In the first of a series of guest columns from Otep frontwoman Otep Shamaya, the singer and poet discusses how music and poetry allow her to confront her demons and evolve as a person and performer.
“Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence.” - Robert Fripp
We stand on the edge of a luminous new year, armed with hope and lengthy dreams, and the desire to leave the mistakes of the past far, far behind us. Some wake to a blessed plague of amnesia hoping never to recover the damage that was done. Some keep marching forward feeling the heavy ache of everything they wish to change about themselves dragging behind
them like a long, prolonged shadow. And still others shine above the sun, sparkling like raging cosmonauts, propelled by the strength and power of their pathological optimism.
I tend to slingshot between all three of these distinct planets with unruly fortitude. This is where art comes in. It helps me deal with my compulsive randomness, and allows me to abate life’s repressions while exploring all possibilities of transformation and growth.
For this I am eternally grateful.
When I first began thinking of putting a band together, it was out of sheer panic. I was almost homeless, jobless, a sadistic scribbler, my life had no direction. And to top it off, the energies that had fed my hungry soul through illustration and poetry had all but dried up. I knew that without the magic of creativity, I would surely be lost. And then I rediscovered a band, The Velvet Underground, and was transformed. They were painting pictures on silence. They were writing poetry with sound. Then it hit me. Whatever I could create in prose, whatever I could lay down on paper in the form of a sketch or rambling tirade would come alive if shaped and remodeled into something hallowed… into song.
I am one of those insatiable heretics that believe art is sacred. For me, making music is not recreational. It is a powerful spiritual experience that permeates every atom of my being. Each note that we write, every syllable that slips from my lips, every riff change, bridge, intro, outro, chorus and interlude is as important to me as transcribing sacred verses was to the scribes of old. Through song, I am attempting to speak with forgotten gods and heroes, to uncover the great mysteries of existence, to seduce a lover, slay a tyrant, right a wrong, or unravel the hidden places of my being. In doing so, I can explore all of the spiritual, philosophical, sexual, and intellectual freedom that I secretly hunger for.
This is why celebutard plankton and the entire Slack Pack sicken me. Granted, collectively, these surface dwellers have sold more records worldwide than all the Mormons in Utah, but that does little to sway my opinion of these swine or their music. These plastic mammoths of industry prefabrication (and their handlers) have learned the lemming song and know just how to change it so it appears somewhat different on every lazy album that dribbles from their noses.
But I digress.
Music is the fluid in the spine of imagination. Its origin predates written history. Some believe the first songs were imitations of nature. Crude flutes and other wind instruments have been discovered at Paleolithic dig sites. The earliest written records of musical expression have been found in India, China, and Mesopotamia. I see music as the secret language of the soul. It transcends time. Empires may fall, but their music persists. It is the grand uniter. People from all
varieties of background, socioeconomic status, religion, race, sexual orientation can find solidarity in one piece of music. Throughout history, music has been used to strike the emotional chords needed to propagate revolutions, celebrate victories, commemorate tragedies, motivate, seduce and invigorate. It fortifies our films, it fills our homes with joy, rage and release. We play music to set the mood, to remember loved ones, to spice the atmospheres of our most intimate moments. A candle, a bottle of wine, two sets of eyes and lips, fingers and hips, all delicately massaged by a blessed rhythm of notes and melody that speak when words will not suffice. It seems, as a species, we have always needed music.
Many ask me for advice on how to write, how to start a band, how to kill the demon of writers block. I think the simplest and most powerful method is to begin with a foundation of immovable principles. One of my literary heroes, Charles Bukowski, wrote:
“if you’re doing it for the money or fame, don’t do it. if you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it….when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way and there never was.”
