I'll first talk about the points I admire in more detail before moving on to part 2.
For starters, it's refreshing to hear a composer discuss their craft in such depth. It reminds me of behind-the-scenes footage or liner notes—things you rarely see anymore.
I think young college students should read this series because it lays out principles essential for success in any creative endeavor. It’s the kind of advice I wish I had when I was in college. If I were ever in a teaching position, I’d encourage my students to check it out.
Right from the first few lines, it’s clear that you were eager to take on the opportunity without hesitation. That kind of immediate willingness resonates with me.
When I was in college, trying to break into the music industry, I made a name for myself by being a "yes-man"—taking on any opportunity I could. If the audio teacher needed a pianist for a recording demo, I was there. If someone needed help carrying drums upstairs, I showed up. No job was too small (folding chairs for the local orchestra? No problem). While “yes-man” can have a negative connotation, I mean it here in the sense of becoming a dependable professional, regardless of the task.
I also really liked how you stated outright that creativity is a work-in-progress. Despite being a professional, you reject the romanticized notion of sudden Eureka! moments where ideas arrive fully formed:
"I just don’t buy it. Maybe it’s a thing for others (good for you if so), but I cannot think of a single idea or meaningful piece of work I have ever created which has been practically fully-formed in a single, almost-instantaneous burst of creative ingenuity. I think I would be suspicious of it, even if it happened."
That reminds me of something Roger Eno once posted on Instagram (paraphrasing): “Sometimes composing is like fishing. You go out prepared to catch something, hoping to fill your buckets, but some days, nothing bites. That shouldn’t stop you from going back out again—it’s just part of the process.”
If every time I sat at the piano, I completed a piece from start to finish, there would be no chase, no discovery. Some days, I play and everything clicks; other days, not so much. That’s just the nature of being a musician.
Expanding on your critique of the self-help industry:
“I’m sorry to say, despite some benefits, the Creativity Self-Help industry also has plenty to answer for. Anything which might be titled along the lines of 57 Ways To Become A More Successfully Creative Version Of Yourself or How To Unlock Your Own Eureka! Moment is unlikely to find a warm welcome on my bookshelf.”
It reminds me of something podcaster Chris Williamson once said (again, paraphrasing): "You keep reading self-help books to improve at something, but instead of actually doing the thing, you just keep reading more books about how to do the thing—until you’re avoiding the thing itself." (I re-read that and it sounds totally different from how he phrased it, but you get the idea.)
This hits home for me. I have a friend who constantly takes golf lessons, hires coaches, rents out simulators, and analyzes every aspect of his swing. Yet in the past few years, I’ve only actually played a round of golf with him maybe five times. It’s easy to fall into this trap—I’ve done it with piano. At some point, you have to stop over-analyzing and just do the thing.
That’s something I’m pushing myself to do more this year. (In fact, I reached out to Garreth, and he suggested I take a Royal Conservatory piano exam. I’m signed up for May—no idea where to begin, but at least I have a deadline now.) If someone had told me in college to stop fixating on theories and just make music, it would’ve saved me a lot of time.
Lastly, here are a few quotes that stood out:
“Before approaching anything remotely musical, I knew I needed to spend a good amount of time familiarising myself with Mary’s work and her approach. In the same way in which her artworks are so immersive and all-encompassing—especially a huge wall drawing more than double my height titled Prophet, which I would go on to base my whole piece around—I knew I needed to spend time becoming particularly au fait with the work, so as to give myself the best possible chance of representing it faithfully and respectfully in my musical response.”
“The majority of this activity, alongside a healthy dose of website-reading, internet-researching and Instagram-scrolling, took place before I had played a note.”
“Simply put, it required me to try to understand as best I could both the meaning and the process, before attempting to respond to it musically.”
“It was in this extensive exploration that I was able to find and take the required inspiration from Mary and her work, and at that point, whilst I perhaps didn’t know where exactly to begin, I knew I now felt able to.”
In my own efforts to re-establish myself as a "yes-man" in the music industry—not just in piano, but across the board—my dad recently asked me to start running live sound for his band and his friends' bands. It’s been years since I’ve touched a mixing board, let alone run live sound or worked with a DAW. With my dad aging and his band picking up more gigs, he asked if I’d be interested in covering some of his shifts. Without hesitation, I accepted.
That meant weeks of research—studying setlists, relearning mixing boards (main mix, monitor mixes, pre/post-fader settings, even little things like proper XLR cable wrapping), and getting familiar with QSC on my iPad. I had no idea if I’d sink or swim, but I committed anyway. I just ran my first solo live sound gig, and despite a few technical hiccups, we pulled it off. The sound was great, and the only feedback we got was positive (We got actual audio feedback too, that was one of the technical hiccups we solved).
Sometimes, taking on something you're unsure of is the push you need to break barriers. Accepting a challenge—even when you don’t know the outcome—forces you to be brave. What amazes me is that all this insight comes before you've even played a note—proof that success in music, or any creative field, begins long before the first sound is made.
"Anything which might be titled along the lines of 57 Ways To Become A More Successfully Creative Version Of Yourself or How To Unlock Your Own Eureka! Moment is unlikely to find a warm welcome on my bookshelf." I always think of a quote I heard along the lines of "No millionaire ever read a book titled 'How to Become a Millionaire.'" Granted, these books may serve as some starting point for understanding a certain subject, but I always learned the most when I would simply just do the thing. Go about something, make a mess of mistakes, and work to clean them up. I hope to get more of "Doing the thing" done this year when it comes to piano instead of trying to figure out the most-effective science-based approach to practice.
Heartily agree with this, Chris. There's definitely things to learn from them, especially as you say in terms of starting points, but the refinement process is so important, alongside learning more about yourself within the creative process.
A lot of my frustration with those types of publications stems from the way they can often (although not all) treat it as a continuum which has a beginning and an end, and I think it's not always helpful or realistic to think of it like that.
I'll first talk about the points I admire in more detail before moving on to part 2.
For starters, it's refreshing to hear a composer discuss their craft in such depth. It reminds me of behind-the-scenes footage or liner notes—things you rarely see anymore.
I think young college students should read this series because it lays out principles essential for success in any creative endeavor. It’s the kind of advice I wish I had when I was in college. If I were ever in a teaching position, I’d encourage my students to check it out.
Right from the first few lines, it’s clear that you were eager to take on the opportunity without hesitation. That kind of immediate willingness resonates with me.
When I was in college, trying to break into the music industry, I made a name for myself by being a "yes-man"—taking on any opportunity I could. If the audio teacher needed a pianist for a recording demo, I was there. If someone needed help carrying drums upstairs, I showed up. No job was too small (folding chairs for the local orchestra? No problem). While “yes-man” can have a negative connotation, I mean it here in the sense of becoming a dependable professional, regardless of the task.
I also really liked how you stated outright that creativity is a work-in-progress. Despite being a professional, you reject the romanticized notion of sudden Eureka! moments where ideas arrive fully formed:
"I just don’t buy it. Maybe it’s a thing for others (good for you if so), but I cannot think of a single idea or meaningful piece of work I have ever created which has been practically fully-formed in a single, almost-instantaneous burst of creative ingenuity. I think I would be suspicious of it, even if it happened."
That reminds me of something Roger Eno once posted on Instagram (paraphrasing): “Sometimes composing is like fishing. You go out prepared to catch something, hoping to fill your buckets, but some days, nothing bites. That shouldn’t stop you from going back out again—it’s just part of the process.”
If every time I sat at the piano, I completed a piece from start to finish, there would be no chase, no discovery. Some days, I play and everything clicks; other days, not so much. That’s just the nature of being a musician.
Expanding on your critique of the self-help industry:
“I’m sorry to say, despite some benefits, the Creativity Self-Help industry also has plenty to answer for. Anything which might be titled along the lines of 57 Ways To Become A More Successfully Creative Version Of Yourself or How To Unlock Your Own Eureka! Moment is unlikely to find a warm welcome on my bookshelf.”
It reminds me of something podcaster Chris Williamson once said (again, paraphrasing): "You keep reading self-help books to improve at something, but instead of actually doing the thing, you just keep reading more books about how to do the thing—until you’re avoiding the thing itself." (I re-read that and it sounds totally different from how he phrased it, but you get the idea.)
This hits home for me. I have a friend who constantly takes golf lessons, hires coaches, rents out simulators, and analyzes every aspect of his swing. Yet in the past few years, I’ve only actually played a round of golf with him maybe five times. It’s easy to fall into this trap—I’ve done it with piano. At some point, you have to stop over-analyzing and just do the thing.
That’s something I’m pushing myself to do more this year. (In fact, I reached out to Garreth, and he suggested I take a Royal Conservatory piano exam. I’m signed up for May—no idea where to begin, but at least I have a deadline now.) If someone had told me in college to stop fixating on theories and just make music, it would’ve saved me a lot of time.
Lastly, here are a few quotes that stood out:
“Before approaching anything remotely musical, I knew I needed to spend a good amount of time familiarising myself with Mary’s work and her approach. In the same way in which her artworks are so immersive and all-encompassing—especially a huge wall drawing more than double my height titled Prophet, which I would go on to base my whole piece around—I knew I needed to spend time becoming particularly au fait with the work, so as to give myself the best possible chance of representing it faithfully and respectfully in my musical response.”
“The majority of this activity, alongside a healthy dose of website-reading, internet-researching and Instagram-scrolling, took place before I had played a note.”
“Simply put, it required me to try to understand as best I could both the meaning and the process, before attempting to respond to it musically.”
“It was in this extensive exploration that I was able to find and take the required inspiration from Mary and her work, and at that point, whilst I perhaps didn’t know where exactly to begin, I knew I now felt able to.”
In my own efforts to re-establish myself as a "yes-man" in the music industry—not just in piano, but across the board—my dad recently asked me to start running live sound for his band and his friends' bands. It’s been years since I’ve touched a mixing board, let alone run live sound or worked with a DAW. With my dad aging and his band picking up more gigs, he asked if I’d be interested in covering some of his shifts. Without hesitation, I accepted.
That meant weeks of research—studying setlists, relearning mixing boards (main mix, monitor mixes, pre/post-fader settings, even little things like proper XLR cable wrapping), and getting familiar with QSC on my iPad. I had no idea if I’d sink or swim, but I committed anyway. I just ran my first solo live sound gig, and despite a few technical hiccups, we pulled it off. The sound was great, and the only feedback we got was positive (We got actual audio feedback too, that was one of the technical hiccups we solved).
Sometimes, taking on something you're unsure of is the push you need to break barriers. Accepting a challenge—even when you don’t know the outcome—forces you to be brave. What amazes me is that all this insight comes before you've even played a note—proof that success in music, or any creative field, begins long before the first sound is made.
So much good stuff here, Chris, thank you!
Going to take me a while to address it all. Thank you ❤️
"Anything which might be titled along the lines of 57 Ways To Become A More Successfully Creative Version Of Yourself or How To Unlock Your Own Eureka! Moment is unlikely to find a warm welcome on my bookshelf." I always think of a quote I heard along the lines of "No millionaire ever read a book titled 'How to Become a Millionaire.'" Granted, these books may serve as some starting point for understanding a certain subject, but I always learned the most when I would simply just do the thing. Go about something, make a mess of mistakes, and work to clean them up. I hope to get more of "Doing the thing" done this year when it comes to piano instead of trying to figure out the most-effective science-based approach to practice.
Heartily agree with this, Chris. There's definitely things to learn from them, especially as you say in terms of starting points, but the refinement process is so important, alongside learning more about yourself within the creative process.
A lot of my frustration with those types of publications stems from the way they can often (although not all) treat it as a continuum which has a beginning and an end, and I think it's not always helpful or realistic to think of it like that.
Here's to Doing The Thing!