3 September 2024
“Marvin Gaye’s voice moves me; yours doesn’t.” Instead of getting a “Love Mom” tattoo I’m gonna get this direct quote from her inked into my skin. Maybe across my diaphragm as to remind myself & others of the inadequacy of my singing.
She had good reason to say this, as I literally asked her what I can do better as a musician. You see champ (that’s you, the reader), it might be really hard for you to believe but I’m not classically trained in anything besides football drills & fucking the club up (nah I am not into clubs if I never enter one again then I’m a happy clam, a joyful oyster, a less morose morsel) I’ve haven’t taken a music lesson, acting lesson, etc. My career has been a bricolage of raw-dogging & improvisation. There are some freedoms afforded in this incompetency fa showly, but now I’m looking to evolve with greater intention, lest we stay in this same place of cheeto dust imitating corn pollen.
I’ve been scoring a bunch of situations this summer & have focused less on my own music because champ I’ll keep it a 10000% with you, I get so bored with myself sometimes. Plus I just released my album STANKFACE STANDING SOLDIER & feel like that’s enough from me for a while. I was even gonna stop releasing music altogether after that record because of its degree of expressionism. What else can I voice? Yet every week I make at least one song for myself as to keep my wits and writing skills, but this particular week was difficult. I couldn’t think of any chords, couldn’t word any of my inner wirings, couldn’t make any beats. Zero bars.
Staying in South Dakota at the time, I mosey up to my Mother in Christ who’s reading a book. I start lamenting to her about how useless I feel because I often equate stagnancy as failure question mark???? I’ve never written that out loud before so you & I are working through this together champ — short for champion. I felt stuck and like my opportunities were passing me by, that I’m awfully average at what I do & who I am, surrounding myself with shifty avenues of grandeur & affirmation. I think my mom thought this was gonna be a quick “I’ll just rest the open book on my thigh while he yaps” type beat, but at this point she tucks the bookmark inside of the book & fully closes it.
She listens, gives some words of encouragement in regard to writer’s block. Very maternal, very comforting. I glumly ask what else I can be doing to be better, fully expecting a you’re great, don’t give into the negativity response. Instead she goes “Mato, you need voice lessons. At times you’re unlistenable.” I haven’t been punched in the face since the aforementioned football drill days & holy breastmilk of Terabithia did this bring me back. My face flushed bloody red with embarrassment even though it was just her & I in the living room.
And then she goes onto to say how I’m no Marvin Gaye. Being told what you already know in such a refreshing, ridiculing way left me feeling inspired. In the next 10 minutes of her saying this I signed up for voice lessons and boom, my sadness and doubt dissipated. My mom then attempted to untruth her statements (I didn’t mean it! Your voice is beautiful) but the dutiful damage had been done. All for the better. I take well to constructive criticism & honesty.
Since then I’ve taken weekly vocal lessons… so come out to one of my upcoming shows & hear for yourself! This was all a big ad for you to pay money to witness me make loud noises from my mouth hole while rhythmically gyrating on stage.
Please no one message me saying “I’ll try to make it”… ew champ, no. Try being more honest in your disinterest in attending. Normalize not going to the function! It’s okay, I don’t take it personal at all. I don’t think any performer does at the end of the day. Then again, many of us perform to please & starve ourselves of splendor just to gain approval from strangers. So they might mind & maybe you should keep lying to them, but just remember that I don’t mind, champ.
Saying you’ll “try” is an attempt to give all parties some social leeway. If you don’t show up, you can tell yourself you tried and I won’t feel bad because you never committed in the first place. If you do show up.. I can’t even hypothesize that because I know it’s not gonna happen. So if you’re coming to a show, great. If you’re not or don’t want to after I’ve invited you, consider sitting in the discomfort of declining without a “yeah I’ll try & make it!” text. I even prefer the matter-fact “I’ll be there” text & then just not show up. There’s something scandalous & macabre about lying like that. At least that has plot. I’m so excited to see y’all on the road :)
Summer is coming to an end. The sun now slants across the sky. I mourn for the cherubs of the universe whose hearts fall limp as the school bell tolls. I was always sad when we had to go back. Sure, the new pencil pouch and lenticular folder of a cheetah were enticing, but that’s where the fun would end. I could not pay attention in class if you paid me. I was a fat kid too & fat kids don’t like getting Back-2-School clothes because it requires many literal and figurative reflections — the husky clothes sections at Kohl’s did not hit.
Going back to school in high school was easier since summers were nonexistent, laden with part-time jobs & football drills (not sure why we keep coming back to my gridiron glory, champ). We’d wake up at 6am, lift // practice for three hours, then drink half gallons of chunky chalk creatine milk cocktails while awaiting our 3-9pm shift at the grocery store’s pizza department. Although having summertime flings in high school was neat & cute. Omg dating someone older who was leaving to college all the way across the county (you read that right) what poignancy, such romance, much feelings. I recently learned that I’m into limerence. Going back to school in college was always crash landing an aircraft. Each year your aerial maneuvering skills sharpen a bit to ensure a softer landing. But it’s still a CRASH! At least everyone else is crashing too. Is crash an onomatopoeia? Can’t spell that without Mato, similar to dermatology.
Speaking of flights and skincare, I’m currently awaiting to board a flight to Tulsa .. where it’s humid and where my friend Sterlin lives — moisture & friendship opens your pores. I’m uncertain whether I’m able to disclose what I’m doing there.. let’s just say that we’re writing the Disney Channel Musical for Rez Dogs on Ice: Snow-Den!
From there I traverse back to New Mexico for a performance at the Albuquerque Art Museum with Broken Boxes, then onto tour with Ruby Waters for a little while. I’m very excited for those shows because we’ll get to strut our stuff for folks who have no idea who I am & help Ruby & her team make their magic. I’d give more art updates but I honestly don’t know what I’m allowed to say about what I do. Just know that there are upcoming motion pictures with my name & likenesses attached.
I’m gonna wrap things up. I’m at the Chicago airport now & pinning pangs of hunger from under my hoodie. My summer has been spent hanging with loved ones, going to some ceremonies, making stuff, healing from a gnarly knee injury called IT Band syndrome. I’ve typed out & deleted several times now that “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been” because .. idk.. that’s not for me to say. I’m not always certain of how I’m doing. I know that this past winter, someone close to me said “there’s sadness all over your face” Just two days ago, my grandma remarked that I have an aura of joy to me now. But also my oldest sister just emailed me several links to therapy. Bit of a mix bag. In the words of Mr. Gaye himself, “I wish that being famous helped prevent me from being constipated.” That’s a real quote, champ. You’re a real one, too.