In my initial alignment effort, I began analyzing not only the areas of my life but also the actions I was taking within them—specifically, my habits and routines. What I uncovered not only changed my thinking but also sparked a multitude of questions and shifted my plans for what I would write about.

My life has become deeply entrenched in habits and routines. I write or journal most mornings; I exercise five or more times a week; I play or practice guitar most days; and I have a handful of chores that keep me organized and prepared. I’m organized, disciplined, and consistent. All these things are objectively good until they become a trap. But this raises a question: Am I so disciplined and consistent that I’m, at times, inflexible? Am I so locked in that I’ve allowed myself to be locked out of other possibilities? I realize there’s a dichotomy here as well—I could be inconsistent and undisciplined, which would create its own set of problems.

And there’s another question that keeps coming up—why? Why am I doing these activities? What outcome do they tie back to? This, I think, is the real question. Exercise and guitar playing are probably my two most ingrained habits—and they take up a large share of my time outside of work. I know why I exercise and why I choose the exercises I do. I attend Muay Thai classes because I love the community and enjoy learning while exercising. I run because I enjoy it. It’s a great way for me to clear my head, and it’s something I can do with my significant other. I weight train because I know it’s good for me. I don’t particularly enjoy it, but I do it because it directly supports other activities I enjoy.

My guitar playing is a different story. It happens automatically, almost without conscious thought—this is both a good and a bad thing. It’s been on autopilot for so long that I default to familiar patterns. I swear, if I play the riffs to Hair of the Dog, All Right Now, or Breaking the Law one more time, I might go insane. I love music. I love learning, and I love playing guitar, but since I stopped teaching last year, my playing has become so disconnected from any real outcome that my practice routine feels like an ever-escalating game of whack-a-mole, where I bounce from one “great idea” to another faster than a hummingbird flaps its wings! A year ago, I thought the answer was writing original music—it might be, but I also think there’s a layer between that and where I am now.

What is that layer? I wish I had the answer, because if I did, I think I’d feel a whole lot better. I suspect it starts with stepping out of my comfort zone and accepting that, even after 30-plus years of playing and 15 years of teaching, I still have a lot to learn. Or maybe it’s a whole lot simpler—what kind of guitarist do I really want to be, or what role do I want the guitar to play in my life?

I’m not trying to reduce this to the problem of my unstructured guitar practice, because that doesn’t even begin to answer the “What am I doing and why am I doing it?” Because beneath those questions is another: “How am I going to fund this?” I’m not referring to money here, but time and energy.

I was ignoring friction in my finances. I was consistently spending more than I budgeted for, key relationships were not where I wanted or needed them to be, and I was ignoring friction in my creative pursuits as well. In all these areas, I knew there was a problem, but I kept ignoring it—hoping it would go away, hoping it would magically resolve itself—but it didn’t. I knew what I was doing wasn’t producing the results I wanted (or needed), but I didn’t know what else to do, so I kept doing the same things over and over. I was caught in a perpetual loop I couldn’t see, and I didn’t know how to get out of it.

My first response was to blame—usually myself, but sometimes the situation or another party involved. Next, I’d think and/or research the f*%k out of it, and lastly, I’d take some kind of action based on what I thought was logical, without noticing whether it was working. This was my loop: blame, think/research, and take action—hoping it would work, but getting frustrated when it didn’t. No wonder they kept recurring.

I know I need to break the pattern—step outside the loop—I simply can’t continue. No matter how hard I want them to, recurring problems don’t “go away.” They do not magically disappear, and they are not like wine—they do not get better with age. At times, they like to create the illusion that they’ve gone away, lulling me into a false sense of safety, but in truth, they are just hiding, lurking in the shadows, ready to strike when I least expect it.

And they also feel like weight—not heavy like a barbell, but a sneaky weight that slowly builds up over time, settling on my neck and shoulders until one day I wake up to find it has accumulated. And now I’m walking slightly hunched over, and it’s difficult to turn my neck to either side. They are also incredible resource drains, especially attention, drawing it away from other endeavors like an energy vampire.

There’s another piece of this I don’t know how to handle—acceptance. I have an extremely difficult time accepting situations that aren’t the way I want them to be. Acceptance feels like giving up or giving in, and that doesn’t sit well with me. Every time I’ve tried to “accept” something, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of no matter how many times I try to rinse it out. I don’t want an acceptable job, acceptable relationships, or an acceptable life—I want them to be meaningful and fulfilling. Acceptable sounds like a sarcastic “fine”—I’m ok, everything is “fine”—it sounds like bullshit.

There’s another form of difficulty surrounding acceptance—accepting that my actions contributed to the situation. At first, I thought of this as a bad thing and wanted to punish and blame myself, but the more I look at it, the more I realize it’s actually a good thing—I’m increasing my self-awareness. I’m developing the ability to recognize my contribution. Recognizing it gives me agency. Perhaps the more difficult thing I’m struggling with is that, no matter how much I want a situation to be a certain way, sometimes it “is what it is” and is beyond my control. This is especially hard when I desperately want something to be a certain way.

The more I think and write about these recurring situations, two words keep popping up—balance and alignment. I don’t think I want balance. While balance seems like a nice-to-have, I don’t think the areas of my life will ever be in perfect balance—each occupying equal slices of the pie. One or maybe two areas will probably always be fighting for the center stage. What I don’t want is for one area to get, or seem, so far out of whack that it steals all my resources from others. I think what I’m looking for is alignment—something along the lines of each area supporting or at least not clashing with the others.

Then little things started happening outside of work: difficulty sleeping, sometimes not sleeping, and the all-too-familiar dread of Monday. Soon, dreading Monday became dreading Tuesday, Wednesday, and so on.

My first solution was to work harder. Maybe it’s me, I thought. Maybe I’m not doing enough. So I worked harder. At the time, I was deeply entrenched in a self-directed personal development program. I searched for answers in books like Extreme Ownership, The Daily Stoic, Getting Things Done, and Eat That Frog. I embraced the concept of taking complete responsibility not just for my actions but for the situation itself. I learned how to separate what I control from what I do not (two simple concepts in theory, but ones I still struggle with today), and how to organize my personal and professional life.

I read every morning before work and listened to similar-themed podcasts during my commute to and from work. Initially, this helped. I felt focused, driven, and empowered. But this soon faded—sometimes theory only takes you so far, especially when it slams hard into reality. I was soon back to dreading work. Even the simplest tasks seemed daunting again, and I was developing an adversarial relationship (in my head) with work. I was deeply unhappy (a very generic feeling that in hindsight, I should have dug into more), and this unhappiness spread into other areas of my life.

My next idea was to do more outside of work—if I can’t find happiness or fulfillment at work, maybe I can find it elsewhere. I doubled down on things I enjoyed—playing and teaching guitar and exercise. I took guitar lessons to improve my skills, I ran a few half marathons, and I became more committed to martial arts by adding Jui-Jitsu to my mixed martial arts training. Again, this worked for a while, but I soon felt like I was living my life outside of work and wasting my time at it—getting through the bad so I could get to the good. And if I’m really honest, these were distractions—even if they were “good” ones.

Maybe I need to take time off, I thought. For a few years, I took two weeks off in the summer. Each time, I told myself I was going to go somewhere quiet and think—do some “soul-searching” and “figure it out.” Sometimes I did the first, but I never did the last. Why did I never do the last? Because it was painful. Because it was scary. Because it meant dredging up and dealing with a lot of “stuff” I really did not want to face, and an honest realization that it wasn’t just my current job—I’d been doing this all of my life.

What is this? It’s two things actually. One, I never stopped to ask a simple question—is this work right for me? Two, I was confusing competence with purpose. Just because I can do something, or I’m good at something, does not mean it’s the right work for me. I’ve been “good” at a number of jobs, but that did not mean they were the right ones for me.

For years I ignored these signs and the implications. At first I thought the highest cost was the wasted time, but it’s far more than time. My work situation consumed my attention. It impacted my mental health, and this spilled into my finances, my relationships, and the activities that normally caused me joy. I spent money on things to make me “feel” better; my relationships (including my relationship with myself) suffered, and I didn’t “feel” like playing guitar or going to martial arts classes.

Then there’s the “real” issue—money. I need money. I have a mortgage, a car payment, and a lifestyle to support. This is where the stress would get so overwhelming that I would have to stop thinking about the whole situation—until it reared its ugly head again—every Sunday. It’s amazing how quickly I can forget about work Friday afternoon, but when Sunday rolls around, it’s right back at the forefront of my mind. Recurring friction doesn’t go away. At best, it takes a break—long enough to fool you into thinking it’s gone—only to slap you in the face when you think you’re safe. I’m finally realizing that I can no longer ignore the friction—it won’t go away, and it won’t fix itself—only I can do that.

Many of my drafts had so many comments and copy-editing marks that it looked like the draft was used to clean up a murder scene. But I wasn’t the only recipient of this treatment. They were handed out equally to all of us writing for The Boot, Parris Island’s weekly newspaper.

Feedback was part of the job. As writers for The Boot, we were required to first have our drafts reviewed by a fellow writer, then by the Press Chief, and finally by Top. I took all the feedback in stride. Parris Island was my first duty assignment as a Combat Correspondent, having recently cross-trained from another job field. Most of my fellow Marines, while junior in rank, had more writing experience than I did. My goal at the time was to learn as much as I could from whomever I could.

Some of my fellow journalists did not take the Master Sergeant’s comments well. Many took them deeply personally. Some were even brought to tears (these are Marines, mind you). Others tried to challenge his comments or defend their work. That never went well. Beneath the crude comments there was often truth (not to mention years of experience)—an AP style reference or a grammar lesson delivered with ease and conviction.

So I quietly rewrote the dog shit lead, the worst sentence he ever tried to read, and untangled countless other sentences, paragraphs, and even entire stories because—I had to, and he was right. I’d try to cram too much into the lead, or I’d bury it. His comments forced me to examine my writing critically and objectively. The more feedback I got from Top and my fellow Marines, the better my writing became. Eventually, Top’s comments became fewer and fewer. But there were never compliments or kudos; the best you could hope for was an OK written on your story.

The more I write, the more I think about not just Top, but all the mentors I was fortunate to encounter as a young writer. Before Top, there was Ms. Jones at the Defense Information School—DINFOS. She taught a grammar refresher that was a prerequisite for the Basic Journalism Course. It was not uncommon for students to take it two or three times before passing. She was tough, but always available to help—if you asked for it.

Before Ms. Jones, there were the teachers I had, and there were the Reader’s Digest Word Power quizzes my grandfather used to do with me—all nudging me down a specific path. And every time I write a lead, I wonder if Top would approve, or if it “sux dog shit.”

The bulk of a previous post, Is Life a Swirling Circle of Friction? Carry Your Cat in Undignified Positions, was written in about an hour. I’d been stressing about the post for a few days because I was two days from my self-imposed deadline and I had no idea what to write about. But when I sat down and just allowed myself to write, the words flowed. I didn’t overthink it. I just poured out my ideas with the intent of editing later. Very different than my usual writing rhythm, where I work on an article piecemeal throughout the week.

In other posts, I’ve mentioned how my Focusrite 4i4 audio interface “melts into the background.” I recently experienced something similar with a trial of Neural DSP’s Archetype Gojira plugin. The Clean amp sounded like a clean Fender amp with little tweaking. When I turned on the OD pedal, I got an overdriven sound—same thing with the DRT pedal. In less than 10 minutes, I had three useable sounds (clean, overdriven, and crunch)—not my typical experience with amp sims. Typically, I’m tweaking and struggling to get a sound that I like.

The same thing has been happening with my guitar playing, for July (and probably August). I’ve permitted myself to play with no specific objective in mind. My only stipulations are to document what I do and have fun. So far, it’s worked. I’ve not felt pressured to finish a song, learn a cover, or do any other task. The only “task” is to play guitar. The only intentions are to have fun and keep some simple notes for possible future reference. I’ve found that ideas seem to happen when I’m not looking for them, and that inspiration sometimes strikes when I let go.

So why do I focus so much on the friction? I think it’s because it feels like an obstacle. It irritates me like a constant yapping dog yelling, “fix me, fix me.” When things “just work” or “melt into the background,” they do so quietly like that perfect employee who shows up on time every day, does their job well, and never complains.

What if friction can be a sign that something isn’t right, and the absence of friction is a signal worth paying attention to? I’m not saying that all friction is bad, a signal that you’re on the wrong path, or that endeavors should be easy. There are times when we have to push through. Especially the initial layer of friction that prevents us from starting. What I am saying is that maybe we need to pay attention to those times when things are frictionless because they are signals too, just much easier to ignore. Maybe I need to create a motivational poster—“No pain, More Gain,” to remind me?

Explore This Theme

This essay is part of an ongoing exploration of friction—not just the obstacles that slow us down, but what we can learn when things suddenly become easier.

• Is Life a Swirling Circle of Friction? Carry Your Cat in Undignified Positions
  Where I first began exploring the idea that friction isn’t always something to eliminate—it can also be valuable information.

• Why Do I Sacrifice the Things That Make Me Feel Good for the Things That Don’t?
  A look at why we often abandon the habits that help us most precisely when life becomes difficult.

I have a short list of weekly non-negotiables. I exercise, I play guitar, and I complete my evening routine. They are non-negotiables because they keep me mentally and physically healthy and on track, and I’m dangerously close to entering a three-day streak of not honoring them.

Monday, I did not exercise or play guitar. I let a major setback in an important project consume my attention. Instead of exercising and/or playing guitar to relieve stress, I overanalyzed the problem and created additional stress. I allowed the problem to consume my time, attention, and energy, and I even let it impact my sleep.

It’s Tuesday after work. I’m tired. The problem is still on my mind, and I have no desire or energy to exercise or play guitar. I want to put them off and do them tomorrow, but I just remembered I planned a get-together with family tomorrow after work, leaving no time for exercise or guitar. Three-day streak, here I come.

When times like this happen (and they happen fairly frequently), I try to follow a principle I adopted from James Clear, author of Atomic Habits: stick to the schedule, but reduce the scope. So tonight’s activities become: a quick, simple meal prep, start writing this essay, play guitar for 20 minutes before dinner, go to the gym and complete a condensed version of my usual resistance workout, and complete my evening routine. All I really need is to signal to myself that I maintained my commitment—I followed through on what I said was important.

The flip side of this is that not doing this creates tension. I’d feel pressured to exercise or play guitar every day for the remainder of the week, allowing no flexibility for unexpected events. In short, I’d feel bad. And there’s also an element of self-trust involved. Following through builds trust; not following through diminishes it. Sometimes, even a 5-minute version is all it takes to maintain that trust.

A deeper question, one I don’t have an answer for, is why the things I know are important are the first things I try to eliminate. Playing guitar and working out make me feel good. Thinking about my problems makes me feel bad. Why not eliminate thinking about my problems? I almost always look back at them and realize the thing I feared never happened. Conversely, the only workouts or guitar practices I ever regret are the ones I don’t complete.

This week has not started out well. Monday, we said our final goodbyes to our cat Jack. It’s Tuesday. I’m at work, having difficulty focusing, and last week’s friction points have carried over into this week with some additional weight. But life goes on. I have to go to work. There is no pet bereavement policy (though there should be). I still need to make progress on my project. I still need to write a Substack post. And I have to be mindful of my mental and physical health. When things get hard, I’ve learned the best thing to do is to keep it light. Not light in levity, but in mental load, so I’m going to heavily rely on my routines and habits and default to what I call autopilot mode because I know I won’t have the capacity for much else.

Estimating cash-in and cash-out, billing, and calling customers about past-due invoices is more than my mind can handle, so at work, I’m going to lean into my systems and a weekly checklist I’ve perfected over the years. The systems and checklist remind me step by step how to do these things. I’ve done these things so many times; all I have to do is check the boxes that I did them. I know that if I follow my systems and checklist, as I have every week for years, I’ll be ok.

My project and this Substack rely heavily on writing. Thankfully, the project involves documenting what I’ve been doing for years, so autopilot works great here. For Substack, I’ll do what I seem to do best: write about what I’m experiencing and hope it lands, connects with others, and helps someone. I typically write in the morning at home and during my lunch at work. This should allow me to make progress. If by Friday I’m further along than where I was on Monday, I’ll be ok.

My guitar playing is a staple of my mental health. It’s where I escape and get lost for an hour or so most days. Nothing on my mind except playing. If I can just show up and play for a few nights this week, I’ll be ok. Maybe I’ll play Bang A Gong, Hair of the Dog, All Right Now, and Living After Midnight for the 10,000th time—it doesn’t matter what I play as long as I show up. My workout schedule during a normal week is pretty rigid. This week, I just need to move, even if it’s walking at work and/or around my condo complex at home. I need to get outside and move my body.

I need to recognize that this week will be different than most and I have to set my expectations accordingly. I also need to recognize this may spill into the following week, but (and this is a big but), I can’t let this relaxed schedule become the norm. And it easily can. There is a fine line between acknowledging circumstances and making excuses. I’ve blurred the lines before. To prevent the slip into excuses, I track my actions. I use a small notebook to log the events of the day. A simple record that says I showed up, with maybe a few notes. Yesterday, an entry said: Vet appointment 3:30 pm, feeling very sad. Today, a reminder to make progress on my project and start writing a Substack post. Later today or tomorrow morning, I’ll review the notebook. I’ll check off what I got done, brain dump what’s on my mind, and repeat the process.

I started this Substack to talk about the friction I was experiencing writing and recording original music. I’m now realizing that the topic is too narrow; it’s too limiting. And all forms of creativity involve friction. I’m experiencing it right now: what do I write about if I’m not writing about creating music? For starters, I could write about the friction I’m wholeheartedly living and experiencing every night when I sit in my chair, stare at the guitar on the stand next to my desk, and my mind starts rapid-firing questions like an angry interrogator.

Is the cat ok? Did he eat? He has to eat so that we can give him his insulin. What am I going to play or practice on the guitar? I have to play; if I don’t, I’ll lose my ability to play, and when I go to write that next song, I won’t have the technique I need to get my idea across.

Then my mind starts cataloging and inventorying everything: Did I answer that email? Did I lock the office door? Do I need to drive to work to check? What if this project of mine fails? What if all the work I’m doing is for nothing? What am I going to do when my cat dies? The questions seem never to end.

For the guitar playing, I do what I’ve always done. I pick up the guitar, tune it, dial in a cool tone, and jam along to a song I love. Last night it was Jailbreak by Thin Lizzy using a trial of Neural DSP’s Archetype Gojira plugin. As for the writing, I’m doing that now. I’m pretending I’m working, pouring my thoughts into IA Writer, hoping that whatever I write reaches another human being and somehow helps.

As for the cat, I’ll do what I’ve done every day he’s been in my life: pick him up, carry him around the house in undignified positions (He loves it; he purrs his face off. It’s like tonic immobilization with a shark), talk to him, and make up songs about him all sung to the tune of Ozzy Osbourne’s Mr. Crowley. Later, I’ll curse him for scratching something he shouldn’t, attacking one of his kitty sisters and annoying the hell out of us. I’ll do my best to enjoy the time I have left with him.

I bought my Universal Audio Apollo because I saw it on the desks of every YouTuber I was following, and I wanted a “better” audio interface than the Focusrite 2i2 I was using. After two years of trying to make it work. I put it neatly back in its box and put it on a shelf, it created so much friction for me that any amount of “better” it might have produced was simply not worth the cost of time, energy and money (man, those UA plugins are expensive!). I bought my Audient ID4 to replace the Apollo I wasn’t using (my Focusrite went to a friend), but it wasn’t as user-friendly as I’d hoped, so I replaced it with a Focusrite 4i4. It’s been on my desk ever since.

When I reviewed the applications folder on my computer, I had six DAWs installed (only six because I recently uninstalled two). Why? Because I was searching for the best DAW (just like I was searching for a “better” interface). As for the amp sims installed on my computer? A literal who’s who of every amp sim on the market-all to find the best Fender Tweed, Vox, and Marshall sound I could find. Which, if I were really honest with myself, could be summed up as a clean sound, an edge-of-break-up sound, and an overdriven sound. All is possible with any of the amp sims, but probably achievable with a single-amp plugin that includes pre- and post-effects, like the Neural DSP Imperial Tone King or Soldano SLO-100 X. One or two plugins and done. No endless tone surfing or choice overwhelm. And the kicker? I already knew this. It’s the same philosophy behind my practice rig-a clean amp and pedals.

Sometimes the pursuit of better or best is the enemy of good enough. My current computer is good enough; my Focusrite 4i4 is good enough; my Audio-Technica ATH-M20x headphones are good enough, and if I had to do this all over again, here’s what I’d do. Assuming a clean slate, I’d buy an Apple computer, a Focusrite interface, Logic Pro and a mid-tier set of headphones. Based on my experience, if I wanted to upgrade this, I’d add the Neural DSP Tone King Imperial MKII and the Soldano SLO-100 X amp sims, along with a good set of monitors like the Kali Audio LP-6 V2. With either setup, I could make good music, and maybe more importantly, I could do so with less friction and wasted resources.

Last week, I watched an episode of Gibson TV’s Riff Lords. The featured guitarist was Pepper Keenan of the bands Corrosion of Conformity and Down. In the video, Pepper was playing and teaching riffs from both bands. Almost immediately, I was sucked in. The riffs were cool; his playing was tight (it grooved without requiring a drummer); the guitar tone was perfect (kind of a modern Black Sabbath tone, distorted but not overly so, thick with gobs of mid-range). In between riff demos, Pepper told stories about how the riffs came to be. The stories were delivered with humility and a slight southern drawl that made me feel like I was sitting in the room with him.

I immediately started taking notes: check out the songs “Albatross” and “Clean My Wounds,” the first Down album, “Killer Riffs,” and Pepper using an Orange amp (try Helix Native’s Orange model), etc. As soon as I was able to, I grabbed a guitar, tuned it to D standard, created a track in REAPER, inserted Helix Native, and began dialing in the Mandarin Rocker model. I was getting close to the tone I wanted, but not close enough. I was monitoring through headphones, so I switched to monitors, which were slightly better. Then it hit me: I need an amp, but I don’t have one (technically, I do, a Fender ‘65 Princeton Reverb Reissue, but it’s a clean-only amp and too loud for the house). The thought persisted. I need an amp. Maybe an amp I can use with my HX Stomp or my TONEX pedal. I need a FRFR cabinet, yeah, that’s what I need.

While I was able to get through the session without going down a FRFR-research rabbit hole, I couldn’t seem to get the thought out of my head that I needed an amp. Over the course of a few days, I did research FRFR cabs, but I also did something I talked about in last week’s post: thinking and asking questions. What about the Gibson TV episode inspired me so? Why do I think I need an amp? What need will it fill, and why do I think it will fill it? Then I thought about why I bought the Princeton-to use as a pedal platform, and other than the volume issue, I liked the tones I got with pedals. Then I realized that maybe the Pepper Keenan video was not about any one thing, but a display of multiple: great guitar playing, great groove, and great guitar tone, the core elements that inspire me to make music.

This line of thinking prompted me to review my M.A.P. creation notes. Groove was a common thread in the music that inspired me. Most of the music that inspired me made me move. The riffs in those songs provided a groove and a feel, with the guitar tone acting as a co-conspirator, working in perfect concert to drive the song along. The Pepper Keenan video had all the elements that inspire me. Then I thought, is my current setup (guitar, audio interface, amp sim, monitors) not inspiring me? Am I seeing Pepper’s setup and envying it? Is this what I’m trying to do with the FRFR? Am I trying to create a home setup to jam along with my favorite songs, write riffs, and whatever else comes along?

I think it is, but instead of buying an FRFR cabinet to scratch the itch, I’m going to keep digging a little deeper into the why, so I can uncover the actual what. I also now know that part of that decision is inspiring tone and groove. I may not have the complete answer yet, but I’m closer, and I didn’t exhaust valuable resources on a solution for a need and motivation that is not defined.

I’ve read a lot of personal development books, and one of the things I’ve learned from them is that sometimes you have to stop doing, start thinking, and ask better questions. The first question that popped into my head was Brian Tracy’s zero-based thinking: “Knowing what I know now, if I wasn’t already doing this, would I start it up again today?” This got the ball rolling, and it led to another question: “What am I actually trying to achieve?” Then another, “Why am I trying to achieve it?”

When I answered the first question, I didn’t accept the surface-level answers. I dug deeper. I kept asking why. After several responses, I landed on a working definition: My primary aspiration is to create original music that conveys emotion. I’d like the music I create to evoke in others the same feelings that my favorite music evokes in me. How did I arrive at this? The music that resonates with me does so because it evokes an emotional response. It might make me feel energized, inspired, or even sad. Then I arrived at the motivation behind my aspiration: “so that I can connect with others”. Because, for me, music has always been about connection. My favorite songs connect with me; hopefully my songs can connect with others. Finally, I identified the guitar as my primary tool for doing this. This aspiration and motivation gave me direction. Now all I needed was a plan.

To develop my plan, I asked myself, “How do I do this? How do I create original music that conveys emotion so that I can connect with others?” Again, just like I did for the aspiration and the motivation, I kept digging until I uncovered something meaningful. I landed on the following: I will study songs that spark emotion in me to better understand how and why they do so. This sparked a realization - I’d been doing this since I started playing guitar in 1989. A guitar riff inspired me to want to learn to play guitar. I continued to learn songs that inspired me. As a guitar teacher, I based all of my lessons around teaching students songs that inspired them. And when I started recording my own music, I subconsciously applied the same standard: does the music I’m creating inspire or evoke an emotion in me? If so, I keep it; if not, I toss it.

Not only was this process eye-opening, but I started to see I could use it as a filter for activities, purchases, and decisions. Then I started to also see it as a map. Then the acronym came: M.A.P. (motivation, aspiration, plan).

A good map does more than provide direction; it also identifies hazards along the way-obstacles that might prevent your arrival at your destination. So I started thinking about my obstacles, the things that have derailed my progress, and I named them.

I saw my curiosity as both a strength and a weakness, so I decided it should have its own designated time and not interfere with creative sessions. No more rabbit holes and lost time because I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me. I realized that open loops, unresolved questions about gear, software, workflow, and systems, were hijacking my creative time, so I decided to capture them and address them outside of my creative time. And lastly, I acknowledged that I have a tendency to over-optimize systems that are already working by trying to make them “better,” which leads to overcomplication. It’s hard to avoid obstacles you can’t see-making a M.A.P. brings them to light clearly.

Identifying my obstacles had an immediate payoff. It allowed me to see them clearly and identify them in real time. When I feel the pull of curiosity, I see it for what it is. If I have unresolved questions or start to overcomplicate things, I name them, and more importantly, I can stop the activity before getting derailed.

All my favorite records (Aerosmith’s Rocks, Bad Company, The Cult’s Electric, and countless others) had a similar guitar tone, some type of Marshall amplifier (Plexi- or JCM800-style). And almost every amp sim, whether native or third-party, has a Marshall simulation. In hindsight, what’s even more frustrating is that they all sound very similar. Yes, some are slightly better-sounding and/or require less tweaking to sound good, but when integrated into a mix, they are hard to distinguish from each other.

To prove this, I recorded a guitar part and used all the Marshall amp sims I had (Amplitube, TONEX, Helix Native, UA ’68 Lion, and a few others). This test was eye-opening. They were all virtually identical. All I really needed to do was pick one ecosystem and stick with it. And if I were truly honest with myself, a plugin like Helix Native has every amp I could ever need, and the tones are good, very good. Does this mean I’ll never use another amp sim? Probably not, but it has provided a sanity check.

Here’s an example: Last week, I downloaded a trial of Brainworx’s Friedman BE-100. I instantly loved it. In my opinion, Friedman makes a better Marshall than Marshall. Then an idea popped into my head (this is how I get into trouble!), Does Helix have a Friedman BE-100? It does. I did the same test I described earlier. I was able to replicate the same tone in Helix. This saved me $30. I do prefer the interface in the Brainworx plugin. I like amp sims where I can turn knobs like on a physical amp, but it’s not worth $30. Because it’s not just $30; it’s $30 here, $40 there, and $79 over there.

Making music is hard. I still don’t quite understand EQ, compression, or mastering, but I’m really clear on some things, and one of those is the guitar sounds I like. I made choosing an amp sim way harder and more expensive than it needed to be. My ears and years of listening to music were telling me the answer the whole time, but like usual, I wasn’t listening.

The headaches started immediately. Installation on an Apple Silicon computer required some shenanigans of rebooting and changing security settings that took more than an hour. Then the real fun began when I realized everything had to run through the UA Console app first, and the included plugins only included one guitar amp sim (a Marshall Plexi) that sounded horrible. Then the real shock came when I logged into the Universal Audio store and saw how expensive the Apollo amp sims were-$100, for this one, $150 for that one.

Despite hours of trying, I couldn’t get a guitar sound I liked with the Apollo. Truth be told, I just didn’t understand it, and each time I tried to, I got frustrated. I ran into several issues with it and Zoom that were distracting during teaching, so I reverted to the Focusrite. The Focusrite’s simplicity, ease of use, and low friction were welcoming.

I’d like to say that I just stayed with the Focusrite, having learned my lesson about “better”, but I did not. For some reason, loopback recording became a need of mine (probably something I read, then decided I “needed”), so the shopping began. I bought a refurbished Focusrite 4i4 gen3, returned it; a MOTU M-2, returned it; an Audient ID4 MKII (I still have it); and finally a Focusrite 4i4 Gen 4 (I still own it).

I eventually figured out the Apollo, thanks to an amazing tutorial from Why Logic Pro Rules and the purchase of an Apollo Console pack from Steve Kinney. These two resources together helped me understand the Apollo and Console, and I almost committed to it. I purchased the Apollo Solo I mentioned earlier so I could use it with my laptop and use the Twin X with my desktop (the room I regularly use is not heated, so when wintertime rolled around, I needed a mobile option). The Solo’s processing power was very limited, and I ran into the same conundrum of overpriced plugins and frustrations with the Console app, and I almost felt forced into using LUNA, which I did not love. Final conclusion: the UA Apollo ecosystem is very good. I was able to get some very inspiring guitar tones, but it’s also expensive, and in the end, I decided it’s just not for me. Anyone want a great deal on an Apollo?

I’ve settled on the Focusrite 4i4 4th gen, not because it’s the best audio interface I own, but because it’s frictionless. Like the 2i2 before it, it simply melts into the background, and I forget it’s even there. And sometimes that’s exactly what better looks like.

I did this with the songs on the demo I finally released this Spring. For more than twenty years, I held on to six songs I recorded in a real studio with a real drummer and real amps. The resulting versions were the best I had recorded to date (2003), but my first instinct when I got back into recording last year was to re-record them. I had many reasons, and they all felt perfectly valid at the time: my guitar playing is “better” today than it was then, the gear I have today is better than the gear used to record it, and many, many others. I wasted months trying to make them “better” when in fact, they were already good enough.

The problem with this form of restarting is the same as it was with gear: it prevents me from finishing songs because I keep trying to perfect them. It’s a pattern that I’ve been engaging in since I started writing and recording songs. From my four-track cassette days to early DAWs, digital multi-track recorders, and the studio where I recorded my demo, all of those sessions contained versions of the same set of songs. One song, Blood From a Stone, must have been recorded and re-recorded at least 25 times (maybe a slight exaggeration) since I wrote it.

And I was doing it again, twenty-something years later, with the song I’ve been “stuck” on for close to two months. So I decided I’m not going to feed this behavior for one more day. I have an old demo of the song. Other than the drums, the song is pretty good. Not great, not perfect, but pretty good. So I decided to “fix” the one thing that bothered me. I used a stem splitter to “remove” the drums, and used EZdrummer to create a “better” drum track. The rest of the song remains-warts and all.

Here’s another reason I’m releasing the original version: I probably recorded it around the same time I wrote it. The energy and enthusiasm for the song were then, not now. The emotions were fresh then, especially for the particular song I’m talking about. I wrote it about my son and the emotions I was experiencing around the time of his birth. Those emotions were captured during the recording of the original demo.

And lastly, why am I recreating the wheel? Why am I not honoring the work I did previously? What is really gained by re-recording? Am I really making the song better, or am I just rationalizing my actions as productive work when in fact all it is is yet another form of friction avoidance (you know, avoiding the discomfort of putting something out in the world that is not perfect and dealing with the likelihood that others will judge it and even worse, not like it)?

Avoidance is a sneaky bastard, but I’m slowly getting wise to its tricks. The song “Everytime” is being released this week. The next song is titled The Road I Travel, and its situation is the same as Everytime’s. I have an old demo, it’s pretty good except for the drums, so it will get the same treatment. I’m going to honor the work I did in the past so I can free up time and energy today to make new music.

Title: Each Song Represents a Moment in Time, and They Don’t Have to be Consecutive.

Yesterday, I got home from work and fired up my computer to start working on my current song project, The Road I Travel. For some reason, I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote, “How can I release this as-is?”

As with my last project, a song titled Everytime, I felt stuck. I was trying to recreate the feel of a guitar part, but I was getting frustrated. Objectively, my guitar playing is better today than it was when I recorded the demo, but I was unable to match the demo’s guitar parts. Soloing the guitar parts revealed a cool (if I do say so myself) rhythm part sloppily played and slightly off time, but somehow gelling into a cohesive part.

The same thoughts ran through my head as when I finally decided to stop trying to recreate Everytime and use what I had. Why am I re-recording this? Am I really making this better? I didn’t have a good answer for the first question, and the answer to the second was clearly no.

The next question I asked was, “What’s distracting me, what’s bugging me about the original?” Like with Everytime, the answer was the drums. The drums were a very simple two-bar pattern with a repeating fill to mark transitions. So I tried what I did with Everytime, I removed the original drums and used EZdrummer3 to create a new drum track. It sounded horrible! I couldn’t get it to align with the other tracks, and the feel was off.

After closer inspection, I noticed that the original drum track was slightly off. In theory, this should have made the other tracks sound off as well, but somehow it produced a feel that worked—a happy accident. The part that I first thought was a distraction was actually the song’s glue. Sometimes, first impressions are not accurate. Long story short, The Road I Travel is getting released completely as is. I’ll balance the track levels, throw a limiter on the master fader, and call it a day.

The end goal of all of this is to release music. Get it off my hard drive and out into the world. And it should not matter when I created it, yesterday, today, tomorrow, or twenty years ago. Each song represents a moment in time, an evolution of the process. The only way for the process to evolve is to keep working through it, release songs, and repeat. Next up: Memories.

The Road I Travel just debuted on Spotify this morning!

First and foremost, I’m a hard-rock guitarist. I bought my first album when I was 11. Kiss Alive II. To me, a proper rock guitar sound is a Gibson Les Paul plugged into a Marshall amplifier. Other humbucker-equipped guitars, such as SGs, will also do (I love Angus Young and Tony Iommi’s guitar tones), and other British-style tube amps (Friedman might make a better Marshall than Marshall). While I record my guitars and basses directly, these preferences still apply when choosing hardware (an audio interface with a dedicated guitar HI-Z input) and software (amp sims that can achieve the tones I’m after).

My playing and songwriting are heavily influenced by hard-rock bands of the 70s. While I grew up listening to the hair metal of the Eighties (Def Leppard, Motley Crue, Ratt, Cinderella, etc.), when I started playing guitar, I latched onto the bands that influenced my heroes. Jake E. Lee was the reason I picked up a guitar, and in interviews, he talked about Jimi Hendrix, while others introduced me to players like Ritchie Blackmore of Deep Purple, Joe Perry and Brad Whitford of Aerosmith, Paul Kossof of Free, and Mick Ralphs of Bad Company.

What I didn’t realize about these influences until recently was that I was also influenced by the sound of those recordings. Those sounds were not just the players, the guitars, and the amps, but also the consoles, the compressors, the EQs, and the reverbs used to make those records. Not to mention the way they were tracked. When Black Sabbath recorded Paranoid in 1970, they were probably limited to eight tracks (16-track machines were starting to become available, but they were “state-of-the-art”, so not every studio had them). Translate this to my needs and the sound I’m going for: I know I need a 1176-style compressor, Pultec-style EQ, plate reverb, tape delay, and tape saturation/emulation. Those elements are the core of the sound I’m going for.

I also know I don’t need large track counts. Most of the recordings I love probably have four drum tracks (kick, snare, and an overhead left and right), two or three guitar tracks, a bass track (maybe two), and a couple of vocal tracks. The music I love and the music I’m trying to create are simple, but they do require a specific set of tools.

I first attempted this in REAPER using Universal Audio plugins, but they wreaked havoc on my 2020 M1 Mac mini with 8 GB of RAM, so I ditched REAPER. I didn’t want to abandon the sound I had in my head, so I needed a DAW that could deliver my desired production style without overloading my computer. Logic Pro seemed to fit that bill, with a native 1176-style compressor, Pultec-style EQ, plate reverbs, tape delays, and tape saturation, and running efficiently on my modest computer. Logic may not be my forever home, but it checks more boxes than other DAWs

Drums are also a high priority for me. Rock songs need good-sounding drums, and it’s hard for me to get inspired when writing or recording to a click track. In my four-track days, I used an Alesis SR-16 drum machine. Later, when I switched to computer-based recording, it was drum loops and sequencers like Reason. Now it’s EZdrummer and Logic Pro’s Session Drummer. While I’m just scratching the surface on Logic’s Session Drummer, it seems like a good-sounding, low-friction tool for writing. EZdrummer is more versatile, but Session Drummer is quick!

I was stuck in decision limbo until I sat down and wrote down who I was and what I was trying to accomplish, then I used that to choose my tools. The writing-it-down part was extremely important because I was trying to hold approximately one metric f%ck-ton of information in my head, and it caused me to go back and forth between options. Maybe I should buy a new computer (as of this writing, no Mac minis are available anywhere)? Maybe I should update Cubase Elements to Artist or Pro? Maybe I should update Ableton from Lite to Standard (I had previously worked out ideas in Lite)? Maybe I should use Pro Tools (it does not run well on my Mac mini)? Maybe I should use Studio One (Studio Pro now)? I have a license, but the thought of learning a new DAW from scratch was unappealing, and for some reason, I never clicked with it.

And possibly the biggest mental battle I was having was: maybe I should go back to using my Apollo Twin X? I thought about this option a lot. I have an $800.00 interface sitting on a shelf collecting dust. But then I remembered all the frustrations I had with Console, how expensive UAD amp sims are, and the rabbit hole I went down last time. Along the same line, I thought about LUNA. LUNA seamlessly integrates with Apollo and eliminates console frustration, but it does not run well on the mini (I ran several Activity Monitor tests with multiple DAWs).

All this “stuff” had been rolling around in my head for more than a month. I was literally losing sleep over this. Writing it down and working through who I am, what I want, and recalling my past experiences made the decision to move to Logic Pro almost inevitable. Decision made. Now the hard part, getting back to work on moving the music from my hard drive to Spotify.

I can tell you what it’s not. It’s not a lack of knowledge. I have a Master’s Certificate from the Berklee College of Music in music production and guitar. I’ve been playing guitar for more than 30 years. I taught guitar for 15 years, and I have recording experience.

It’s certainly not a lack of gear. I have multiple guitars, audio interfaces, a computer, and all the software I could ever need. It’s not a lack of material. I have five songs ready to record, and a large backlog of lyrics, riffs, etc. It’s not a lack of time. While I have a full-time job, family, friends, and other interests, I have time. It’s not a lack of motivation, inspiration, or even energy. I’m not finishing songs because of my behavior.

I waste the time I have available. I sit down to “record” or “play guitar” without a plan. And without a plan, I default to familiar activities. I might play along with songs to “warm up” and use an amp sim in standalone mode to “dial in a tone” for that song.

Or maybe, I’ll launch whatever DAW is “definitely the one for me” this week, and play along with the scratch track for the song I’m supposed to be recording. I’ll “test” or “dial-in” the perfect amp tone, which usually means launching two, three, or four amp sims to find the perfect Marshall “Plexi” tone. You know, because the one in Helix Native is slightly better than the one in Amplitube, but maybe not quite as good as the TONEX capture, or was it the Neural Amp Modeler capture? But wait, what about the Universal Audio ‘68 Lion? It had this really unique, high-end presence that might cut through the mix and carve that perfect EQ notch for guitar. The next thing I know, the hour I had set aside is over. Nothing is recorded. I feel frustrated and engage in unhelpful mental banter about my inability to do the work.

So why do I do these things if I know they are not helpful? I have some thoughts. I’m in a state of constant decision-making (or is it indecision?) because each choice (what DAW, which amp sim, etc.) feels like a high-stakes, irreversible commitment. If I choose wrong, my recordings will sound unprofessional (you know, the recordings I’m not making). This fear of making the wrong choice drains my creative energy.

I keep restarting. Each tool change is a reset. Try a new audio interface, reset. Try a new DAW, reset. Audition a new amp sim, or alter the perfect preset I created yesterday, a reset. Some of these resets are small, some are large, but each is an interruption in the process and may create a new problem. A new DAW means new keyboard shortcuts, new editing tools, etc. New amp sim introduces different input levels, different EQ chain, etc. Sometimes these changes eat up a few minutes. Sometimes they eat up an entire session or more. It’s a constantly changing set of variables that not only introduces problems, but also mental overhead. I need consistency, yet my actions create inconsistency.

And let’s not forget the most important reason. The real reason I’m not finishing songs is that I’m scared. I’m afraid of being vulnerable. I’m afraid that it won’t be good enough. I’m afraid that it won’t live up to my expectations. I’m afraid that the finished product won’t adequately represent my experience. In my mind, with all the experience I have, I should be able to produce a finished product that sounds like all my favorite recordings. It should sound like Aerosmith’s Rocks, Back Sabbath’s Vol. 4, or the Cult’s Electric, but right now, it sounds like a guy who wrote a song and recorded it on his laptop, and that’s hard to live with. And I have to live with it to make progress, at least for a few iterations. Because the only way I get from where I’m at to where I want to be is through repetition. And unfortunately, those first few reps will be uncomfortable. The real question is whether I can push through it. Can I live with the vulnerability and the discomfort? Can I ship it knowing that I can do better someday, but in order to get to that someday, I have to release what I’m capable of today? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. The solution isn’t the perfect tool. It’s removing the weight of the decision entirely. I’m taking two days off from work to work on a song I’ve been stalled on, and I’m doing it in Logic Pro. That’s not a long-term commitment to Logic, but a commitment to one specific tool, to do one specific job.

When I went back to the studio to do some overdubs, I posed the question, “Would you be interested in a trade? My 1680 for studio time? He said yes, and we worked out a deal. One stipulation I had was that I needed a drummer. He volunteered his band’s drummer (who would later add a stipulation of his own: beer!).

The resulting sessions were extremely awkward. I had never been in a studio. I had never worked with the drummer, and I had to sing and play my songs in front of strangers. Eventually, we all worked through it and recorded satisfactory drum takes for six songs. I was tight on time, so we recorded guitar and some vocal overdubs in a long session that included a co-worker playing bass.

My initial intent was to re-record guitars and vocals at home, then mix and burn the songs to CD. I did this. Made two (maybe three) CDs. One song never made it to the CD. I was overly self-conscious about my playing and singing on it (even more so than the five that made it to the CD). Then I forgot about it. It was like my mind completely erased the memory of it.

In 2020 (-ish), my family and I were cleaning out my mom’s house. My son was interested in her record player and started going through her albums, CDs, and cassettes. In a CD case with a plain white and black homemade label was a CD titled Ken Tinnin, Feed the Beast. My son started asking questions, “Is this really you? Did you make a CD?. Later, the questions changed to: “When are you releasing this?” or “When is the 2025 remix?”

Sometime in 2025, I decided to maybe re-record the songs. I needed a break from teaching guitar, and maybe I’ll take one to “work on my music” quest began. It went through a lot of iterations. I tried to learn EZdrummer to create drum tracks, then I learned about stem splitters (this did not work as the CD quality was so poor that the stem separation was horrible), then eveything changed in October when I found an old back up DVD that had the original demo session tracks, a couple of other homemade demos and a folder of lyrics-some dating back to the 1990’s.

Listening to those sessions was nostalgic to say the least. They were so raw and, at the same time, so full of energy, angst, and emotion. They were far better than the CD mix I had made decades prior. Then, I found the song that never made it to the CD. I imported the tracks into a DAW and listened in trepidation. I immediately remembered the embarrassment I had previously felt. I hesitated to push play. The riff started, I liked it; the lead guitar kicked in, I liked it. The vocals came in, and I didn’t hate them. They were off-key, but there was a rawness to them that was kinda cool. What had I been so afraid of? Why was I so embarrassed? I made something. I took a risk. The quality was irrelevant. The rough demo made trumps the great demo that was never made every time.

The day the demo was available on Spotify, I was ecstatic. I texted family and friends. I even made a Facebook post (I NEVER post on Facebook!). Again, what was I so afraid of? I didn’t die. There was no public outcry, and I was not arrested by the bad music police.

I guess my mind figured that since one AI platform worked so well, why not engage two more to get the information I needed to resolve my current dilemma. More isn’t always better, and I quickly became overwhelmed, distracted, and stuck. I was so stuck I couldn’t even see that the three platforms were telling me the same thing (the exact same thing that had gotten me unstuck in the first place!). I needed to lock in a (ONE!) DAW, a template, and two- or three-amp tones.

If DAW switching had been my primary problem before, amp sims and tone-tweaking quickly became my new primary problem. I couldn’t decide between Amplitube, TONEX, Helix Native, UA Lion, Ruby 63, 55 Woodrow, or Dream ’65. And let’s not even talk about the Neural DSP rabbit hole I went down. Soldano, yes; Nolly, maybe; Tim Henson has an amp based on a JCM800, and I like Marshalls-that’s the ticket. But wait, Plini has an amp based on a Friedman BE-100, and Friedman builds a better Marshall than Marshall, so…

Tony Iommi recorded my favorite Black Sabbath records with a single guitar and a single amp tone. I can’t seem to finish a song, even with six guitars and multiple amp sims! Yes, this is avoidance. The only “real” friction is between my ears. The real kicker is that the tone I record with doesn’t really matter. As long as I record a healthy signal and a good performance, the tone can be adjusted later. Yes, I need a tone that inspires, as it directly correlates to performance, but good enough can be dialed in later to great.

Maybe real friction and avoidance are the same. Both interrupt progress and can stop it dead in its tracks if left unchecked. It may not matter whether the friction is real. Maybe all that matters is what I do next. Do I jump back in today after work and pick up where I left off? Pick up in a spot that’s not fun, where my vocals are off, my guitar playing is not up to my standards, and in an environment (REAPER) I have known issues with. It’s much more appealing to move my template to insert new DAW name here, download an amp sim trial, and dial it in because that will feel like progress. Fixing the mess that is my Everytime REAPER project seems hard. Easy or hard. Which path will I choose?

The path I choose is less important than the choice itself. The real problem is indecision, because the longer I wait, the easier it is to do nothing. If I do nothing, the friction wins.

After work, I’m going to open the REAPER project. I’m going to mute the existing guitar and bass tracks and play along with the drums and vocals. I’m going to play guitar because neglecting my playing contributed to this problem. Then I’m going to reevaluate the bass line and the two rhythm guitar tracks. If the performance is as bad as I think it is, they’re out. I’ll keep the best vocal take and use it as a scratch vocal. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out a take system for REAPER that I can live with, but most importantly, I’m setting a hard limit. If by Sunday, May 3, I’m still fighting REAPER, I’m moving the project to another DAW.

I started making music in the 1990s with a Fostex 4-track cassette recorder and an Alesis SR-16 drum machine. I’d find a suitable drum loop to play my super cool guitar riff over and I’d build a song structure around it. From there, I’d overdub vocals, lead guitar and bass.

I carried that same process over to early DAWs like Cakewalk’s Home Studio, Guitar Tracks and SONAR, digital multitrack recorders like the Roland VS880/VS1680, and later at Berklee with more modern tools like Reason, Ableton Live and Pro Tools.

Through the years, the tools have changed, but the process was always the same, use drums to outline the song structure, record rhythm guitars, record a scratch vocal, record, bass, then add lead guitar. Even when I recorded my demo in 2003, I repeated the process, but this time I replaced the drum machine, the drums loops and the drum software with a human drummer.

When I got back into recording last year, more than 20 years had passed. The tools were different this time around, better drum software, better amp sims, and far more DAW choices with far more features. The landscape seemed to have changes so much, that I discounted my previous experience and workflow as irrelevant.

I purchased or tried demos of all the major DAWs and followed their implied workflow. I bought the audio interface that seemed to be the one all the pros on YouTube were using (a Universal Audio Apollo Twin X). I fought with most of the DAWs that YouTube influencers recommended, and fought so much with the Apollo that I almost gave up. I hated the added layer of the Console app (the truth is I didn’t understand it). I invested in plugins (mostly amp sims), but I couldn’t get it to sound good.

Eventually, I reverted to my old (gen 1 or 2) Focusrite Scarlett Solo and while I fought latency, I got better results than with the Apollo. It made no sense that my results were “better” with a $99 dollar interface and GarageBand than an $800 interface and a fancy DAW.

What was actually happening was one set of tools was behaving like I expected it to and the other was not. I was fighting not only my expectations, but decades of experience. I was ignoring all the signals of things that were working for me (Focusrite and GarageBand) and trying to force tools that were not (Apollo and Console). My thought process was since options B is more expensive and used by “professionals”, it must be right, and the option A is cheaper and made for “beginners”, it must be wrong. I failed to follow the most important resource of all, me and my intuition. I already knew what to do and how to do it, I’d done it several times before. The tools never mattered, but my experience did.

The behavior usually starts with friction. Something gets hard, I blame the tool (maybe it’s the audio interface, maybe it’s the DAW, maybe it’s a plugin), so I research for a “better” tool. Sometimes, I buy the “better” tool, then fiddle with the “better” tool, and sometimes, I even make a little progress, but eventually another obstacle arises, and I repeat the behavior.

What frustrates me most is that I’m aware of this obstacle and know the warning signs, yet I still give in too often. What complicates the situation is that there is sometimes a legitimate tool problem or mismatch.

I’m currently working through this behavior. I’ve been stalled on a song release for three weeks. I’ve encountered some legitimate problems: the vocals are off-pitch, the bassline is too busy, the drum groove feels wrong, and, with my focus on recording, my guitar playing has suffered. Lead playing feels like a chore, and my rhythm timing could be better. For the most part, I’m ok with this list. These are all fixable problems, and at worst, I take a few weeks to work through them.

My bigger challenge lies at the core of my behavioral problem-I’m running into some legitimate issues with REAPER. Takes don’t behave the way I’m used to, routing is different from what I’m used to, and I’m running into issues using EZdrummer’s Bandmate inside of REAPER. These problems are frustrating me and stealing my time. I’m trying to work through them because I don’t want to switch tools just because I’m experiencing friction, but at the same time, I know the way I want to work is possible in another DAW. I’m only now realizing that my years of recording experience with 4-track cassette recorders, early DAWs, and digital multitrack recorders have produced an unconscious, inherited workflow. Right now, REAPER is violating that workflow, and I can either adapt my workflow to align with REAPER or find a tool that matches it. I’m leaning toward the latter.

And I’m struggling. Do I press on with REAPER, or do I find another DAW? The thought of testing another DAW used to entice me, but now I find it irritating and frankly, a waste of time. I have work to do, and I have enough mental baggage to deal with without the irritation of having to find another tool.