When Perry tossed the idea of writing this column my way, I found myself standing – not for the first – at the edge of uncertainty, questioning not just what I could write but if I even possessed the ability to put pen to paper. His directive was simple — write from the same place I talk from, that offbeat space that jolts artists into a reconsideration of their thoughts and perceptions about the enigmatic life we lead as creators. The challenge, then, was to offer something of value, something that could be genuinely useful to you.
Over the years, the stories – of which this is the first, have woven through conversations with tattoo artists from every corner of the globe — in conventions, hotel bars, and casual social exchanges. Artists whose work graces your Instagram feed. Surprisingly, they’ve expressed gratitude for my seemingly unconventional advice, advice that, when applied, has acted as a catalyst for them to carve out truly remarkable careers. Now, I can’t claim credit for the beauty of their artwork, but I can confidently say I’ve played a modest yet impactful role in shaping the careers of many of them.
If you know me from That Tattoo Show this column/podcast will probably feel like quite a change of pace, and it is. Unlike the free flowing live conversation that is That Tattoo Show, these are my thoughts; collected, edited and presented in the most coherent way possible. So that you can get the most out of the advice that I have to share. I’ve attempted to draw a straight line through my life and pull at only the best threads along the way. Of course, that’s nearly impossible for any of us and I’m no different so, the names and sequence of events may have been changed to suit the story & the message. Like I said, it’s mostly true…
I’m sharing these stories with you, hoping that you can harness them in a similar way to my friends. The frame of reference is my own life experience but it’s mostly irrelevant and only mentioned for context. I’ve found it’s easier for people to catch my drift if they have a sense of where I was when I learnt the advice I’m sharing. Just don’t go thinking this is some sort of autobiography!
“It ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate son”
These initial stories mark the genesis of my journey — the worldview I carried into my tattoo booth. It’s a perspective that’s occasionally at odds with the accepted norms and practices of many tattooists. Why? Because they stem from lessons learned in a different life, one spent navigating a cruel and shallow money trench, the long plastic hallway of the music business and the blood on the carpet, disinterested realm of corporate graphic design. So, take from these narratives what you need and leave what you don’t.
In the seasons to come, I’ll unravel experiences from my tenure as a tattooist, hopefully sharing the wisdom gleaned from encounters with the many eloquent and astute artists I’ve been fortunate to meet. Of course, I’ll also delve into the darker alleys, recounting cautionary tales spawned from the myriad of unsavoury characters and bad actors that populate the underbelly of the tattoo world. But before we journey into those depths, let’s begin at the beginning.
“Throw me in the fire and I won’t throw a fit”
I began my journey in a recording studio, a place where every note feels like a whispered secret and the magic hangs in the air like cigarette smoke. If you’ve never stepped foot inside one, allow me to paint the scene for you— it’s a space where instruments tell stories, and where the air hums with the anticipation of capturing something truly extraordinary.
But, this is not just a story of guitar strings and studio sessions; it’s a single chapter, the first chapter, of a story that starts in these hallowed halls but it ends somewhere very, very different. Intrigued? Let me explain.
Back in the studio there were no rockstar solos awaiting me. Instead, I found myself cast as the humble orchestrator of tea, the wrangler of cables, and the errand-runner for the maestros gracing the studio’s sacred space. In the unassuming cadence of these everyday tasks, a realisation hung in the air like the lingering resonance of a perfectly played chord. Yes, I was the novice amidst virtuosos, but I was also the understudy in a room brimming with seasoned performers.
Being their ‘Go’fer’ wasn’t a defeat; it was actually a prelude to a transformative moment in my life. It was the first of many times that I would ‘beg to differ’ and look at the situation from a different angle. Asking myself ‘How could this be the best thing that’s ever happened to me?’ Humility became my silent companion, an unassuming guide through the intricate rhythms of studio life. Each cable I coiled and every cuppa I brewed became a note in the symphony of my education, a humble acknowledgment that every great musician, no matter how proficient, once navigated those clumsy, early chords of their own journey.
Tea sessions and string changes evolved into impromptu masterclasses, where each cup was accompanied by a nugget of wisdom. What started as a job as a humble tape-op became a backstage pass to the inner workings of musical genius. These maestros weren’t just artists; they were mentors, my mentors. And, they were willing to share the secrets of their craft with this scentless apprentice.
“I should be so, lucky, lucky, lucky”
In the midst of this sonic tapestry, I discovered the beauty of practice, the magic of attention to detail, and the art of acceptance. I also met – for the first time – the hard choices that are the realities of almost every creatives daily life.
As well as tea making, gardening, and the occasional bit of decorating for my bosses wife one of my other responsibilities was to run Studio 2. Sounds great right? Well, studio 2 was once a garage. And, it was primarily used for voiceovers to record those annoying local radio adverts that puncture the airwaves in-between ‘hit’s of the seventies’ & old Kylie songs.
It was my job. Once or twice a week to record about 40 or so spots, set them to a bit of library music and ‘mix’ them. But the atmosphere of studio2 was very different to that of studio1. In studio2 it was all, ‘that’ll do’ and ‘close enough’. A real ‘Darrel Doo’ kind of production. This was a stark contrast to the hours real pros would spend sculpting and crafting the perfect parts for every single bar. Sometimes for days.
All I heard in studio2 was ‘shit in – shit out’, ‘let’s get lunch’!
And it was during this time that I realised that all creativity exists in a push-pull universe where commercial pressures and paydays slowly erode an artist’s integrity. Little by little, as this realisation dawned, I knew that it was time to move on. If you don’t care about your art, why should anyone else?
No radio jingle, no matter how ‘Catchy’ it is will ever change the world. But Rock ’n’ Roll might.
And so, the tale of tea, cables, and errands unfolded not as a mundane routine but as intro in a song called discovery. This recording studio, where I began as an outsider, became the backdrop for two very profound lessons — both of which extended beyond the confines of music and permeated the very essence of my existence.
Starting out it’s easy to think that your efforts to get to your apprenticeship should be congratulated in some way. But, I have a truth for you. It’s the first of many and it’s a hard truth. It’s a truth that, over the years, teaching musicians, designers, journalists and tattooists I’ve learnt is the primary barrier to progress for many.
It’s easy to believe that your journey has been uniquely challenging and it has. But everyone in the room you’ve just slaved and killed yourself just to sit it has already experienced it. And there story was also uniquely challenging in it’s own way.
Welcome to the first rung of the ladder, the first step of the journey, the layer cake that is life. There will be no applause.
All of your efforts up to this point only got you here. They now count for nothing. The next rung of the ladder beckons and the work will be even harder. Be grateful that your efforts weren’t in vain, you’re here, so get to work.
In the grand symphony of life, talent may open doors, but it’s the quiet virtues of humility and gratitude that keep them ajar. Oh, and don’t make radio jingles, it’s rubbish.
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If you prefer a visual or auditory experience, you can catch these tales on That Tattoo Shows YouTube channel or wherever you tune in to podcasts. Just search for ‘I Beg To Differ.’