What Composers Could Learn from Playing Golf: #1

As a composer, and in working with lots of them every week, I’ve observed that sometimes you can’t learn certain lessons that would be good for you to learn. Whether it’s because you can’t see the forest for the trees while you’re buried in the thicket or you’re just too damned stubborn to take a look at anything anybody is telling you, it really doesn’t matter. Sometimes you don’t understand the lessons behind simple concepts unless you are presented with an unconnected outside experience or an alternative perspective, and then—walla!!!—there it is. The lightbulb goes on! The answer to all your hangups becomes clear, and that answer is often nowhere close to what you thought it would be.

For me, that’s the relationship I enjoy with the sport of golf. Whenever I’m in LA, my father and I make a point to at least play a few rounds of golf and get to the driving range even more than that to hit a few buckets. When I was a kid, I wasn’t overly athletic, so golf is sort of our version of “having a catch”—just a boy and his Pop, outside, having fun and spending time together. Yesterday we took the opportunity. Of course, another thing is it was January 2nd—the middle of winter—and we live in Los Angeles where it’s 80 degrees, clear and sunny right now. That helps too.

Me and Golf

I hate golf. Let me make that clear. I don’t hate it because I think it’s boring or tedious or athletic or any of the reasons I’ve heard other people name. No. I hate it because… I can’t effin’ do it! There is something so incredibly pull-out-your-hair nerve-wracking for me about the fact that I cannot make a small ball go in a small hole with a friggin’ stick. I hate that. I should be able to do that, damn it! Why is it so difficult?

But, there are larger lessons in golf that I’m learning, slowly. And that’s almost as aggravating as the actual game is. Who would have thought that golf—something I love to hate—would teach me much about what I love to love, which is my own creative concentrations? Like I said, sometimes it just takes an unfamiliar perspective to teach you the things you need to know about whatever it is you are already doing.

In the spirit of that, here is the first of many things that I believe most composers could learn by playing a little golf:

#1) Lots of people golf, but very few people “play” golf.

I’m not a golfer. I can golf, but I don’t play golf. People who play golf are people like my dad—out there every few days, correcting, studying, practicing, and working at his game. He’s not what you would call a “weekend warrior”: Someone who is only out one weekend or two per month, and occasionally pays attention to the things happening in the golfing world. No, he’s a player. He genuinely concerns himself with the game of golf, pretty much all of the time.

At the driving range yesterday, each driving slot was full. Several dozen people were out there hitting in the beautiful weather. But very few of them were driving straight and accurate 99% of the time. They were just like me—thrashing around, hacking away, and frantically scratching their heads trying to figure out what the hell they were doing wrong. Chances are, they ended their time at the range just like I did, too. When they finished, they loaded up their clubs and were off to the next thing on the checklist of their day without so much as another thought about that driving range. My dad, however, thought about his time at that range for hours after we finished. I could see it in his face. It consumed him for some time after. He was thinking about what he could have done differently to be better out there. He wanted to talk about it. As much as he tried to just move on and do the rest of the day, the conversation would almost always come back to his golf swing, a memory he had of being on the course, or a pointer he’d forgotten to tell me about while we were out there. For hours afterward, he was mentally working on his swing. He was worrying about his game.

The rest of us? Not really. Sure, I want to be better next time I go out, but I’m not going to really lose any sleep over figuring out how to do that. And that right there, is why I’ll never be a great golfer.

That’s very much what the composer landscape is like, and why so many composers I talk to are unnecessarily worried about competition. The truth is that there are a lot of people composing, but not a lot of people correcting, studying, practicing, and working at their game. In fact, the majority of composers never do that stuff. They haven’t the foggiest idea why the things in film music work the way they do. They don’t understand theory, cinematic language, or story support. They wouldn’t know “dramatic tension” if it bit them in the ass. And they really don’t care to figure it out or learn it, either. They simply expect to be able to walk onto the field, start swinging, and have everything work out like it was all meant to be. But practice and learn and study? Not interested.

This is why I never get all wrapped up in what others are doing. Most of them are not on my level. Most of them aren’t that serious. I really don’t care what the “weekend warriors” are doing, and neither should you. Other than the SCOREcast community, I don’t pay attention to composer chat boards. I don’t waste time listening to the babbling that happens in most “composer” forums (and in that sense, I use the word composer extremely loosely). I can’t be bothered to really give a shit about what other composers think the latest and greatest trends in the business are. None of that bears on the success in my composing business and certainly on my success with any of my clients.

My advice to new or emerging composers about this would be to not worry about anybody but yourself. As far as competition goes, it doesn’t really exist. You aren’t competing against those weekend warriors unless you are pitting yourself against them intentionally, and who would do that? They are occasional hackers. They aren’t serious about the game. If you want to be where they are , be my guest. Otherwise, don’t worry about them. Instead, get better at your game. Studying your own output. Plan, strategize, learn, brush up, improve, increase, and experiment.

And if you absolutely cannot live without worrying about something in your career, be concerned with the serious players in the industry—the ones who are truly studying the game and getting better for it. Pay attention to the top 20%, not the bottom 80%. They just aren’t worth getting all fussed up about.

My Pop and I hitting the links (2011)