“The Music Didn’t Die” (Part Three)

 

What is busking? Overview at the link below:

https://www.musicgateway.com/blog/how-to/what-is-busking-how-can-you-benefit-from-doing-it

Busking

During the Summer months of the 2010s, I would sometimes busk on the “Five Corners” in Old Forge, NY.  My performances were born out of boredom. My ex-wife (#2) occasionally worked the sales counter at a now-defunct storefront called “The Starving Artist Gallery,” a consignment shop selling creative works by area artists, artisans, and crafters. She made wire-wrapped jewelry. Her earrings were a top seller. 

Enchanted Forest Water Safari (an amusement park) draws thousands of visitors to the tiny village of Old Forge in the Summer. My partner used to take us at least once a year when I was a kid. My children grew up vacationing there, too. My oldest daughter and son worked at the park when they were teenagers. 

The town is one of several tourist traps nestled in the Adirondack Park. Outdoor recreation (hiking, kayaking, camping, skiing, etc.) also draws crowds to the mountains. The 1980 Winter Olympic Games were held in Lake Placid. I graduated from North Country Community College in Saranac Lake back in 1995. The Adirondacks are an integral part of my history. 

When relations were copacetic between us, my ex-wife and I enjoyed staying in Old Forge. She volunteered at the gallery, which was considered a cooperative, in lieu of paying rent for the space. The business was considered a cooperative. While she ran the register and conversed about her wares, I played my acoustic guitar and sang on a bench outside by the sidewalk. 

I’d lay my open guitar case down in front of me for tips. Tourists would stop and listen to a song or two, often tossing a few bucks in the case. Sometimes, it would be 5s, 10s, and even 20s. Usually, the money piled up rather quickly. 

There wasn't any particular structure to what I was doing back then. I played vanilla, mainstream cover songs for the yuppies passing by with their sunburnt, sweaty children trailing behind. Street performing brought in enough donations to catch a respectable beer buzz while eating some delicious, greasy bar food at Tony Harpers Pizza and Clam Shack across the street. 

Watertown 2024

Watertown, NY isn’t so touristy. After semi-recovering from my cancer surgery in February, I really just wanted to play music for enjoyment. I lost my driver's license after a felony DWI arrest in September 2023. 

My Drug Court sentence meant that I had many obligations to fulfill. It was that or jail. Monday through Friday mornings, I’d call a number to find out if I had to submit a piss test that day. I was additionally required to attend at least 2 self-help groups a week. 

Early on in my sentence, I started going to the recovery center near Public Square as an alternative to 12-step groups. I attended and barely suffered through a few AA meetings first before changing direction. The recovery center was a much better fit, because it offered secular support groups. Dogma repetition is an ineffective method for me in recovery. I create my own slogans. 

In addition, I was ordered to complete an outpatient addiction treatment program, which mandated 1 addiction counseling session and 1 clinical support group per week. All of my appointments took place in the city. 

I'd catch rides to Watertown with my now ex-girlfriend, who worked near the recovery center. In between self-help groups, outpatient appointments, and (of course) pissing in cups while being visually observed, I would play an assortment of stringed instruments and sing while sitting on park benches on and around the Square.

I started out with my ukulele because it was light enough for hauling. It was a sticker adorned, tenor ukulele that I purchased at a pawn shop for $40 around 10 years ago. The weight of the items I carried around town with me mattered a lot back then. I began busking in April. If the temperature reached 50 degrees and it wasn’t raining, I was outside playing music, usually to no audience. 

To be honest, I wasn’t physically well enough to be out there doing any of it. Drug Court had its demands and so did my ex. I pushed through the many aches and pains, which were sometimes relentless and debilitating. There were days when I was quite concerned for my well-being. I didn’t have much, if any, autonomy back then. 

The endorphin release from playing music carried me through this period. I learned to enjoy my days in Watertown. My emotional and spiritual skin thickened with experience. So did the callouses on my fret hand. 

Being in public so frequently helped me develop better communication skills. Personal growth in that area proved to be a great asset. My lack of social skills had always been a glaring liability; stifling my overall functioning in all aspects of life. Improvements have been made in this area, but I’d stop short of referring to myself as a conversationalist or an extrovert. I was once a misanthrope. I’m more of a humanist now. 

Music made me somewhat of a fixture on the Square. Motorists would often honk and wave. People on the sidewalks stopped to chat. While not monetarily beneficial, it was (in my estimation) a successful social experiment. I'll remember the experience fondly. 

As mentioned, busking in Watertown wasn’t a lucrative venture, but one day in April, a younger man handed me a $100 bill after listening to me play my original song, “Transformer” at Peanut Park. Obviously, that transaction didn’t become a trend. Not even close. It didn’t bother me at all. My motivation wasn’t focused on making money.

I shot this video under a pavilion at a park in Felts Mills (about 15 miles outside of Watertown). I wasn’t yet cleared for full physical activity after my surgery. I walked there from my ex’s house. It was an unseasonably warm day in late March. 

Sensory interpretations of my surroundings had peaks and valleys throughout the warmer months of 2024. My own life circumstances changed drastically at the beginning of Summer. A combination of co-occurring factors changed the way I look at the world around me, hopefully forever. 

Watertown is a minuscule city. While Public Square poorly masquerades as a hub for local businesses, it has become better known for its unhoused population in recent years. I spent a fair amount of my time conversing with many of these fine people. In the end, we’re all just human beings. None better. None worse. Far too often, this is either forgotten, or brazenly ignored in favor of selfishness, greed, and willful ignorance.

Watertown is a rough place to be poor, not that anywhere is a comfortable environment for surviving extreme poverty. In a functioning society, these conditions would not exist for anyone. 

Bitter cold weather combined with the general populace's increasing indifference to human suffering makes Watertown somewhat more “interesting”, often in the worst of ways. It's big enough to be called a city, but small enough to be controlled by "good ol' boy" politicians and sycophants with snobby, backward-ass, small-town sensibilities.

You can tell a lot about a culture by observing how its most vulnerable populations are treated by those with greater means. We live in a society where punching down is the norm…a consensus ambivalence, edging on collective cruelty. 

"This is probably the favorite thing of mine, at least to me, that I've written. And um, it's about a small town upstate New York, called Watertown, New York. That's more than it deserves. I spent a week there one afternoon."-Harry Chapin, from the intro to the song, "A Better Place To Be".

Homecoming

I moved back to Lowville, NY in June after breaking up with my ex-girlfriend. There, I continued busking. Different environments provide (withhold) different stimuli. The sociology of Watertown is far more diverse and intriguing.

Lowville is a stereotypical small town. It's where I'm from...well, sort of. Lowvillians would never allow me to claim native status, even after living there for 10 years previously. I'm from Glenfield (approximately 7 miles south), basically nowhere.

For correct pronunciation, think "Cowville". The town could aptly be renamed. I'm not going to trash my roots, though. The greater Lewis County region is exactly what an outsider would expect it to be while driving through, which is what most people do. It does have its charms.

There are elements of my personality that will always remain "country". However, 51 years in, I realize I will never belong there and never did. I tried to blend in for decades, which was a huge mistake and an act of self-betrayal. Maybe I don’t belong anywhere. To be discovered…

Relevance

Performing outdoors was the catalyst for everything positive that occurred for me in 2024. It was/is my foundation. If I waited around for convenience or comfort, I would have perished from ingesting a lethal cocktail of boredom and coerced inertia by Summer’s end. I seized the available opportunities. I’m building a new life now.

I’ve written new songs along the way, some indicative of hardship. There are also a few about new love and resurgent hope in the mix. Along the treacherous and winding path of self-discovery, I've managed to form new, enriching networks and bonds. Eventually, I started playing more traditional venues again, but my practice time was still spent out in the open air. 

Street performing became difficult in late October, due to the change in seasons. Life has been consistently challenging throughout this journey. There have been setbacks, disappointments, and frustrations. I'm finding my way through the maze and am grateful for the gifts that each day offers.

Music still is, and will forever be an enduring component of my human experience- my chosen medium for self-expression. Actually, it chose me. 

I consider observing and interacting with people equally important to practicing my craft. It’s no exaggeration for me to claim that I never developed consistent, basic interpersonal skills until this past year. Had I put any significant effort into that venture, it would have been a continuation of meaningless fakery on my end…Masking. 

Finally, I just decided to be my true self and unburden my mind of concerns over the reactions of others to my authenticity and newfound self-respect. I refuse to live as some fragmented depiction, ripped from poorly written pages of someone else’s biased narrative. 

My focus remains on understanding who I am better and evolving in the direction of my own choosing. The deeper I dig, the more confused I become. I have learned to appreciate upheaval as necessary. The truths I've uncovered have often been emotionally excruciating to accept, but I don't believe the truth is meant to rise or fall to meet anyone's moral aesthetic. I doubt my ideal world bears any resemblance to yours anyway. 

Watertown taught me to appreciate humanity in its current state, ugliness and all. However, my convictions concerning true freedom, social justice, and equity have embedded themselves much deeper into my heart along the way. I've attempted to convey these "radicalizations" through the new music I've written this year. Maybe kindness and empathy are considered revolutionary now. It matters not to me how I am perceived by most. There are a few exceptions. 

My own personal balancing act is an ongoing feud between a middle-aged ideologue and an ever-inquisitive teenage boy. These two extremes wage a non-stop turf war for control over my beleaguered subconscious. What an adventure it has been. Life and humanity continue to fascinate. 

One day a girl approached me on Court Street in Watertown and asked, "Hey Instrument Jesus, how does my makeup look?". I told her it was on point. 

Part Four coming sometime...

Please consider following and supporting my creative ventures:

https://linktr.ee/shawnpcorbett

"The Music Didn't Die" (Part Two)

 

At the Woodshed at MEC recording studio in Watertown, NY listening to the playback of one of my original songs. With the help and collaboration of some talented, generous people, I am busy recording my first album at a real studio in 2024-25. The music didn't die...

Tunes and Tears

I was told as a young child that men don't cry. Every Gen X boy probably heard this more than once from multiple disreputable sources. This is just one of the reasons why men of our generation are often described as emotionally unavailable (and worse). It’s a fair assessment. 

We are responsible for the bullshit we carry into adulthood. If we can learn, we can unlearn. There really aren't any valid excuses. I abhor the practice of toxic masculinity, freely admitting that I still exhibit traits of it unknowingly sometimes. I’m still unlearning. Acknowledgment is a step toward growth.

Weak men don't cry. There, I fixed it.

December 2023

Around this time last year, my life was in complete chaos. I had survived an avalanche of near-death experiences. It was early sobriety, two months in. My self-awareness was primitive and fragile. The life circumstances I found myself barely surviving in were abhorrent. My understanding of my predicament was spotty on inconsistent. 

No one is capable of being their best self in post-acute withdrawal. It wasn’t just alcohol, but simultaneously, the irresponsibly prescribed cocktail of psych meds I was withdrawing from at the same time. I'm still recovering from the latter. This will take years. Some damage is likely permanent. 

It was December. I had turned 50 and became a grandfather in November. A treacherous path stretched out before my tired eyes. The road behind me was far worse. I hadn’t found hope yet. Hope would later find me in serendipitous ways. 

I survived an ICU stay in July, only to be arrested for felony DWI a month and a half later. A CT scan, performed while I was in ICU for a punctured lung back in July, revealed a cancerous mass on my right kidney. There were also suspicious lesions on my liver. These were discovered while assessing the kidney mass in November.

I had just taken a dubious plea deal and signed the contract for Drug Court, which is known locally as "a setup to fail". In my mind, I had already failed. The alternative was jail. I was told by the public defender that it was the best deal I would be offered. It serves no constructive purpose to question his statement now, though I have often wondered how the deal would have differed with a private attorney representing me. Maybe I’m better off not knowing. I’m scheduled to graduate from the program on December 9th 2024.

I will never attempt to defend the action of impaired driving. It's top-tier negligence. A conscious decision? That doesn't matter, does it? I'm grateful I was arrested before anyone was harmed. I couldn't live with myself if that had happened.

I am morally and ethically opposed to impaired driving. For my act of self-betrayal, I have committed myself to staying connected to the recovery community, even though I don't need any assistance staying clean (really). I can't change the past. The present is my responsibility and I take it very seriously. Perhaps I have something to give back…

Before strumming my first guitar chords in years, I found my headphones. Not only had I stopped playing music, I hadn't actively listened to it in 3 years either. My Bluetooth headphones were packed away in a bin. I discovered them while going through some of my belongings at my (now) ex-girlfriend's house. We had “reconciled” a few weeks earlier. The phones needed charging, so I plugged in a USB chord and waited. The importance of that seemingly insignificant action would reveal itself after. 

I wasn’t always a morning person. I haven’t slept well since getting clean. My circadian rhythm is an absolute mess to this day. It’s common for me to be up at 5 AM. I used to sleep a lot more. Too much, actually.

In early December 2023, I started listening to music in my headphones while everyone else slept. It became a morning ritual as I sipped my coffee and ruminated. My living situation has since changed. The ritual remains. 

I never found any relief with psych meds. Numbed? Emotionally blunted? Damaged? Yes to all. Not living or coping, but rather, kicking my emotional cans and unresolved traumas down the road indefinitely. Alcohol and illicit drugs serve the same purpose. When I laid my crutches down, a tsunami of emotions flooded in without warning. My headphones became my medicine. I now swear by them. 

Do not mistake this for medical advice! Remember, it’s my story, not yours.

Connections

I don’t know if others experience music the same way I do and I’m shy about asking for my own reasons. Most people describe some connection to songs, artists, albums, and genres. The arts exist for a purpose. When empires fall (they always do), their enduring legacies are studied and analyzed through the architecture, sculpture, paintings, and written language (when applicable) left behind. 

Music and dance are more spirituality-based. In the scope of human history, sound recording and even written music are relatively modern. Like campfire anecdotes, songs and chants were passed down by previous generations as traditions in ancient times. Adaptations occurred over centuries and millennia. One could ascertain that all music is folk music without being wrong. 

Who doesn’t reminisce about their youth when certain music is played? Do you have memories tied to specific songs? Of course, you do. 

I feel musical energy deep within my soul. Its external presence is more selective. Low volumes don’t do it for me. The barely audible frequencies emanating from retail store speakers often go unnoticed. Only loud music drowns out my internal monologue, which can be deafening by itself at times.

I didn’t bother engaging with music during my lost years (2021-23) because my inner voice was chemically muzzled. My visual recollections of those years are almost non-existent, too. It’s terrifying to think about, difficult to accept, and impossible to understand. To find peace, I had to abandon those pursuits. Those years are truly lost to me forever.

I can parse every instrument separately in my headphones. I am very aware of tones and effects, stereo panning, pitch, and certain other production techniques that stand out. Lyrics paint vivid pictures. The auditory visuals are similar to those inspired by reading quality literature. Like most books adapted for the screen, music videos are almost always disappointing to me.

Through lyrics and instrumentation, I often feel an array of weather conditions and imagine tastes and smells. My personal experience with music is one of deep emotional and sensory connection. Perhaps it’s a "musician thing" or maybe it's neurodivergence. It is, most certainly, synesthesia. 

*Synesthesia- I once fronted a band that I named that (early 2000s). We played mostly for free drugs. The musical output reflected the euphoriants on hand. Were we good? Depends on who you ask, I guess. Our crowning achievement was playing on a strip club stage for $100 and cocaine. Good times.

I have adaptive playlists to fit different moods and life circumstances. They are not organized or curated. I pick each song in the moment, unless I’m working on a specific, unrelated task. When otherwise occupied, I listen to carefully selected stations on Pandora. My morning ritual is comprised of meticulously chosen songs. Some are my own works. I don't play music when I'm writing because of the monotropic split. 

I can credit numerous artists and songs for being essential components to my healing process, personal growth, and current emotional well-being. When someone introduces me to sounds that move me, I consider them treasured gifts. 

This playlist was sent to me by a very cool person I connected with on Threads, and later on Instagram, in the Spring of 2024. She’s a photographer and videographer in California. We have similar views on many topics, many of them political. She described my music as having a folk-punk vibe and sent me this list of bands/songs. It led me down a whole new rabbit hole. I’ve been listening to folk punk, almost exclusively, since. 

When I first began my morning listening sessions, I would choose songs from familiar artists (old favorites). There were heavy doses of Rage Against the Machine, Tool, Alice In Chains, Jack White/White Stripes, Bad Religion, The Clash, and Woody Guthrie…too many to list properly. 

Then, I started listening to Eminem again. Something completely different came through. It was one particular song that got me, “Legacy”. It hit like a punch to the gut. 

Processing those lyrics caused me to weep uncontrollably. I couldn’t fully comprehend why at the time. I get it now. “Legacy” is about the struggle of growing up differently wired and eventually, learning to harness and appreciate it. Crying became an everyday thing for me after that. I couldn't start my morning without that song. My playlist grew from there. Tunes and tears…

Further down the road, I discovered The Interrupters. Songs like “Anything Was Better”, “Afterthought”, and “Alien” moved me deeply. I was really heavy on that band for a solid month or more. Shortly after, I received the gift of that folk punk playlist. It was life-changing. I'm not exaggerating. 

I love all of the songs on that list. Days N Daze has become a personal favorite group. AJJ, Harley Poe, Amigo The Devil, Mischief Brew, and Bridge City Sinners are regular listening.

While exploring folk-punk, I stumbled upon the song “Your Heart Is a Muscle the Size of Your Fist” by Ramshackle Glory. It introduced me to Pat the Bunny (the singer-songwriter of the band). I became a huge fan of Pat’s solo work and his other projects (Wingnut Dishwashers Union, Johnny Hobo and the Freight Trains). By listening to the “Pat The Bunny Radio” station on Pandora, usually while walking long distances, I found other folk-punk artists like Laura Jane Grace, Lost Dog Street Band, and Matt Pless, to name a few.  My online friend from the West Coast did me a real solid. I’ll never forget it. 

Folk-punk is unfiltered, raw, and unflinching in its honesty. No topic is out of bounds. Much of it is self-effacing. Other stuff is anarchic. There are many songs about drug/alcohol use and addiction. The music just fits me. My emotional breakdowns while rocking out to folk-punk are too numerous to count. They endure and continue to nourish. My tears flow in the direction of healing. I rarely listen to mainstream music anymore. 

There are exceptions to that though. My friend Scott introduced me to “Hi Ren” by Ren, a phenomenal young artist. I have always dug Kendrick Lamar’s style and still do. Are The Dead Weather considered mainstream? Who cares. The Raconteurs…maybe (also irrelevant).

More Eminem songs entered my playlist as I evolved, too. New favorites include “Not Afraid” (which is about recovery from addiction) and “Survival” (a great fight song). I need fight songs sometimes. I’ll always be a Rage Against the Machine fan. 

My ex and I split in June. These are my breakup songs (recommendations):

“Like a Staring Contest” by The Future Kings of Nowhere

“No Children” by The Mountain Goats

“Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” by Bob Dylan

“Stronger Than I Was” by Eminem 

“Give Up the Ghost” and “Tacos and Toast” by Laura Jane Grace

New Beginnings...

In July, I met Michelle. I asked her to share a song with me early on in our correspondence, one that meant something to her. I shared mine first. It was “Damaged Goods” by Days N Daze. Way to make an impression, right? 

Hers: 

“Call It Dreaming” by Iron & Wine…full stop. 

I don’t remember if I told her or not, but that song had my tears flowing at first listen. Neither sadness nor conventional happiness adequately describe my feelings at the time. Hope…appreciation of depth. The song told me a lot about Michelle. My intuition concerning her impeccable, unwaveringly kind character has proven itself correct, over and over. She’s an exquisite human being. Like her, the song is a masterpiece. 

I still have trouble getting through "Call It Dreaming" with dry eyes. I hope to learn how to sing and play it for her someday. Wish me luck. 

I would later share another song with Michelle, “In the Same Room” by John Statham. There's a link to that one in my first post to “The Journey”, “Psychiatry Done Right (For Once)”. That song still resonates with me. It helped me become a psychiatric ex-patient with some confidence. I can’t say I had much support when I chose to taper off from psych meds. The song inspired me to trust my instincts.

“Tunes and Tears”- That’s my daily morning routine now. I need it to maintain homeostasis and I’m a better person for being open to the experience. I’ve been in recovery from alcohol and free from psych meds for over 14 months. I just keep rolling ahead, no matter what. There's something in it for me that other methods can’t provide. I’m healing through music…evolving…sometimes, childlike in praxis.

I remain curious as to whether others connect to music the way I do. Maybe my sensory experience is esoteric. I welcome and would appreciate feedback in the comments. This can be accomplished anonymously.

One last recommendation: “Terrified To Try” by Benjamin Tod  (You won't be sorry!)

Strong people DO cry. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different. 

Part 3 coming soon…

I chose this video with a purpose. Would you expect anything different from me? Thank you for reading!