The Creative Act of Reading Rick Rubin
As I approach the last round of remixes for the Birdsong At Morning Annals of My Glass House set, I realize that I am about to face that most terrifying object – the blank page. Most of the time, the challenge I face is how to balance all the things I have in motion – music, teaching, fitness, etc. But every once and a while, all that activity becomes dramatically less active, and in those moments, I grapple with a different question – what to do now.
I am not alone in this. Many artists have spoken of the difficulties they face embarking upon a new project, on summoning the will, calling forth the muse, starting. Knowing me all too well, my old compatriot Greg Porter gifted me a copy of Rick Rubin’s recent book, The Creative Act. I had heard word of it and was definitely interested in checking it out, though I also had reservations about yet another self-help book on creativity. There have been several precedents, some widely embraced, others less so. From Anne Lamott’s Bird for Bird, to Twyla Tharp’s The Creative Habit, the focus has more or less been on how to be creative. Rubin too provides some guidance and exercises meant to aid in calling forth and acting upon the creative spirit. But where Rubin differs from other authors on the subject is that he also writes about the why and the what.
What differentiates his insights from other writers is that he does not view himself as a creator. Rather, he is a facilitator for others’ creative acts. He is a sounding board, a perceptive audience, an unlicensed therapist. He has one of the most successful track records as a record producer and entrepreneur in the history of popular music, and the range of the music he has ushered into the world is simply staggering – The Beastie Boys, Slayer, Johnny Cash, Tom Petty, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Jay Z, the (Dixie) Chicks, etc. You don’t have to be a fan of all of this music, but it is likely that you are a fan of some of it. He’s probably the most represented producer in my record collection (if you limit George Martin to the original Beatles issues, along with the stray Jeff Beck or John McLaughlin). I want to hear what he has to say.
Turns out, he has a lot to say, and is saying it… slowly, in tiny portions, often as Zen koans.
It is a style I have grown to embrace as a reader. Short, easily digestible insights, worthy of extended meditation and consideration. I trust what he has to say, in part because so much of it rings true. I appreciate his views on the value of creativity, his recognition of the very real challenges and struggles, his enthusiastic support for the creative impulse, and his exhortations to put in the work required to make the ephemeral manifest. Some of his suggestions are reminiscent of the provocative “instructions” that Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt printed in the Oblique Strategies card set – counter-intuitive, not-guaranteed-to-work approaches that sometimes yield completely unexpected and inspiring results. But Rubin moves beyond parlor games and into the practical realm. His suggestions are meant to help get the artist from point A to B, often in incremental steps, not unlike a physical training regimen. His exercises won’t result in the lightning bolt moments as Eno and Schmidt might provide. Rather, they help break the logjam, provide a road map, and keep the artist grounded as they pursue the intangible. It is a book that has arrived at the right moment for me. Interestingly, it appears to be the right moment for many of us.
It may be the subtitle that most accurately communicates Rubin’s perspective – a way of being. The act of creating is not a means to an end. For Rubin, the results are to a degree, inconsequential. Rather, it is the act of creative that possesses real meaning. And in his broad view, the reception of the creative work is another creative act as well – reception, analysis, interpretation, response, reaction. For some, we have downplayed our creative receptors as much as we have done so with our creative impulses.
While I was contemplating this piece, I came upon a recent article by James Parker published in The Atlantic. I direct you to seek it out as it contains a cogent analysis of why Rubin’s perspective is so valuable. It too, rang true. But Parker also hints at a broader crisis in creativity, a heightened discourse, a zeitgeist. If struggle is a given element of the creative process, could it be that the struggle has become more pronounced, more challenging, threatening to squelch the creative impulse for an entire generation (or three)?
If so, then the solution may be embedded within Rubin’s text. For Rubin, the creative impulse is the marker of what it means to be human. We can’t help ourselves; it’s in our nature. But that impulse is frequently subjected to forces that drown the seed before it can flower. The answer lies in embracing the act of creativity rather than the result. It doesn’t matter if anyone responds to the work that emerges from the act; it doesn’t really matter for the artist themselves. It is the doing that matters. Like breathing.
And so I stare at the blank page and take my first concrete steps…
Breathe in/breathe out.