“I don’t want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.” Francis Costello, The Departed.
Quoting a fictional mobster and mass murderer may seem odd, but I know what he means.
I would hate to be defined by my job. Nothing depresses more than being defined by a career. ‘What do you do?’ Why do people ask that question? It’s the second question after ‘what’s your name?’ Why? Would you respect me more I tell you I’m a lawyer? If I were a banker would you turn your nose up at me? If I were a footballer would you want to be my friend?
It’s bollocks - I’m being slightly facetious - but it’s still bollocks.
I want to be defined by what I created. What I did with my life. I want to tell a story about who I am, what I believe and what the world needs to know about me. I want to be a hero. I want to be like my heroes. To inspire and be inspired.
Or as this man says
“To learn how to love and to be loved.” Conor Oberst
But how?
There’s a few ways. You can be like Mozart. A genius. A god-given child genius who plucked music out of the air like snowflakes. For whom inspiration was like water – free, easy and on tap. If you like music, you like Mozart. I don’t care who you are. The melodies are as incredible today as they were 400 years ago. Listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QG-oyi5KfWk&feature=player_embedded
When I first heard that piece I was in shock. I didn’t know music could be that good.
Genius exists. It’s to be treasured but never replicated. Not even by the possessor of that genius. People have moments of genius – but that doesn’t make them a genius. Bob Dylan wrote songs in the 60s that he couldn’t write now. Why? Because that inspirational creative tension that feeds your material doesn’t last forever. Age wins eventually. But when it’s there take advantage of it.
Cinderella, she seems so easy
“It takes one to know one,” she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning
“You Belong to Me I Believe”
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend
You better leave”
And the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row
“It takes one to know one,” she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning
“You Belong to Me I Believe”
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend
You better leave”
And the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row
Bob Dylan, Desolation Row.
Gold.
Then there’s the story-tellers. Like Paul Simon.
He sets the scene:
The Mississippi delta is shining like a national guitar (Graceland)
He tells jokes:
My father was a fisherman, my mother was a fisherman’s friend (Duncan)
He creates characters like the unnamed protagonist in One Trick Pony:
He makes it look so easy
He looks so clean
He moves like god's
Immaculate machine
He makes me think about
All of these extra movements I make…
He looks so clean
He moves like god's
Immaculate machine
He makes me think about
All of these extra movements I make…
And he fills us with evocative settings and the endings we crave:
A man walks down the street
It's a street in a strange world
Maybe it's the third world
Maybe it's his first time around
Doesn't speak the language
He holds no currency
He is a foreign man
He is surrounded by the
Sound, sound
Cattle in the marketplace
Scatterlings and orphanages
He looks around, around
He sees angels in the architecture
Spinning in infinity
He says Amen! and Hallelujah!
It's a street in a strange world
Maybe it's the third world
Maybe it's his first time around
Doesn't speak the language
He holds no currency
He is a foreign man
He is surrounded by the
Sound, sound
Cattle in the marketplace
Scatterlings and orphanages
He looks around, around
He sees angels in the architecture
Spinning in infinity
He says Amen! and Hallelujah!
You can call me Al
Magic. Reading those lyrics back now, I can remember where I was when I listened to Graceland for the first time. Nowhere special, at home, driving around during uni holidays. But I can remember what I was reading, what I was feeling at the time, and where I wanted to be. True inspiration.
But there’s more to life than lyrics, than stories.
There’s everyday, grit and determination. There’s the inspirational leadership qualities that this week’s passing Major Dick Winters (Band of Brothers fans out there will know what I’m referring to) got me thinking about.
This man remains the best source of inspiration for digging deep inside yourself and succeeding. I use this man as an inspiration every single day.
This man is Roy Keane. An ex-footballer he may be but that isn’t important. Forget the partisanship of club football and think about this: I watched this man put his heart and soul on the line every single week for his team. For his team-mates. He was a winner. He was a brilliant player but more than that – if you had Roy Keane on your team you would be confident of winning. And that makes him an inspiration. I look at how he achieved that. Talent of course is vital. But his desire, his determination to never give up a lost cause, to lead by example and – most importantly, to put his neck on the line, made him what he was.
Nelson Mandela told Sir Ian Botham never to underestimate the positive effect sport can have on whole societies.. Sport brings people together and brings the best out of those involved. And he’s right. The heroic qualities that Roy Keane possessed in abundance transcend sport. Because there is no doubt that if Roy Keane was pitching on behalf of your ad agency you’d win that business (as long as he didn’t attempt to break the client’s leg if during feedback). Or if you needed a man in the trenches, he’d be the first one to volunteer. That’s inspirational.
But what inspires me changes with time. I don’t apologise for that. It’s my right as a living, sentient being to be as fickle as I damn well please. My mood changes daily (hourly if you ask those that work with me). One day I want to escape from my life and I’ll convince myself I should be somewhere else. I’ll blast Bruce into my eardrums and scream inside:
“Tramps like us, baby we were born to run”.
The next day brings new ideas, new thoughts and new longings. Maybe an insatiable desire to watch an old film, to feel melancholic or to revisit old emotions. I could watch this scene from Magnolia all day.
Music in films get it right and you can’t go wrong. I can only apologise for the crappy link. Watch the film itself.
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An inspirational story as old as time, told as well as ever.
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The power of this clip does not fade with time.
When winter’s coming I put Elliott Smith on the iPod and plod to work in rain. It’s an annual ritual and I remain as moved by the intimacy of his music now as I was when I first heard his masterpiece album, XO.
It’s a picture perfect evening and I’m staring down the sun
Fully loaded deaf and dumb and done
Waiting for sedation to disconnect my head
Or any situation where I’m better off than dead.
Sweet Adeline, Elliott Smith
I could go on. Murakami’s novels, the prolific nature of Shakespeare’s works, the stories of everyday heroes told and untold – inspiration is everywhere and its contributors are too numerous to be named and referenced here.
But to be inspired and to create are – though linked – different. I could watch the Sopranos all day. But I couldn’t write all day. I couldn’t play the piano all day. Those moments come every once in a while, triggered by someone else’s heroism.
And that’s what inspires me. The chance to create, not just sit back and watch. To take in what I see and add my own tuppence to the debate. To do it my way - through music, words or simply my everyday actions and relationships.
One day I want to be Ian Brown, the next I want to write like Aaron Sorkin. But whether or not either happens, the chance to define who I am by what I do, is inspiration enough. For now.
You can find link to original article and more here:
http://youngcreativecouncil.wordpress.com/
