This may sound odd or sick, but what I want in an artist is insanity, depression, and recklessness. To be clearer, an artist who is happily married with two children and living in the suburbs for whatever reason just doesn't do it for me. I want a Vincent van Gogh who chopped his ear off, a Ludwig van Beethoven who was suicidal and deaf, a Robert Johnson who died foaming at the mouth and barking like a hound dog from his girlfriend poisoning him, or a Syd Barrett who was even too crazy for Pink Floyd.
When I hear Mick Jagger received a degree in economics or that Neil Young has been happily married for 30 years I selfishly see them differently. Why am I programed to expect artists to live miserable lives drugged out and constantly looking for love? Why can't I be happy for the people who make me happy with their art?
No comments:
Post a Comment