Compromise is the Road to Broken Dreams

He throws his arm around me, thrusts his face uncomfortably close to mine, and speaks too loudly with his Southern accent. “You may think you want to write now,” he explains, “but that’s right now. You’re gonna want security, see? This is where the money is. You follow this technology stuff and it will take you far.”

His wife sits across the table silently, obviously annoyed. “And whatever you do, make sure you get a job that pays more than you’re wife’s,” he warns. She kicks him not gently under the table. “Or your husband,” he adds with a smile. I shake my head to show that the addendum was unnecessary.



The band on stage is made up of Texas Instruments executives. “See that?” my father asks. “You can be a businessman and still play in a band.” I came to Vegas for the Consumer Electronics Show, to check out some new technology and try to have a good time. It’s been a fun experience, but I can’t help feeling that the whole trip was designed to convince me to follow in my father’s footsteps.



The musicians are having fun and the band can certainly rock. The situation, of course, makes it inevitable that the band will be seen as a representation of the corporation. Mr. Vice President can dance around on stage and swing his hips all he likes, but what can he really do that hasn’t been done before? Covering old blues tunes is nothing revolutionary, and a song about Internet Audio devices is no work of art.



It’s not my job to judge anyone. These guys are having fun, and I can respect that. In fact, I feel more comfortable with a corporation whose top execs spend their free time on stage rather than on the golf course. It’s still not the life I want.



True artistic success requires total commitment. Terms like “financial security” and “safety-net” mean nothing. I must be willing to risk everything and sacrifice my entire life to the pursuit of my dreams. Writing and music making cannot be merely hobbies. I don’t want to spend my time playing songs with some novelty group condemned to the occasional corporate party gigs. I don’t want to waste my days writing about the latest technological developments, desperately waiting for the end of each day so that I might rush home and work on what really matters. I could never be content with such a life, and I will never allow myself to make such compromises.



Compromise is truly the road to that wasteland of broken dreams, which is affectionately called the American Dream. How many people have strayed from their ideals and convinced themselves that this is the life they want? It will not happen to me. I don’t want to ever find myself on the proverbial “right track,” looking back in old age with a sad smile upon my younger years. I don’t want to ever feel the need to relive my rebellious youth, because I don’t want to ever stop living this way in the first place.



The counter-culture has always been primarily a youth movement. This is one of our society’s largest problems. Growing up in America is a process designed to suppress anti-mainstream sentiments. The decision-makers don’t pay attention to the young people because they don’t matter. The system will surely own their hearts and minds before they grow old enough to have any voice. Those who slip through the cracks become disillusioned, worn out, and beaten down. Burnt out, they see themselves as a few dissenting voices, irrelevant as they are drowned out by the sounds of the silent majority.



I don’t see this changing any time soon. Unlike so many others, I refuse to use this as an excuse for complacency. I would prefer to die in loneliness and poverty, knowing that I at least tried to follow my instincts without backing down



- J.


[Nox Aeterna]