WHAT COMES TO MIND … v SPY v SPY AND NOT FEARING THE GOOD
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- 6 min read
Here we have the next instalment in What Comes To Mind, an alternative series in the Wind Back Wednesday space, based on the work of the brilliant photographer Stuart Spence, whose not-so-secret goal was to dig into my brain or soul or what might pass for both.
Each time, he pulls out a photo from his archives going back almost 50 years and challenges me to respond with what comes to mind when I look at that image. It might be serious or ridiculous, personal or historical, but it will be inspired by a photo I’ve not seen before, and maybe even unseen by anyone beyond Stuart himself.
This week, v Spy v Spy lead us into something existential in any career.
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BEING THE BEST is presumed to be the goal of anyone in all fields: sport, arts, politics, or the hugely competitive world of country bakeries, each declaring with no shortage of chutzpah – hey, this isn’t some Tidy Town competition; this is serious – that they host the most famous/most loved/most sold pies in Australia. And who is going to argue with them?
Not me, with my mouth full of their product. For scientific research purposes, of course. And anyway, they take it too personally or professionally to countenance an argument. If you’re not the best, however you want to measure that, there is no point it seemed.
What about, for your public-facing career, being good or being long-lasting at being good? You know, offering a solid contribution through a long period even if no one says you’re the best or maybe never reaching heights that removed doubt but gee, no one was complaining either.
Or maybe you toured with Midnight Oil and opened for INXS but never sold as much as them. Your songs might spark a good memory if heard on a classic Oz rock station but wouldn’t cause a flood of calls demanding you be added to their playlists to refresh that memory. Something like v Spy v Spy, a band that has been around since 1981 on and off (on for about a decade, mostly off for another decade or so, then on in various, sometimes contentious arrangements for the past two decades) and who could probably trigger recognition if you heard them pass by on the radio without necessarily bringing forth the name of many songs straight away.
They weren’t first rank stars, they didn’t smash through – though you’ll still hear me playing their Do What You Say single, Four Fresh Lemons EP, & Harry’s Reasons album on occasion – but they did what they were trying to do, make music, they did more than survive and they did it long enough to feud, long enough to threaten a court case or two and lose one member to ill health, long enough to reform, remind and rekindle.
What about that? Not quite the same innit.
Recently I was reading some typically frank posts by Canadian singer/songwriter Ron Sexsmith in which he spun tales of how various albums came together, how the photos were chosen for the cover, how the promises slipped away sometimes, and how the love came through sometimes too. His musings mixed a reasonable serving of the sang-froid that comes from a career that’s given him four decades of getting heard and respected by a not-unreasonable number of people with a touch of the bitterness that comes from battling for four decades to be heard and respected by more than a not-unreasonable number of people.
What struck me about his posts was something similar to a conversation I had with him a few years ago, where it became clear that good was the enemy of imperfection. That is, the fact that Ron had made so many good albums – and dotted among them often enough, some great records – was almost a given, but rather than a boon this perversely meant the absence of terrible ones undermined the media value overall of his work.
Why? Reviewers would note, as I did, that we were often looking for different ways of saying “this is another good Ron Sexsmith record” in ways that couldn’t help but sound like we wished, just for variety, to be able to say, “ah thank god, he’s made a shit one and I’ve got a lot to say about that”, possibly to be followed in a few years by some “return to form” headlines and reviews. The problem with this is consequently, less was said, if anything was said at all, about yet another good record because it wasn’t a “great” one or, indeed, a “terrible” one.
Which is, as I said, perverse. But not uncommon. We are told often enough that if you’re not striving for, or if you fall short of, whatever is judged the real or proper measure of success then you’re a failure and who wants to be, or accept, failure? Losers, obviously. Silver medal? First loser. Non-prize winner? Regular loser. Declining to take the career-ladder route? Someone who is embedding losing in perpetuity.
Just ask the then editor of the Sydney Morning Herald some years back who called me into his office to discuss career opportunities (not out of some personal concern; more stamping his authority on the place as he was relatively new to the job and probably had read this is how management worked). Where did I, arts writer/music specialist, see myself in five years, he asked me, almost pro forma as I guess he thought the answer would be.
Doing this job but doing it better, was the response that came without much contemplation – not because I hadn’t given it any thought but because I had given it a lot of thought for a long time and it was so obvious I didn’t hesitate.
But wait, what about becoming a mid-level editor, then a correspondent or major roundsman, working my way up through management to senior editing eventually (“like me”, was the unspoken bit)? Changing companies and returning when headhunted, maybe to move on again at some point, chasing prestige as well as the cash? No thanks. So, I just wanted to stay in pretty much the same job? That is the level of my ambition? Yep, if all goes well I would become a better writer and keep getting better at the only newspaper I’d wanted to write for. I was a writer, had only wanted to be a writer, and management meant less and less, and finally no, writing. And where was the fun in that? As v Spy v Spy once put it, “you were advertising something you didn’t have”.
His expression was priceless – well, actually, as I would find out, there was a price, but that would be later – and he sent me off saying he was disappointed in my lack of ambition. Something he repeated, though with less politeness, to one of the editors I reported to. The man wasn’t an arsehole; he was a decent bloke who would do some really good work for years to come, though not as an editor in a nice bit of aptness that did bring to mind another line from that same Spy song “you seem to talk about it so much, why don’t you do what you say?”.
But in his eyes if you weren’t going to be a winner on his terms – moving up, playing the game, going for better than good, being the best – you were in effect, a loser.
Well, I could live with that.
WATCH MORE
Catch What Comes To Mind on the road this weekend at Headland Theatre, Tathra Hotel, where on Saturday, Stuart Spence and Bernard Zuel will be showing some photos, swapping stories and offering some prizes tied to Australian music of the 1980s(ish). That will be followed by a band hitting some of those favourite songs, then a screening of that classic work of indie Australian alternative lives in Haydn Keenan’s Going Down, topped off with a Q&A with the film’s star, Tracy Mann.
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Find more work by Stuart Spence on Instagram @stuart_spence
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