I was walking down the street in late autumn and sobbing on the phone. “I don’t understand why my dad hates my new songs,” I said. “I thought they were the best songs I’d ever written.”
The day before, I had enthusiastically sent my parents demos of some new stuff, songs that I thought would blow their minds with their brilliance. When my dad called the day after, he said he wasn’t overly impressed. For other people, the moment when they stop caring about what their parents think probably comes when they’re teenagers. For me, however, that moment never came. And my parents rarely told me they didn’t like what I was doing, so I grew to need their validation. Whenever my dad told me he didn’t like my songs, I started questioning everything about them, often abandoning songs because I started believing he was right.
“Erika, this is ridiculous,” my friend said. “Of course, you want validation and approval. But you also know what’s good and what’s not for yourself. Music is inherently subjective. So what if he didn’t like it? Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it just means you’re growing. Maybe this is the Universe telling you that it’s time to start trusting yourself.” Of course, it was the fucking Universe.
I spent a week forcing all of my musician friends to listen to those songs, none of whom told me they hated them. I started thinking that maybe sometimes, what my dad said was an opinion rather than the absolute truth. I was playing one of those songs in my childhood bedroom when I went home for Christmas. My dad came into the room and listened, and when I finished, he said: “This is a great song. When did you write it?”
One of my closest friends criticises my music incessantly. “That lyric really jars with the rest of the song,” he’ll say. Or: “It doesn’t rhyme at all.” Or, my favourite: “It just needs some work.” But hearing his feedback at the same time that my parents decided that the direction my music was taking was not sitting well with them has helped me to let go of wanting to please anyone. I couldn’t please the people closest to me, so what did it even matter? I just started doing my own thing.
A few weeks ago, I recorded a demo album and sent it to my parents for feedback. I don’t care, but it doesn’t mean I’m not curious. My mum called me and said: “I liked it better when your voice sounded pretty.” My dad said: “You sound too angry.” I knew I was growing as a person when those comments didn’t make me burst into tears. Maybe I am a massive wimp, but I was extremely proud of myself when I shrugged at their words and carried on with life after our phone call.
Today, I talked to my Songwriting Tutor at uni. I showed her the arrangements I had in mind for some new songs, and she said: “Well, if you trust your artistic judgement, that’s the only thing that matters.” And when I got off the Zoom call, I thought to myself: “I do trust my artistic judgement, don’t I? When the hell did that happen?”