Imitating the sins of our heroes

Or, "How to sing like Otis Redding"

Occasionally, I’ll pop on some Otis Redding in the car. Sue me.

I enjoy Redding's voice so, I sing along. So what? This makes my girlfriend laugh. Incensed like a toddler, I ask why she's laughing at me. She tells me that I sound like Kermit.

So I say, "But he kinda sounds like Kermit," and she's like, "Yeah, but he's Otis Redding."

Otis Redding doesn't sing technically perfect. He squeezes his voice; he sings with his throat. He warbles, if that’s a word. He makes you worry if he's going to mess up. Then, he always manages to clutch it, like a gymnast sticking the landing after a terrifying close-call.

A virtuoso violinist plays all the notes correctly: it's impressive, but a little bit boring. But, a sweaty violinist playing at the limit of her ability, hair coming out of her ponytail, even if her ability is lesser: we're enthralled.

Faults make the singing not only relatable, they make Otis Redding Otis Redding; they're the reason that no one else can do what he does. He unselfconsciously casts beautiful shadows from the light of his genius. The result something wholly singular.

Whenever I try to imitate him, I imitate the things that are wrong about his singing style and none of that heroic straddling of chaos and order.

So, yeah: Kermit.

When I was coming up as a writer, I listened to a lot of Dan Harmon on his podcast, Harmontown.

Dan is a self-proclaimed (last I checked) narcissist and alcoholic, but also a genius TV writer. His podcast was engaging because he displays his faults so authentically.

We forgive him because he's like a gymnast with a broken limb, sticking the landing anyway. Even though we know a broken leg is not good, we still find that overcoming to be more inspiring than perfection.

What was horrible I found most charming: his alcoholism. He used the word "like" a lot. He was self-aggrandizing and narcissistic. I figured that was tied up with his genius as a writer. So I imitated his faults. It only made me a jerk because I didn't have the other important ingredient: genius.

Great art always comes through cracks. Faults are what's going to be most relatable, most endearing. But, if we try to imitate those faults, those shadows are going to combine with our shadows, and we're going to have no original light and only shadow.

What’s difficult (and humbling) is to unselfconsciously create the best version of the art we can possibly manage. We will still have our own faults — everyone has faults — but we won't be aware of them anymore. No trying to be cute or clever.

If we somehow manage to find authenticity (which is much rarer than genius), we will be able to create beautiful things. Inevitably, others will find our faults to be the most charming thing about us (if they don’t hate us). Some will even imitate those faults.

But, if you aim at charming flaws, you just get Kermit voice.

No one can tell you how to do it, because they would be just telling you how they would do it. The only way to find out the true shape of your vessel is to forget yourself altogether and do something no one could tell you how to do. It is a lonely journey.

When you get there, if you do manage to get there, people will start admiring your faults. There will be nothing that you can say to dissuade them.

You can only hope that they will one day make the same impossible leap you did. And maybe enjoy your work.

Have a good weekend.