
Welp, Aerosmith called it quits. Can't say I was ever a huge fan of the band, although Dream On is probably one song I'd begrudgingly call a banger with its classically epic slow-build that could somehow secure a solid spot on 70s radio. Still, that's a lot of years of honkin' on bobo and at least they can ride off into the sunset on the backs of six-figure royalties every time Dude plays in a tire shop.
I'm sure it wasn't easy, though. Leaving a band has all the emotional cycling of any other long term relationship, and for every Aerosmith, there are a thousand other former singers, drummers, guitarists who now make humble livings as family dentists, construction workers, office minions and stay-at-home-dads with stickered-up guitars in the attic.
In the wake of my own After, I remember long, wide-open weekends in the peculiar zen of mowing the grass. I remember weirdly quiet nights and the first time I could afford to shop at Trader Joe's regularly. It was, in a way, freeing. But in the first year or two of post-band life, everything seemed like cosplay. A different game with rules I had to learn quickly.
I left my band nearly twenty years ago, and in that time a dozen vibe shifts have come and gone. New, undecipherable genres have fruited on Gen Z laptops, spewed into the cloud on streaming platforms like industrial-aural sludge. In the age of the all-powerful algorithm, music "marketing" has become even more undecipherable, and "stardom" now seems dependent on three tech dudes stacked in a trenchcoat. A whole different game, indeed. My generational cohort, arguably the one that invented DIY touring, is now the generation who used to be cool. Like all the ones before it, I guess.
But this isn't just about bands, as it is for anyone whose chased something to the ends of the earth at the expense of everything else. To be clear, I considered no one in my band "toxic." No one we worked with was "toxic." The toxicity came from years of chasing something. Putting everything on hold and grinding it out like a crossfitter burpee'ing themselves into rhabdomyolysis. When you leave it all, there's a lot of, well, nothing for awhile. It can be disorienting.
But trust me when I say, there are good times in the After. You just have to know how to take care of yourself, and know that this is but one chapter in the epic novel that is your life. So with that, I give you the wisdom of my own learned experience:
How to detox from a band:
Retire the chase
You've been aiming for a North Star since your first demo. You've engineered your life to always be available. The pull towards what could be will be replaced by something else in time, but it's gone now. And like any retirement, you'll just need some time to get your head straight and figure out the contours of your new life path. Sit with this as long as you need to.
Get comfortable doing nothing
In the Chase, there's always something to do. Songs to write and rehearse. Tours to plan and prepare for. Designs to make and approve. Band diplomacy to navigate. In the After, there's none of that. Sure, you had lots of nothing-time in the van, but it was trapped time you could fill with downloaded movies, books and more sleep. But in the After, life can be something of a vacuum.
Get comfortable thinking about nothing
It's not just the van that goes 80 miles an hour, day after day. After years of the Chase, the mind is like a freight train that takes two miles to stop. You'll start to fill it with other things (hopefully healthy, constructive things), but in the absence of the dopamine/cortisol rollercoaster that is band life, you'll notice a lingering, nagging feeling like there's something you should be doing, but can't quite put a finger on what it is. This is normal.
Get your gut right
Three years ago, I had six polyps removed from the lower recesses of my digestive system. Part of it was hereditary, but I have no doubt that it was accelerated by the years of Waffle House breakfasts, Taco Bell dinners and free drinks in the green room. Put your nothing-time into getting this right. Drink lots of water, eat lots of lentils. Go vegan if you have to. (See also Live to fight another day.)
Get your sleep right
3AM motels and sleeps-til-noon are a thing of the past. If you have to take a job, which you almost certainly will, you'll need to adjust to this new life of waking up at dawn, showering in the same shower, putting on uncomfortable clothes and joining the commuter bloodstream. You will not go gently into this, most likely, so give yourself some grace. We all gotta make a living.
Get your relationships right
That home phone that never answered? Sometimes there's a reason for it. There will be things to fix, connections to be rewired. I'm not gonna lie, this can be one of the toughest detoxes in the list, and it might get worse before it gets better. No matter how close they are to you, some people don't fare well playing second fiddle to The Chase. And it's hard to blame them, so give them some grace as well.
Get your perspective right
I guess this is what they'd call having a gratitude practice. Maybe your band never quite found its audience. Maybe you came home to a mountain of debt and relationships hanging by a thread. But hopefully you can say you gave it your all. You have an album or two that you're proud of. You played some stages you never thought you'd play (a sold-out show at CBGBs with Sparta was one for me). And your music probably changed at least one person's life. Trust me, you did amazing and I'm very proud of you.
Be happy for the new people.
A nineteen-year-old with a drum machine will be the new Brooklyn Vegan darling on their first single and will headline sold-out festivals you've never heard of. They'll have a nice bus, do a collab with Chappell Roan and score an A24 film in the time it took you to make your first album. And you know what, good for them. It's the kids' world now. Listen to their shit, connect the cosmic thread from yours to theirs and beyond (everything is connected to what came before), and wish them well. Above all, try not to be so j-j-jaded...
Live to fight another day
The New You may no longer have the space for months on the road or weeks in the studio or nights on the phone talking to bloggers. But your creative life doesn't have to end. In fact, it could be just the push you need to turn the corner into your next creative rebirth. Build your own studio, even if it's just a 4-track from Ebay and two garage-sale mics. Get yourself another fresh, unblemished notebook to catch things from the ether that will still come, guaranteed. Live to fight another day. Even if no one is listening.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Subscribe to the newsletter for monthly digests of blog posts, free downloads of music releases and exclusive previews.
What I’m reading: The Art and Science of Ernst Haeckel (Rainer Willman)
What I'm listening to: Lost Session Vol. 1Â (Comsat Angels)
Commentaires