Rediscovering My Voice in Midlife
Mark Armstrong re-embraces music after a long hiatus. PLUS: An Oldster Magazine Friday open thread on revisiting old creative passions later in life.
Readers,
I didn’t intentionally make this any kind of official Musician Week™ at Oldster. Somehow I wound up with an Oldster Magazine Questionnaire from The Go-Go’s Kathy Valentine on Wednesday, a candid video interview with legend Judy Collins Thursday, and today, an essay/open thread by Mark Amstrong about returning to music after many years away from it—now with more wisdom and skill than he’d possessed the last time around, when he played in bands in New York City in his 20s and 30s. I didn’t consciously plan this, but I love it!
Back to Armstrong. His earlier musical endeavors got waylaid — as do so many people’s creative pursuits — when adult life got hectic. He got married, had kids, then found himself with demanding jobs, first at Longreads, the website he founded in 2009, and then with the tech company that purchased it. In the past few years, though, the pandemic and a career pivot created space in both Armstrong’s schedule and mind, and he got back to music in a serious way. In fact, this week he released a new solo single.
In the time that I’ve been publishing Oldster, I’ve heard about so many people returning to old creative pursuits with fresh perspective and passion once they’ve gotten older, and they have a bit more time. (Right now, my 62-year-old husband—who in the 80s and 90s was lead singer in a band called, ahem, Purple Moon Giants—is preparing to release his first solo EP of four songs, something he’d put off for years and finally was able to make time for.)
So I thought this would be a good topic to have you weigh in on, for an Oldster Magazine Friday Open Thread. In the comments, tell me:
How old are you? Have you resumed pursuing an old creative passion you’d once left by the wayside? What is it? Music? Art? Dance? Writing? Cooking? Other? At what age did you give it up and why? At what age did you return to it? OR: Do you want to get back to an old creative passion, but haven’t yet had the chance? Where ever you’re at with this, I’d love for you to chime in.
(Mark and I worked together at Longreads, where I was the essays editor for five years. He’s currently co-founder and CEO of Ursa Story Company, a wonderful podcasting company he started with author Dawnie Walton and Oldster Magazine Questionnaire-taker Deesha Philyaw. )
Mark Amstrong’s essay is below:
Rediscovering My Voice in Midlife
Mark Armstrong re-embraces music after a long hiatus. PLUS: An Oldster Magazine Friday open thread on revisiting old passions later in life.
Sixteen years ago, my last band broke up for good.
The cause, of course, was “creative differences.” In this case, it meant one band member gradually grew tired of playing our songs, leading to an ever-shrinking set list of “songs everyone agreed on” for live shows. We would play at small clubs on the Lower East Side in New York City, trying to stretch the performance to about twenty minutes.
And then, suddenly, we never played again.
By that time, I’d just gotten married, and my first child would arrive soon after. I had entered my 30s and all signs suggested I was getting too old for this. It grew harder to coordinate the schedules of five burgeoning adults struggling to carve out time to get together and rehearse. A year or two earlier, another band had lost its bass player. As we were walking out of our rehearsal building in Williamsburg, he confided to me, “I’m about to turn 30! What am I doing?”
Oh silly us! At the time, pausing on music made perfect sense. We were suddenly responsible for the safety and security of people other than ourselves, and our day jobs soon became careers, demanding more of our time (and offering salaries and health insurance in return).
But what no one tells you is that your kids will get older and more independent, career and work isn't everything, and 48, 75, 90... age is nothing. And life is far too short to give up the things that bring you joy.
***
Early Aughts, New York City
Before I founded the site Longreads, I was working in media during the day in New York, and playing in bands at night.
It was more social than intentional. I had moved from California to New York City two weeks before 9/11. All of my belongings were stuck in storage for two months, because the moving truck was diverted from Manhattan in the aftermath.
I had entered my 30s and all signs suggested I was getting too old for this. It grew harder to coordinate the schedules of five burgeoning adults struggling to carve out time to get together and rehearse. A year or two earlier, another band had lost its bass player. As we were walking out of our rehearsal building in Williamsburg, he confided to me, “I’m about to turn 30! What am I doing?”
I didn’t know anyone in the city, so I browsed the Musicians Wanted ads on Craigslist to see if I could make friends through music. I was an untrained singer who liked to occasionally scream, so a lot of those early bands I joined were self-described “post-hardcore.”
One band’s guitarist knew the booker at Brownie’s, a legendary East Village club, so our first gig ever was a sold-out show opening for Taking Back Sunday, just as the Long Island band was taking off. After the show, some teenagers spotted me buying a slice of pizza and proceeded to give me tips on how to improve my frontman skills.
I had no formal training. I didn’t start singing until college, when some friends in the dorms encouraged me to join their band. At one point, I went to a voice coach who smoked a joint while she told me to purse my lips while I sang — for what reason, I still have no idea.
At first I approached the whole music thing as something of a joke. What I eventually realized is there's safety in labeling a part of your life as a digression or a hobby or a lark: no one can criticize you if you don’t take yourself seriously. But there's danger, too. You can easily hide. And I kept that mask on for 47 years.
***
Seattle, 15 Years Later
Being locked down in a pandemic in your 40s sounds like a perfect recipe for a midlife crisis.
In my case, I’d left a longtime job and was giving my career a fresh start. I began to reflect on the decisions that had brought me to that point: working in media for two decades, starting a successful company (Longreads), then working for the tech company that acquired it.
But if I retraced my steps back even further — before I chose journalism as my major in college — there was the secret part of me that loved performing.
First it was trying to entertain my family, next it was putting on magic shows for the neighbors (okay, I got stage fright and forced my brother to go on in my place), then it was lip-syncing Weird Al songs at the elementary school assembly.
When I left music behind, I had left that part of myself behind, too. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Get serious, and be a grown-up?
When you get older, you realize just how little time you have on this planet to do the things you promised yourself you would do. And you start to realize how silly it feels to pay attention to critics — out in the world and inside your own head.
It would show up again occasionally, on karaoke nights with friends. Another time I sang Europe’s “The Final Countdown” at a corporate retreat. Later that night an executive at the company pulled me aside and gave me the ultimate Billy Joel compliment — “Man, what are you doing here? You should be out touring.”
I would have graciously accepted that compliment, but my own brain had trained me to believe that a desire to perform was a character flaw, not a gift. You're supposed to stay humble and not draw attention to yourself.
But what if my brain had it all wrong? What if my ability to shamelessly throw myself onstage was a gift?
When you get older, you realize just how little time you have on this planet to do the things you promised yourself you would do. And you start to realize how silly it feels to pay attention to critics — out in the world and inside your own head.
***
While we were sheltering in place, I started writing songs and practicing guitar. This time was different. In my old frontman days, the band played all the instruments, and I would add melodies and lyrics. I was inexperienced — I didn’t realize I could have the band change the key to better suit my vocal range, or adjust the arrangement to better fit the lyrics.
With some basic chord progressions, I started writing about all the grown-up things: love, regret, redemption, finding yourself at any age. After working in journalism for so long, I felt more confident about telling a story, with characters and conflict and lifetimes of experience.
As the bars and restaurants opened back up, a neighborhood dad told me he’d also been practicing guitar (this is what dads do in Seattle) and was going to try an open mic. He invited me to join him, and I cautiously accepted.
So, I had my first goal and deadline: Become competent enough at guitar to perform my own songs in public.
My kids were inspiring me, too. They were experimenting with music in their own ways, with theater camps, and drums, and voice lessons. (Parents love to talk about what they’re teaching their kids, but it's easy to take for granted how much they’re teaching us.)
I keep guitars and a keyboard around the house for anyone to pick up, and I try to practice singing so the kids know it’s okay to yelp and scream in our house.
“Everyone gets to sing!” I announce regularly, and they roll their eyes.
I started taking voice lessons last year, trying to unlearn all the bad habits I had developed in those screaming rock bands, trying to figure out what I could sound like if I really started over.
***
Entering My Cringe Era
Eventually, you have to stop practicing in the basement and go outside.
The live music scene and open mics around Seattle are joyful and welcoming. Talented people of all ages stand up in front of crowds of strangers and perform their own songs, their poetry, their comedy. Everyone claps.
The neighborhood dad and I made good on our promise. We showed up for a Wednesday night open mic at The Skylark, a beloved bar in West Seattle. I played an original song and a cover, "Archie, Marry Me" by the band Alvvays. It felt energizing all over again, just like I remembered.
I started posting my practice sessions on TikTok. This is an exercise in exposure therapy for all of the scariest things I can think of doing — public speaking, singing, selfie videos. It's nerve-wracking, but soon you meet other people who are doing the same thing: finding their creative passion, and putting it out into the world.
***
I don't think it was coincidental that some of my biggest career success came from being mostly anonymous on social media.
When I was insecure about showing up as myself on Twitter, I decided to create a pseudonym called Longreads. It was high concept — a feed of “long reads” that I loved and recommended.
When I talk to people who are nervous about posting on social media, I point to Longreads and tell them: You can be whoever you want on social media. If you don’t want to be yourself, make up a whole other identity! (Just don't be a troll.)
It's taken me four decades to understand that art is not selfish, but generous. When you make it and share it, you’re giving a gift to the world. (That gem is stolen from songwriter Dan Wilson.) One person may appreciate it, or one million people. How other people react to it is not your responsibility.
In pursuing music again, I decided to do the opposite: To show up as myself. To make art in my own name. Even scarier: Put my own face on the cover.
It's taken me four decades to understand that art is not selfish, but generous. When you make it and share it, you’re giving a gift to the world. (That gem is stolen from songwriter Dan Wilson.) One person may appreciate it, or one million people. How other people react to it is not your responsibility.
All you have to do is put it out there, while you still can.
***
A New Song: 'Good Dreams'
So that’s what I’m doing. Today, at 48, I’m releasing my first song on Spotify and all your favorite streaming platforms. “Good Dreams” is about a person who knows you better than you know yourself. Maybe that person is someone from your past or present, or maybe it's actually you, and you’re finally listening.
Listen to it, share it with your friends, or duet with me on TikTok or Instagram (@markarmsmusic).
I’m going to start playing live shows again, and keep recording. If you’d like to collaborate on a show or a song, send me an email: heymarkarms [at] gmail.com.
Okay, your turn. Tell us:
How old are you? Have you recently (or ever) resumed pursuing an old creative passion you’d once left by the wayside? What is it? Music? Art? Dance? Writing? Cooking? Other? At what age did you give it up and why? At what age did you return to it? OR: Do you want to get back to an old creative passion, but haven’t yet had the chance? Where ever you’re at with this, I’d love for you to chime in.
I love how responsive the Oldster community is, week after week. As always, thank you for chiming in, and for all your support!
-Sari
 | A guest post by
|
Hi everyone — Mark here. Just wanted to thank Sari for having me at Oldster today, and thank you all for sharing your own stories here.
I am on the cusp of turning 63. I have wanted to be a writer since I was a child. I went through life never feeling "good enough, smart enough, creative enough, unique enough" for anyone to care about my words, my stories, my life. This December, my debut book is being published and will be distributed through Simon and Schuster. It is called, Out of Place: Coming of Age in Cold War West Germany. I am hard at work on the second draft of a Rom Com, I have a PR team...I am...a writer.