Hi, I am Riri and I’m a musician.
Do I finally have the courage to say this? Do I finally have the right to say this?
Musicianship has always felt like the Holy Grail of existence to me, like a perfection that must be unachievable by its very definition. I look back at my life and I see years of not being good enough.
Here I am, five years old. I’m holding my mom’s hand as we walk across the street. We’re headed for my daycare. I’m looking up to my mom and tell her: “When I grow up, I’m going to dye my hair blonde”.
She looks back at me, her eyes full of skepticism. “Why would you want to dye your hair blonde? You look beautiful just the way you are, not even mentioning the dye would ruin your hair”.
She doesn’t understand. In my favourite song, “Thank You for the Music”, there is a line where the lead vocalist sings:
“I’ve been so lucky,
I am the girl with golden hair”
In my five-year-old mind that means that getting blonde hair is my only way to come close to being a musician. Cause everyone listens when she starts to sing.
Now, in my mind’s eye, I am thirteen. I’m in the kitchen at my parents’ apartment, facing the sink. I have to wash the dishes after our family lunch. I have my iPod in my pocket, the first thing I purchased with my own money. If my dad knew I’m listening to Avril Lavigne he’d probably say I’m using the iPod all wrong.
I turn my head and glance at the opposite wall of the kitchen. In the middle, right above the couch, there’s a big, A2-sized poster of Avril Lavigne. My dad didn’t want me to hang it up, but I’m thirteen, he can’t defy me.
As I wash the dishes, Avril is watching me from behind. In the poster, she is wearing a big black ruffled skirt. She looks like a rock queen to me.
A thought crosses my mind for the hundredth time: I bet she always knew she was born to make music. Those who get to do it must know from the very beginning.
As a sing along to the songs on my iPod, my dad strolls into the kitchen and tells me I should stop bothering everyone with my wailing. I love music way too much.
I am twenty now. Last year I joined a student radio at my university. It’s basically a blog where a group of enthusiasts post playlists and think-pieces about all kinds of music. I’m walking down one of my favourite streets in Moscow with two guys who are both members of the radio’s team. Major music nerds, just like myself.
I don’t know it yet, but both are in love with me. As we’re slowly strolling through the spring sunset, I start singing a song.
Both of them look at me and simultaneously say: “You really shouldn’t be singing!” I look at them, dumbfounded. One of them goes on: “You’re really not as good as you think you are”. The other one adds: “You’re never gonna be as good as Pauline”.
I pretend it didn’t hurt me and we keep walking.
I am twenty-five. Tonight it’s another Berlin underground party at one of those secret little clubs. I’ve recently gotten to know my favourite songwriter and he’s been playing mind games with me ever since. It’s been heartbreaking, hopeful and hopeless. He’s not here tonight but he is a big deal in the local music community. He’s there even if he isn’t.
Just as I’m about to leave, someone calls out to me: “Aren’t you the girl that D. is hanging out with?”
Oh, I am, if only to my detriment. I look back at the guy who asked and yell against the music, with all the scorn I can muster: “Definitely not!”
On my way home I keep thinking: am I the girl that D. is hanging out with? Am I JUST the girl that D. is hanging out with?!
Do I have any place to be known for more than that?
That is the night that I swear to myself: even if I wasn’t born for this like Avril Lavigne was, I’m gonna give music a try.
And here I am today. I have just released my first song cover on YouTube last week - here it is, by the way. I had a surreal feeling on the release day: it seemed like I’m finally real. I finally exist.
I thought this would change everything. I thought I would wake up the next day, knowing that I can make music, that I’m justified in thinking I deserve to make music.
And then it was time to start my second cover song. I opened Ableton and looked at the empty tracks I would have to fill. I’ve done it before, just a couple of weeks ago, in fact, there is nothing left to fear. Shouldn’t I feel excited about this new cover blooming into existence?
And yet, more than anything, I’m scared. The fear is still there. Am I a real musician if my hair isn’t blonde? Am I a real musician if I don’t have a beautiful black ruffled skirt? If I wasn’t sure from the get-go that I was meant to do it? Am I a real musician if two guys told me to knock it off 12 years ago? Am I a real musician or just a girl who briefly hung out with D.?
I don’t know. All I know is the DAW session for my second cover is slowly filling up. I’m curious what’s on the other side of it.
What you feel about music is not fear. I would rather call it a genuine thrill. People always treat with special kind of thrill what they really adore and care about. I’m sure, that this is a very positive felling, because it helps to ensure that everything you create conforms to the highest canons.
fck em you are a musician!!