Austin Kleon

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A story about Twitter and the Delfonics

RIP William Hart, lead singer of the soul trio The Delfonics.

I told a story about him and his last album in my book Show Your Work!

The music producer Adrian Younge was hanging out on Twitter one day and tweeted, “Who is better: The Dramatics or The Delfonics?” As his followers erupted in a debate over the two soul groups, one follower mentioned that the lead singer of The Delfonics, William Hart, was a friend of his dad’s and that Hart just happened to be a fan of Younge’s music. The follower suggested that the two should collaborate. “To make a long story short,” Younge says, “a day later, I’m on the phone with William Hart and we’re speaking for like two hours … we hit it off in a way that was just cosmic.” Younge then produced a brand-new record with Hart, Adrian Younge Presents The Delfonics.

That story is great for two reasons. One, it’s the only story of an album I know of whose existence can be traced to a single tweet. Two, it shows what happens when a musician interacts with his fans on the level of a fan himself.

If you’d like to see The Delfonics do their thing in a rich context, I recommend this vintage episode of Soul!

DJing on the hedonic treadmill

Lately I have been thinking a lot about the “hedonic treadmill,” the idea that being the resilient and adaptable creatures that we are, we can get used to almost anything.

To simplify: We chase after the things that we think will make us happy, and once we get those things, we realize we’re not that much happier than we were before, but we see other things that we think will make us happy this time, so we chase after them, etc., etc. (See also: Arbitrary stupid goals.)

One way to deal with this is to just jump off the treadmill and be grateful for what you have.

Another solution might be found in this wisdom from composer Tom Holkenborg I found in Blood, Sweat, and Chrome, the book about making Mad Max: Fury Road.

On the problem of how to “continuously build on that anticipation of what comes next,” Holkenborg brings up a lesson he learned from being an electronic musician doing live shows:

Every time the DJ drops a new track, it feels louder than anything else that you’ve heard before, which is actually not the case! What happens is you drop a new track, and then over the course of three to five minutes, you make it ever so slightly quieter. And then the new track comes in and it’s back at the level where the original one started, and then everything feels so loud.

This seems to me a valuable tip for art and life.

Holkenborg also talks about how much his hobby, cooking, influences his work. He thinks about his soundtracks like building a 10-course meal: putting a taste in one course that begs for another in the next. (Like DJing with food. I suspect Questlove would have much to say about this.)

Juxtapositions from a sequence of experiences are overlooked as a source of creativity.

We tend to think a lot about what we do, but we rarely think about the order in which we do it.

I have found this especially true in one’s self-education: the order in which you come into contact with things is almost as important as the things themselves. (See: Melville not reading Shakespeare until he was 30.)

Adjust the volume, shuffle the sequence…

Thoreau’s birthday

Here’s a quick birthday drawing of one of my favorite writers, Henry David Thoreau, born July 12, 1817.

Thoreau is one of those writers everybody thinks they know already without actually reading any of his work.

As a great Indoorsman, I stayed away from him for ages until I fell in love with his journal and spent a few years reading the entries every day. (He was a huge influence on my book Keep Going.)

My “Thoreau” tag on this blog is now 35+ posts deep.

Some highlights: 

If you’ve never read him before, try downloading the “Walking” zine from Keri Smith’s Wander Society pocket library. 

Then go for a long walk and come back and write about it.

The gift of obscurity

a spread from Steal Like an Artist

Brad Listi had me back on his Otherppl podcast, and one thing we talked about was the gift of obscurity:

People worry so much about people being angry at them or doing the wrong thing, but obscurity can be this great gift. You can experiment. It’s a kind of freedom. Now, unlimited freedom can be very paralyzing, too. Freedom is not necessarily the best thing ever for art; there’s a tension between freedom and constraint out of which great art arises. Obscurity can be a real gift if you use it correctly.

You can listen to the whole thing here:

Related reading: a message to graduates

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