As The Winter of the Beard rolls out into the world, people have questions. A writer recently asked a simple, though great question: Would you say that there are distinct, individual lessons that you learned from growing a beard? Lessons that a man can only learn by growing a beard?
My response:
This is a fairly difficult question to answer for a number of reasons, those primarily being that I find it difficult to separate where my own perception of self ends, and the culturally imposed perception begins. That said, I will do my best to respond clearly and with some brevity.
I believe that there are distinct, individual lessons that a man can learn only by growing a beard. Perhaps obviously, this project functioned not only as a film, but also as a rite of passage. Only one of the men in the film had ever gone more than a month without a shave, so this was new, uncharted territory. In western (particularly North American) culture we have eroded nearly all of these sacred rites of passage. The things that pass for a coming of age ritual in our culture, or more specifically an initiation into manhood, are sorry excuses for some sort of transcendence. Acquiring a driver license. Getting laid (for the first time). Getting drunk. Graduating from high school. Going to college. Etc. None of these have the weight or spiritual and social impact that were once present in our culture and are still present in many cultures around the world.
There is an unavoidable sense that when a young man begins to grow hair on his face, he has shifted out of boyhood. And yet the greatest majority of men living in America will never go six months without a shave, and certainly not without trimming as we did in the film. This may sound like I am being dogmatic but it is true. A good part of the impetus for the film was the fact that I discovered on my grandfather's deathbed that he had never grown a beard. Never. I find it terribly odd that so many men will spend the entirety of their lives effectively stopping something that occurs naturally on their bodies, primarily because of cultural perception. (In my opinion.)
In much the same way that at one point fuller-figured, voluptuous women were favored to their current waif-like counterparts, men had beards. All you have to do is look at photos of American Presidents to see when the shift occurred. How has it come to pass, that it would seem completely absurd if a man with a long beard ran for high office?
On a related note: I decided recently while shopping for replacement razors for my Mach 5 Turbo, that I should get rid of the damn thing and buy a razor that uses "safety blades," you know, the iconic image of a razor blade. So I got one as a gift, a beautiful thing really, made by a German company called Merkur, and now I can't find the damn blades anywhere. I ask: to what extent has Gillette influenced and altered the desired image of manhood in our culture. Why is the ONLY available replacement razor made by them? And why do they cost so damn much? A problem I think.
For better or worse, masculinity has been dissected in our culture to the degree that clear boundaries have all but disappeared. This is of course great in many ways, for we live in what has typically been a very misogynistic culture, rampant with inequality towards women in every walk of life. Unfortunately with the rise of feminism and women's rights we have also (perhaps as a necessary outcome) seen a blurring of men's roles in society. There is little territory left that is strictly male, and while I do not in any way condone the exclusion or unfair treatment of women, and I fully support the feminist movement, I do believe that this loss is great. So while (some) women give birth, we men do our best to find something that we alone can do or have as strictly ours. Hence, the beard. We can grow beards. Watching football together on Sunday is another sorry excuse. It may be a nice way to pass an afternoon for some, but it really has nothing to do with masculinity, aside from the argument that sports mimic hunting on some biological level. Maybe. I can say with some great certainty, that I have never felt as clearly masculine as I did with that six month beard.
What I learned is this: My beard is itchy as hell. I always figured that after a month or two it would go away, but it does not; at least for me. It was horribly uncomfortable the entire time. True, there were benefits as it grew longer (the ability to comb it, feeling it blow in the wind, feeling like I was taller/bigger than I really am, etc.) but ultimately it was just plain uncomfortable.
I learned that my beard is more coarse than most. This seems unfair to me, given how pubic the damn thing looks, but such it is.
I learned that we must simply accept the lot we are given in life, and do our best to love it. Until this project, I hated my facial hair because of how few hairs per square inch existed. At some point during this project I grew to love it, probably because I had to. I will not lie: I still wish that I could grow a beard like Jason Long (image from dvd cover) but I accept mine.
I learned that there is a brotherhood of beards. Yes, when you are in the grocery store and you see another man with an absurdly long beard, you nod at each other. I liked that sense of community, however silly.
I learned that most men trim their beards, and likely spend as much time grooming as men without beards.
I learned that I do not like heavily groomed facial hair. Many of these lessons were simply learned because I was paying such close attention to the world of beards.
I learned that I place too much value on my appearance. I have always felt that I am fairly attractive, until I grew my beard for six months. Then I felt like I was fairly unattractive. It is a dangerous thing I believe to place too much value on how we look, and growing my beard for six months reminded me that our insides matter most. Sounds cliche as hell, but true.
I learned that I really enjoy shaving. Perhaps this is out of habit alone, but I do.
I learned that there is no replacement for the ability to itch your wrist with three days of stubble. Once the beard arrives, your scratcher goes away.
I learned that butter, when stuck in a moustache overnight, smells awful.
I learned that going down on a woman with a big beard is simultaneously more erotic in a weird, hairy-world sort of way, and increasingly more messy.
I learned that no amount of conditioner will make a long beard feel any softer.
I learned that many people take you a bit more seriously with a long beard.
I learned that many others, see you as a lower-class member of society.
I learned that if you have a really big beard, and let your hair grow long (like Lannie Achord in the film) people mistake you for homeless and offer you money on the street, even though your clothes, shoes, etc. all look fine.
I learned that women notice you less, but men notice you (not in a sexual way) more.
I learned that there is a point where the beard goes from "beard," to "really long beard," and that is the point at which so much changes.
I learned that the way in which we perceive ourselves, in relation to the way the other people perceive us, is a slippery slope. In other words, it is hard to tell where I end and you being.
I learned or perhaps I should say solidified my thinking, that every man should grow a beard at some point in his life.
I learned that cutting off six months of untamed growth is a very time consuming and somewhat painful experience, both physically and emotionally.
And maybe, most amazing of all, I learned that while I find myself considerably less attractive with a beard, I must admit that I like the way I look better. What does that mean?
I confess that I don't quite know what to say about this film that Mike and I made. I wrote a note to send out to friends where I explained ever so briefly that I don't really have anything to say about "art" anymore. If graduate school did one thing for me (it admittedly did more than that) it taught me that I do not have much interest in talking about "art." I just read an essay by Michael Chabon wherein he applauded the merits of his MFA experience, words that instilled in me no small amount of envy.
So...Mike and I made a film some time ago now. We edited and re-edited and re-edited and.....
It is available now for you to buy in a beautiful hand numbered edition of 100. In the end I guess I can say that I really enjoyed making the film, I learned a great deal, and I love watching it. I really do. So much else to report about the state of my world, but just this for now. Click the button below to pay via paypal, or visit the video page of this site for a further description.
If you lived in Troy, New York or any such winter-laden place, you would understand well why I've not written in some time. Spring came a bit early this year and after so many months of single digit temperatures, I have found it hard to take my relatively limited amount of free time, and use it sitting in front of this machine. There are also the facts that my wife has recently had eye surgery (she is doing quite well), we are moving back to the west coast in a matter of weeks, I am in pre-production on a new documentary which begins shooting in a matter of days, my finger is slowly healing from an aggressive though accidental dog bite, etc., etc., etc. (you will notice bandaged finger in above video).
Anyway, much going on these days. Though I feel like writing at the moment, the boxes (etc.) demand my attention. The above segment is from a 30 minute solo gig I did recently.
While walking the dog last night, I said to my wife that I have these fantastical moments wherein I wish that I could make a living doing this five nights a week. I know that most people probably find that idea rather absurd, and many likely find the music __________ or ____________, but that is mostly the product of a capitalist, consumer driven society, that has sadly come to value the homogenization of all things over that which requires devoted and focused attention. But I don't have time to elaborate at the moment. Woe is me.
I am currently at work on a new record which is growing close to completion. As always, there are far more recordings than will/should fit on the project so the time for editing has arrived. I confess that I am somewhat haunted by the sentiment of the previous post from February 23rd. I wonder if the more "successful" musicians are somehow capable of accepting the fact that the sounds they make that they do not like, are their essence.
I'm still not entirely sure this is true, but it certainly makes sense that the majority of what we do has already been done. Especially in the case of music, where it seems that we are often simply regurgitating the things that we've heard, altered by our own "voice." Now that is not necessarily a 'bad' thing, but if our (my) intent is to develop our (my) 'own' voice with my instrument, then it would reason that the best strategy is to embrace the aspects of my playing that are the most singularly me. Does that make sense?
Or to ask the question in a more direct manner: Do I put the piece on the record that I really dislike? It is my least favorite (though not due to mistakes or technical inadequacy) and I just don't enjoy listening to it at all. Is that somehow the one that people will respond to as being uniquely me? I'm not sure I want that, but then maybe we have no choice in these matters.
The above photo was taken at a gig a few months past, a set that I was quite displeased with. Though I've not heard a recording of that night, I wonder if for that very reason, it was a truer representation of my playing. Oh what a mystery it all is.
Sometimes I am astounded at how good the band Built to Spill sounds to me. I don't necessarily mean the song writing or the arrangement, I just mean the sound. The wonderful soup of those guitars. There are certain bands, that when they sound good, they sound so inconceivably good. I'm not entirely sure why this is, but it is an undeniable aspect in the world of music.
On another note related to a recent post of mine about guitars, I stumbled across this writing about sound by luthier Ron Kirn a few days past, and find it both wise and astute. A worthy read for sure.
"A few years ago when discussing how one develops their "own sound" and what that really means, the trumpeter Steven Bernstein remarked that when one hears something back on a recording of them that they don't like, THAT's their sound- everything else in their playing is something they only like because it reminds them of music they are familiar with."
Like the author, this strikes me with a great amount of truth, albeit a bit difficult to ingest.
It is all too often that we complicate our ideas, be it the simple matter of making a pizza from scratch, or composing. I have for a very long time, quite unsuccessfully in my opinion, espoused the idea that less is indeed more when it comes to making music. I heard of the below idea some time ago, and just now stumbled upon the video for the piece. Simple and elegant and beautiful I think.
I wonder to myself, "why didn't I think of this?" a common response to the best ideas.
