in what I call Lemonade Stand Capitalism.

While $2 is better than $1… as you scale it, making the pile infinitely bigger is not inherently the best goal. I choose to keep it small and sell the best lemonade possible. Leave me alone, and I’ll figure it out. I won’t piss in it. I take my lemonade craft personally.

I agree that private enterprises are typically run more efficiently than government institutions. It’s because The Post Office can’t go out of business if they suck — the government will keep paying old women to fall asleep on piles of phone books in the back room. There’s nothing at stake. Let people stand in line all day long outside the DMV. If they’re unhappy, it’s not like they can find a better deal down the street.

A monopoly is a monopoly, regardless of how it happened. Lack of competition tends to lower the value of goods and services. But so does competition itself. Two companies will fight to create the cheapest, most toxic, malfunctioning bags of shit and call it Fast Food.

Team Public or Team Private… Who cares? It doesn’t change the fact that whoever has the money and power needs to take their jobs personally.

When we focus too much on making $1 turn into $2, we depersonalize the work, ignore the big picture / long-term consequences, and do stupid things.

So whether it’s a politician invading a foreign country without Congressional Declaration of War, a doctor prescribing Quinolones and SSRIs without having studied bio-chemistry, or a business executive dumping almost 100 million gallons of oil into the water, some actions affect too many people to let one madman call the shots.

On the other hand, have you been a diligent CEO in your own universe? Do you agree that your own personal disasters could have been averted if you had exercised a greater degree of concern for your safety?

If everyone, everywhere made better decisions, we wouldn’t need these reversible mascot suits for good and evil, and we could focus on higher-level problems.

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A Session Musician is a Musical Soldier. It takes serious physical and mental discipline to prepare yourself for every possible situation in advance. When it’s time to play, you have to be able to blend in instantly, using every tool you have. It’s almost as if you’re invisible as an individual, and you serve the collective (the Artist or whatever music is happening around you at the moment). You don’t want to stand out or attract too much attention — if people are watching you (and if this isn’t your solo), you’re probably doing something wrong. And the maddening thing is, you never know what specific knowledge or experience will be called for in any situation. If you learn a thousand things, maybe only #753 and #4 will be used tonight. Ultimately, it won’t be about you and your original ideas, so learn to shut up. Examples of Session Musicians would be… well, just read the tiny credits on a Jewel album.

An Artist skips all of that and makes a personal statement about the world. It doesn’t matter how many semesters of 17th Century Harmony he took, because he doesn’t need to audition to play his own music. His goal IS to get your attention. Wrong notes and all. People look to Artists for unique viewpoints. You can’t be the same and stand out at the same time, so don’t even try copying someone else and getting anywhere. Tune your guitar however you want, sing in whatever strange voices you want, and say anything you want to anyone you want. It’s encouraged, if not necessary. Just be aware that the stakes are higher — bigger risk, bigger payoff. Some people will love you, others will hate you (and these two things always show up in the same place. It’s how you know it’s working.) The question for Artists is not “How Are You The Same?” It’s “How Are You Different?” It’s for people who can’t stop being themselves (and would you really want them to?). Examples of Artists would be Ani DiFranco, Henry Rollins, Les Claypool, Frank Zappa, Tom Waits.

Sometimes, you can be both at different times (or even at the same time). I’m not saying you’re automatically one or the other from birth. This is just a concept, not a rule. Don’t limit yourself.

But it can solve a lot of problems (and introduce new ones) to figure out which one you’re best at. Flipping the switch the other way might change your life.

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I didn’t have time to write one of my brilliant blog posts this morning.

I was busy getting married to a beautiful Argentinian female named Belén. She does complicated things with computers, is an excellent vegan cook, and actually likes my music.

No kidding.

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In the middle of an article on Marco Minnemann (who has an exclusive MutantMall release coming soon, I swear), Dr. Zoltan Øbelisk and his Mysterious, Complicated, and Impressive music were mentioned. It’s fun to walk into the local bookstore and find something like this. I can’t say it helps me sell records (since I give all my music away for free anyway), but it still makes my day to be in print.

A few copies of the physical edition of this limited-run CD are still available through MutantMall.com.

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I get jealous when I see people praising Derek Sivers.

Not because his ideas are bad, not because he hasn’t worked hard, not because he doesn’t deserve it… but because of the pretense that everything he says is brilliant because he created and sold CDBaby.

But it’s just the way storytelling works. Derek has a Backdrop.

Disclaimer: I’ve hung out with Derek and he’s every bit as smart and weird as the hype says he is. Back in 2000, when my friends and I were in New York City marketing a revolutionary music compression format that didn’t exist, he listed it on CDBaby for millions of dollars.

Well, I haven’t made millions of dollars (yet)… so until then, my ideas will be taken seriously by about 12 teenagers in the Netherlands who like progressive rock.

For those who weren’t around, I spent the first ten years of my original music career being completely ignored by everyone. I did everything I could think of and got nowhere. I learned every skill I could, read every book on the subject, but still heard the following phrase probably every single day:

“You’re a genius, but it’s too bad that the world is too stupid to appreciate what you do.”

I couldn’t take that paradox seriously. What people said about me, good or bad, didn’t matter. I knew that what I was doing wasn’t working. I was trapped in a small retirement town in Florida. I didn’t want to be rich and famous, I just wanted my artistic machine to sustain itself. And it wasn’t. The subtext I couldn’t deny was “Failure.”

At the same time, I was getting the attention of people like Steve Vai, Trey Spruance, and Devin Townsend. My heroes. I was obviously doing something right if they were listening, right? Isn’t that logical? If they like it, shouldn’t everyone else like it, too? What’s wrong here? Why isn’t this working?

I went on, living a mundane life, working stupid jobs and living with my mom, haunted by the boos from audiences, the bad reviews from John Chedsey, and the confusing praise from my heroes.

At some point I figured out that I should get those guys involved with my creative projects.

I felt self-conscious about making that kind of move. Would everyone see through it? Would my heroes think I was just trying to ride their coat tails? I got over it and decided that’s just the way “breaks” work. Someone gives you an endorsement, and off you go. Then you have the honor of living up to it. No problem, right?

It was magic. As soon as their names were attached, people started listening to me. It didn’t matter how small their contribution was. I pulled in fans of each of those named artists and suddenly I was taken seriously, too. I used that energy to get into magazines, signed autographs, and attracted a loyal cult following who bought my weird stuff. I was doing interviews that got printed in languages I couldn’t read, getting fan mail from all over the world every single day, and I made enough money to quit my day job.

That all sounds great, but I immediately wanted to start over and do something else. Once I figured out “the trick” I became bored. It kinda felt like a scam to me. Thinking like a programmer, I knew that as I matured, Sir Millard Mulch was a Y2K bug in my career. I wanted to take everything I had learned and do it the right way. I wanted to move to Los Angeles and recreate myself — as me.

And here I am… a writer, producer, philosopher.

Not a very impressive Backdrop, is it?

In the meantime, watch the above video presentation by Derek Sivers. Particularly from 32:06 to 36:15.

It’s a brilliant idea, regardless of the creative genius who says it.

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In 2000, I went on a tour across the U.S. with a couple of friends. We started in Florida and aimed for California. Before we even got in the van, the war broke out between me and another guy — it was like taking a ranting, homeless drug addict out of a dumpster and trying to tour with him.

Some people just can’t save the performance for the stage.

As we reached New Mexico, I tried to leave him in the desert. Unfortunately, I was out-voted by the driver, who had pity for the lunatic. By the time we returned to Florida, the driver of the van had developed a death wish. I, myself, begged to be left on the side of the road, only three hours from home. It was the worst experience of my life — like being in an asylum on wheels.

Even the best of friends will hate each other after being trapped in a small space together for weeks.

Certainly a creative career is more important than a road trip. So if you had the authority, why would you let just anyone with a skill into your cramped space ship? What if they have Space Herpes?

When you take on a creative partner, your livelihood is wrapped up in theirs. You count on them to be productive, sane, reliable, easy-going, and respectful of personal boundaries. You’re stuck with them every day, sometimes for years — so it can’t be someone who discovers your “make him lose his cool” button and pushes it repeatedly.

You have to buy into all of the quirks and hangups that creative people have — sometimes getting the work done becomes secondary. Will there be power trips? Do you share the same sense of humor? Will your lifestyles clash?

It involves trust and acceptance, like a marriage.

Next time you wonder how that guy who is less qualified than you somehow rolled a Natural 20 on 2d4, “They were roommates in college” might actually be the rational explanation you’re looking for.

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I have a poor short-term memory.

Tell me a phone number and it’s wiped from existence by the time you reach the last digit. Concepts are my life raft in a sea of splashy facts. I don’t remember names, birthdays, or what I was doing ten minutes ago.

Unless I intentionally commit something to memory, chances are, it’s gone. I never even learned the entire multiplication table or the names of the notes on the guitar neck. I don’t even know the names of the streets in my neighborhood where I’ve lived for 2 years, and only last month I found out the name of the city I was born in. When someone asks me details about my life during small-talk, I usually go blank. It takes some mental hunting to remember where I went to college, what my dog’s name is, and much less what I do for a living.

Most of the time, it’s because I don’t care.

(NOTE: I’ve never used drugs. I’ve been this way since I was a kid.)

I daydream like crazy. My internal world is so abstract and philosophical that I’d be a wandering, homeless nut if it weren’t for my ability to micromanage and control my own habits.

I’ve designed strict systems for keeping track of things that matter. For my freelance business, everything goes through Gmail. If I don’t have to respond, it gets Archived and disappears. If it’s not there, it officially doesn’t exist. It’s why I don’t answer my phone. It’s just better for everyone, when the specifics of the discussion (instructions, agreements) are literally literal.

But The Game of Telephone is very real, and it even happens in email. As concise and clear as my writing is, people still see what they want to see. It takes one to know one, and I have no tolerance for people who haven’t overcome memory deficiencies by getting their shit together with all of the available tools.

Of course, I don’t hoard data, either. (The thirteen external hard drives on my desk are all work-related, I swear). I don’t have much interest in old stuff unless it serves a purpose. Sentimentality is for teenagers who are afraid their identities will disappear if they don’t cover their walls with everything they like.

Computers have made it possible to document your entire life in multimedia — and to a narcissist, it’s tempting to live in The Truman Show. What’s the next step, recording yourself looking through the junk, so you can again look back at that later?

If you’re not The Weatherman, obsessive documentation is pointless.

Last year I went through a Myspace account from 2003 and couldn’t believe the stupid stuff I had done and said. I may as well have been reading someone else’s secret repository of petty drama and personal problems. It was as boring and unproductive as watching people on television.

So unless I’m working or attending a seminar, I don’t document. I’d rather be in the moment, experiencing life as it happens. I think people who spend more time aiming their camera than their eyeballs are crazy.

Lesson: forgetting is a gift.

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Here’s a theory.

We all have an internal movie screen. Projected on it are abstract and mystical sensations — something beyond us. It’s like a sensor that only detects the secret, underlying messages in art. It filters out the crisp details, the literal meanings of words, and what we’re left with is a strange and compelling dream viewed by a child-like caveman. Maybe we can never understand the contents of that movie with the conscious, rational, analytical mind.

Is that OK? I think it is.

Plato believed in something called The Theory of Forms. That everything we see in the real world is only a “shadow” of reality — they are only archetypes or abstract representations.

Whether you agree, it’s an idea worth exploring. Instead of claiming one mode of experiencing the world (and yourself) is morally superior, maybe you can learn to switch between them voluntarily. Maybe they are both meant to be used together for a holistic experience.

I’ve found that as I learn the science behind things like music, screenwriting, and cinematography, it’s easy to forget about what’s playing on that internal movie screen. Instead of suspending my disbelief during a film, I see acts, camera angles, and exposition.

The problem is that this can be fascinating, at least at first.

Over time, technique develops into its own language. Is that the language you want to translate all art into for the rest of your life? Maybe disassembling the machine kills it.

Here’s an exercise: when you experience music, try not to listen to the notes, scales, chords, or instruments.

Don’t watch the projector.

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