Music is NOT Life (But it Helps)

What would you do if you could no longer do the one activity you love the most in the world?

I've been a little "off" the past week or so. Even more so than usual. Last Monday morning, while working on putting the latest action-packed issue of CityBeat together, within a matter a minutes, I found myself researching and writing about three tragic stories with local music ties.

When I checked my email that morning, I had several messages about a motorcycle accident that left local musician/radio personality Ken Glidewell (Big In Iowa) in critical condition in the hospital. So I started thinking about Ken a little, the times we talked, the times I listened to his music.

In putting together my column for the week, I was leading with two items about two local musicians who are literally in the battles of their respective lifetimes. Katie Reider has been battling an aggressive disease that has left her body riddled with tumors. Meanwhile, Chris Walker — the bassist for numerous local bands who was seriously injured in a car crash last year — was the guest of honor at a benefit to help him out with medical bills.

By the time I had finished writing my column, I received an email from a friend at Clear Channel saying Ken Glidewell had passed away from his injuries.

I was moved by all of this for various reasons. I felt I knew all of these people, either by covering them in the paper for years or actually chatting them up when I was out and about. I've not had a lot of people close to me die, and the few people close to me who have dealt with potentially deadly diseases all recovered quickly. So I don't have a lot of experience in the "grieving department."

I didn't curl up in a ball or sob. But I was distracted for the rest of the week about the notion of having something you love to do — something that you feel like you can't live without — ripped away from you, possibly forever. Of course, I feel deep sympathy for the families and friends of all of these musicians. But the main thing that kept running through my head was that Chris and Katie might never play music again; Ken definitely won't.

All three were a bit different than the average musician. Music seemed to be their primary love; if it was all they could do for the rest of their lives, I bet they'd be just fine with that. But to not be able to do it at all anymore? I can't imagine the psychic pain that causes.

Katie and Chris both seem optimistic about the future. Chris appeared at that benefit last week, earning a standing ovation when he showed up, clearly in good spirits from all reports. Katie's blog posts about her predicament are honest, hopeful and damn funny, just like her live show. I don't know that I would be able to do any of those things if I were in the same predicaments. But there can be no way of knowing without actually experiencing such monumental tragedy.

Humans are an adaptable species (unless you don't believe in evolution, in which case, you probably haven't read this far because you probably can't read). I've imagined what would happen if I went deaf and could no longer hear music. At first, I thought I would probably just kill myself. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I would more likely just adapt, find new things to keep my brain stimulated. Whether it could ever replace my first, truest love, I cannot say. I don't think I'd ever get over it. But I'd move on.

I am a hack musician in my spare time, something I've done for almost 25 years, without any breaks. I don't harbor dreams of being a Rock Star (anymore) and, while I've found that I do in fact crave a certain level of feedback (if you make art and nobody experiences it, is it still art?), I have finally come to a point in the past few years where I solely make music for myself. For the pure joy and satisfaction of writing a song and playing. One of my favorite feelings in the world is completing a song from start to finish. While similar to finishing a good feature story or review, there are very few things in my life that give me such personal gratification.

I've been in bands well over half my life, but this year, for the first time in about 20 years, I am not. It forced me to "go solo,"  writing my own songs and recording my own music. I was presented with a loss (no one to play with anymore) and turned it into something that has had me more creatively satiated than I have ever been. I wish I was still playing music with my friends, but when that wasn't possible, I found another outlet.

I won't dare compare my inability to keep a band together to the tragedies mentioned. But I think Chris and Katie understand now that — if it comes down to it — they can live without playing music. They are wildly creative people who will certainly find outlets for their overflowing creativity. 

There are people in the world that you can just watch on stage or listen to in an interview or hear on a record and instantly know that music is their sweetest thing, their reason to exist, their calling in life. Ken, Katie and Chris are those kind of people. But, ultimately, Katie and Chris' trials have probably shown them that music isn't the most important thing in life. Life itself is (as well as the love of family and friends). Music can be a lifeblood, a life-altering artform that hardcore musicians and music lovers think they can't live without. But, in the end, if that has to be the case, I bet music — while still a transformative force (I am positive listening to music is still a vital component of Chris and Katie's lives and recoveries) — and its place in people's lives is quickly put into perspective.

— Mike Breen

To read more about Katie and help, go here.

For more on Chris Walker, including donation info, go here.

The Mr. K Memorial Fund has been set up at Fifth Third Bank. Go to any location to make a donation.

Comments

[cuddles]

nice story Mike. glad to hear that you continue to create . my very best to katie and chris.

[The Wheel's Still In Spin]

Mike, thanks for writing this great article. Like the musicians you are writing about, this piece has a soulful passion to it. I can relate to a lot of what you've written. I hope for the best for all, espcially Katie and Chris.

[C.A.]

Touching post...makes me grateful. My heart goes out to these musicians and their families. I played Katie's music for my yoga class today. Her shows always lifted me.

[dave p.]

Outstanding post, Mike. I've always appreciated that you're willing to wear your heart on your sleeve when it comes to music (as I do).

First, I'm totally with you on the news about Ken and Katie. I've never met Katie, but have always heard good things about her, and know plenty of people who adore her. I got the email about her condition while on vacation in Colorado, and it made me sick to my stomach...I had no idea she was that sick. As you said, I don't know if I'd have the faith, courage, or humor to deal with that condition like she has.

I love my job and our new life in Akron, but the one thing I haven't been able to replace (besides Lucy Blue Pizza at 2am) is my band. I'm going to get together with a pal soon to see how it goes. I don't even miss playing out as much as I do being in the basement with my comrades, hashing out a new song over beers. The idea of having it taken away permanently is too painful to consider. Maybe I'd become a mime.

If you're ever willing to share your Breen Goes Solo demos, I'd love to hear them.

[John Fox]

Mike, as always your love of music seeps out from your writing. As someone who's never been in a band and never learned to play a musical instrument and can't carry a tune, I nonetheless feel your connection to music and agree that music has made my life better.

A friend recently left me a voice mail suggesting that I or someone at CityBeat write the story, "Does music matter anymore?" He's feeling frustrated with the concert biz and wondering if anyone (other than him) still pours their heart and soul into listening to and appreciating music. I wonder about that as well.

In the world of iTunes and downloadable songs, is music still indispensable? I understand yet can't really relate to your feelings of creating a song and playing it on your guitar, but I do know the joy that comes from a song ripping your heart out and saying everything you've ever wanted to say. Those moments don't happen to me much any more, and I miss them.