Quit bitching. Make music.
Quit worrying about perfect production, that new softsynth or vintage whatever-the-fuck-you-saw-for-way-too-much-money-on-ebay, your fucking hair extensions, those new vinyl pants and those 16 hole $300 New Rock boots. Stop whining about how X-band shouldn’t have gotten that opening spot and that person kisses ass and name drops and sucks that band’s cock for an off mention in some douchey blog. Stop caring about what every other artist does and worry about your fucking backyard and how good it’ll look if you log out of some dickwaving forum and actually lay down some honest, real IDEAS for a change.
Quit saying “if only I could get X-budget so X-person would mix my shit” and find someone as hungry as you to give it a shot for a lot less money, and if not accept that you’ve just decided to bet against the music business’ current model and will get screwed financially. Educate yourself on the ways to do it cheaper, and better, and know where to spend your money so you’ll actually get more bang for your hard-earned buck.
Stop scheming to go viral or to get that massive club hit if Ronan Harris would just answer your Facebook message and touch the tip of his dick to your track to make it sound like EBM gold. Forget about your place in the pecking order and simply work to put out the best, most sincere, ORIGINAL music YOU can make. Worry about being fearless and confronting every weird notion that would actually make your music INTERESTING and forcing it out of you like you’re a virgin giving birth to triplets conjoined at the hip.
Put in the time, put in the work, put in the effort, and leave your ego at the door if the rest of the world doesn’t drop to their knees and sing your praises. Fail better. Work harder. Earn your supper. You don’t decide that the world accepts you and what you do, and when it comes down to it if the world doesn’t it really doesn’t matter if you’ve created something you’re happy with. And if you’re NOT happy with it work HARDER, and stop with the emo gothy pity party bullshit and grow a pair, sunshine. Get some calluses, wo/man up, and join the fuckin’ feeding frenzy. It ain’t easy but it’s still the way it is, so suck it up, drink a Red Bull, and wear a helmet.
The only people who should be disappointed are those who whored and pandered and put out their equivalent of a sonic sex tape and even then STILL nobody wanted to jerk off to it. Let them deal with their fractured, sold out egos and deflated souls while those of us who push and force our damaged, imperfect hellspawn out of our infected holes know that We Did The Best We Could with pride.
And fuck ’em if they don’t like it. And fuck ’em if they aren’t impressed. And fuck ’em if they don’t get it, or think it’s shit, because 99% of them don’t have half the sac to even open their mouth to do a duet at a karaoke bar without pissing themselves, and the other 1% hates you because they’ve already failed and the only way they can look themselves in the mirror is by shitting on someone else’s birthday cake.
You’ve got one life. Live it right. And quit bitching.