i came across this piece by steve albini posted by (fka)twitter user Hitrison, along with their encouragement that anyone doing any kind of creative/artistic work should read it.
i'm inclined to agree. the paragraph that starts with "And getting done is not to be sniffed at." is somehow exactly how i feel about making games. and this guy just wrote the perfect paragraph about it back in... 2010? or something? crazy!
anyway, i typed this all up and nicely formatted under the cut for easy reading:
Newness will only get you so far, but you build up speed and coast for a way, and when that peters out, well... Then you have to get out and push. That's where we are now with this thing, in the middle. Newness all wore off, we're out here in the middle, pushing ourselves along. Someone asked, so I counted, and I've been making records on-and-off for 25 years now. Fuck me running, I never thought I'd say that. That means I've probably been in the middle for a while and just didn't notice it. I tricked myself with periodic novelties, like a new microphone or control room or telephone system or building or intern or accountant or TiVo or Internet porn or poker table or 100 shares of Krispy Kreme. I guess those are artifacts of the middle too, all these no-longer-new things, acquired to maintain the illusion that everything was happening fast and I wasn't out here in the middle, pushing myself along.
But I have respect for the middle. It's where the experiments bear fruit and are not just nonsense done to feel clever. No longer baffled by every request, we can say, "I've been here before, and this - this right here - is what solved the problem." The alien becomes familiar and the path worn in the linoleum denotes the fastest route to the basement, where the flashlight is hanging where it should be, but you don't need it, because that breaker is like an old friend and you can find it in the dark. Once a month or so, when the dehumidifier and the fridge and the SVT all spike at once, and, well I've been meaning to get that fixed. And no, I don't think we should try it just one more time. After thirty takes we pretty much know that take thirty-one's going to sound like, give or take a who-gives-a-damn. Sure, double it. Whatever. Uncle. It's your record. Like The Beatles, I get you. With or without the harmony, sure.
Did I mention the backing vocals? Last minute like always, "Let's put some harmonies on there..." Baby Jesus, I beg you, kill me now. This instant. It's like looking in the rearview mirror and seeing the trooper's gumball lights fire up. You just know you're going to be in for hours of bullshit and recrimination, it's going to cost a fortune and all you'll get out of the experience is that you're four hours late getting to bed. In the end, some of it will be on the record, out of respect for the effort expended, but criminy, why bother? Has it ever made a difference? Sure, has anybody ever run barefoot up Mount Hood? Any non-zero probability is bound to occur, given enough trials. There's a gambler somewhere in Vegas down to his last $40 who knows that line. It has to come an eight eventually, right? It's all in the odds. Maybe if we put down a piano as a guide and then do it one at a time. Which part are you doing again? No, wait.
The cat, or the cats, or the current cat (we have been through several cats, but many more NS10 woofers) are no longer startled by any of it. I'm no longer startled by any of it. The demo is, of course, better than the record. Of course it is. You already love the demo, and now you're trying to make something indentical to it, but somehow better than the thing you love. Can you carve yourself a new mom out of butter? Embrace the mom you already love and release the goddamn demo already. Speaking of which, you will eventually lose your parents. Whatever you're doing right now, it will mean nothing to you once they are gone. Drop it and call your mom. She'd love to hear from you. Tell her you tried to carve a new one out of butter, and have decided it's not worth it and you're sticking with her and releasing the demo after all.
And getting the job done is what it's all about, right? In the beginning, you want everything to be amazing, and it is. It is amazing because you're dumb as a stump and water falling out of the sky amazes you. You push the lever and the machine shaped like a throne makes a noise and swirls your poo away. Amazing. It's all new, remember? Lets double it. Oh... My... God... Did you hear that? That's amazing. I'm going to do that to everything. That's amazing. I'm dumb as a length of pipe, and I think what I just did here is amazing. Thank you. Did you get my name? It's got an unusal spelling... here, I'll just write it down for you. Amazing, wasn't it? Did I play you the amazing part? The thing I did was, well, I had her sing it twice, and then I played them both back. I call it "doubling".
But not now. Now it's all about getting it done. We have three days and five hundred dollars. Chop-chop! Let's get this turkey in the shop! Keep them all and decide later? Dude, there's no later. Later is now. Can you pick one? No, I'm not going to pick one, they all sound the same... I mean, they all sound great to me. Okay, we can do another one.
And getting it done is not to be sniffed at. You can only buy a record if it has made it through the grinder and actually been manufactured. The best record ever is one of those in the store over there. The record being slaved-over by genius-boy over there, the one that will never be finished because it isn't yet perfect - that record is nothing at all. An unfinished record is nothing. Pure bullshit. Spend years wooing some unattainable goddess, rending garments and crying pools of teardrop? So you can die a victim, ignored? A martyr to your own stubborness? Fuck that, just troll your dick through a tavern and land the first thing that nibbles. If it gets weird, make your excuses and make another cast. You can throw a lot back before you land a keeper, but you never land the keeper without that first, "Fuck it, I'm going to the bar." You will recognize the keeper, don't worry. Do you know how many beautiful relationships have been forged from that simple get-it-done dick-trolling? Uncountable millions! Grandparents celebrating their golden and more! Deeply in love for a lifetime! It started when young grandpa couldn't take it anymore and decided to get it done. Finish your goddamn record. Get out and push.
So it is with Tape Op. Many, many issues. So much paper, so many words. In the beginning it was a fanzine, now it has its own convention. Millionaires and huge companies vie for its attention. Can you believe this shit? From that to this? Incredible. Just incredible. They made it out of nothing. Well, not nothing. They made it out of what they were doing anyway. Taping everything, playing it back. All new. Oh... My... God... Did you hear that? All new. Write that shit down so we don't lose it. I'll bet there are a bunch of us out there...
And there were. We are all here now, out here in the middle, banded together by what we do. We are all getting it done. We all know that another take is seldom the answer, but sure, it might be, so what the heck. We're all working late and forget what day it is. We're all wondering how long we can keep it up. We keep it up first with the downhill glide of New, when everything is amazing, then we coast on momentum gathered then. Now we're out of all that. We know what to do now, and we just do it. We get out and push and sure as shit, we get there.
The middle is grand, ain't it?
Welcome to the middle, and congratulations.
