My recent artist residency at the 70th anniversary Deutsches Jazz Festival was a reminder of some of the most important lessons in sustaining creativity on the road.
A milestone in my artistic journey for reasons I try to explain later in this post, it stretched me in a way that made the years of inner work feel like one of the best investments I've made.
Here are 5 essentials I'd like to share with you.
1. You're never ready.
Imposter syndrome is not a myth. The way it shows up in our artistic journey can be highly individual and is usually a customized reflection of our personal history and baggage.
But one way or the other, acknowledging the existence of this elephant in the room that is our heads, will go a long way in actually addressing it.
There's a fine line between an elephant and a ghost. And our relationship to each is the kind of stuff that can make or break a gig.
At the end of the day when we're in the thick of it, knowing what the first step is though, can be the difference between bliss and hell.
Acknowledge imposter syndrome. Know that every dream coming true comes with a big question mark with a 'do I deserve to be here' before it.
Start there.
2. You don't make it if you fake it.
In a profession where 'rehearsing' is an intricate part of our lives, confusing it with an excuse to enable pretension is one of the oldest traps to fall for.
This tends to get amplified to an entirely different degree in a hyper-digital age where we're also bearing the responsibility of being our own media.
Even as I shot rehearsal and backstage footage, it was only due to some deep shedding, a proper understanding of PR, and working with masters like Ariel Hyatt and Emily White, that helped me remember that this was not being 'narcissistic'. But a part of my job. And a genuine attempt to take my audiences along with me on this journey.
But make no mistake, faking is as much a fallacy from a purely artistic lens too. If you're as passionate about working with the best in the world, know that their refined radar on picking up on BS is one of the reasons they got to be as good at what they do.
Putting in the work is what made the difference. The kind that makes the lowest default status of our skillset good enough to work with our desired level of collaborators. Without making us dependent on a 'good day' to make things work.
You can't fake that.
3. Preparation is key. And it'll fail.
Two weeks before one of the most significant performances of my life, I was in bed with the flu in Goa listening to a podcast with artistic director Torsten De Winkel talk about his vision for his 70th Anniversary German Jazz Festival performance.
'The Art of Uncertainty', an ode to the current state of global affairs.
When I texted him with my congratulations, little did I know I was about to be invited to join the ensemble as one of the featured artists.
24 hours before the concert (which was also being streamed live on national radio and Arte TV, Central Europe's most respected arts channel), I still didn't know exactly how many pieces I was on, which of them exactly I was singing, doing electronics, or playing keyboards on.
3 hours before the gig, I was still editing samples for the opening piece in my hotel room while doing my vocal warm-ups, figuring out my solo feature (which was completely improvised), and trying to remember all the chords and arrangements to the songs.
Try as I may, I could not have been 'prepared' for a gig like that.
Unless I'd been doing it all my life.
My friend and and extraordinarily accomplished collaborator Bernhard Schimpelsberger recently said something very kind to me. He referred to me as an artist who's 'taken no shortcuts'.
This gig was one of those situations where I thanked my lucky stars I'd never tried to. I'd have never survived an opportunity like this. Let alone show up authentically.
Short-term preparation wields short-term glory. And never compensates for consistent dedication to our art.
The kind that doesn't wait for opportunities, to try to be the best we can.
4. Work on your own terms
I'm a brown dude with an Indian name and not a single sitar or tabla note to his credit.
I also have a serious background in jazz that renders my writing and approach to music a tad too complex for the regular pop aficionado to care much about.
I am, however, not the quintessential be-bop-brandishing burner who likes to play jazz standards at the highest tempo possible in all 12 keys for no particular reason.
So being asked to be a member of a band representing 70 years of post-World War II history through 'jazz' for doing specifically what I do?
That was the destination following a journey filled with a very specific brand of struggle beyond the scope of one blog post.
Sharing a stage with artists whose contributions to music have shaped the history of Global European Jazz and played an integral role in my own practice, after decades spent dreaming of something like this back in the day as a kid from London in his ancestral city in India. Watching them play on European Jazz channels on a smuggled antenna. And then being on one of those stages two decades later.
It was the kind of dream that felt logically impossible on many a sleepless night.
Sleepless nights where shortcuts would feel very, very tempting.
Sample a sitar. Bang on tabla. Look more 'Indian'.
Wear my heritage on a kurta sleeve.
So going onstage in my boring black tee to sing my song, collaborating at eye level with my musical heroes without playing the role of an exotic diversity token was one of the most emotional moments of my life.
It took a couple of decades to refuse to give in to those tempting shortcuts that made it what it is.
(📸 Sigrid Pfeffer)
5. Self-care is a non-negotiable
Here's a screenshot of the driving miles I did between rehearsals and the gig.
All the while nursing jetlag, running three artist businesses amidst, 5 time zones, irregular meal times.........and making sure I bring my A-vibes to the band.
How is that self-care?
Well, it isn't.
Which is where the somewhat stringent routines I aim to follow when I'm not on tour come in.
The 5-day/week workout routines, the coaching I have invested in (and now offer myself).
These are the long-term tools that give me those much-needed reserves of resiliency, physical well-being, and energy.
Self-care never was a destination. And as an ex-obese, hypertensive, clinically depressed, suicidal teenager who almost died of heart disease at 17, I've learned the hard way that the 'easy' way we tend to be on the lookout for, is eventually the much, much, much....much harder way.
Conclusion
My recent experience was a sobering but reassuring reminder me of some of the most invaluable lessons as a musician. Staying true to my authentic self, accepting imposter syndrome for what it is, being adaptable in the face of uncertainty, celebrating individuality, and prioritizing self-care have become the cornerstones of my artistic journey. Habits whose benefits tend to flow into all areas of my life.
I realize that this might be a somewhat personal lens. But I'd like to think that these insights have not only enriched my art but also shaped my approach to life on and off stage.
Reminding me that, in the end, (and I know this might sound like a broken record), in an ever-evolving world of arts, authenticity and dedication are probably the only true keys to 'success'.
No matter how you define it.
(L-R: Kike Perdomo, Kai Eckhardt, Jonathan Kuniado, Gwilym Simcock, moi, Karim Ziad, Torsten de Winkel, Rhani Krija)
(Pre-enrol for my Artist-Dvelopment course now to get 80% off).
