Why I Don’t Perform Anymore
I still make music, but only for me
Welcome to your Sunday Fluff at The Drip Tray: A weekly treat of fun and fandom to indulge your sweet tooth, like an artsy cappuccino.
One of the most commonly asked questions from people who learn that I make music is ‘When are you performing next?’ It’s a fair question. I haven’t played live since my As Above launch show in March, 2022 – and I’ve released the companion EP So Below since then. In fact, I’ve only performed as Amity (that’s right, it’s me!) about a dozen times after first coining the name – the street I lived on in high school – over a decade ago.
So, if I still make music, why don’t I perform anymore?
I was drawn to hip hop for two reasons. One, I love the wordplay. Stringing together complex rhymes is a fun challenge for a nerdy overthinker like me. And two, I love the energy. Not all rap music is energetic, but the punchy beats and intense delivery of the 2000s hit different. I grew up with Eminem, Xzibit, and Jay-Z before discovering pioneers like Gang Starr, Nas, and Dr. Dre. In high school, I heard Hilltop Hoods, Bliss n Eso, and Illy on the radio – my native tongue! – which changed my life. A deep dive led to local legends like Horrorshow, Drapht, and Seth Sentry. Soon enough, my casual poetry turned into fervent lyricism.
My friend Shaughn and I would freestyle over Eminem instrumentals on lunch breaks before taking ourselves half-seriously. We recorded a few tracks in my bedroom and performed Linkin Park covers at the talent show (we lost). I submitted a song for my grade 12 Modern History assignment and released a demo mixtape titled Amityville (original, right?) before graduating. My first gig wouldn’t be until the next year at a mini festival called Scorcher Fest. It was raining and my set was in the afternoon, so my rent-a-crowd of friends and family were the only audience. I still had a blast and felt validated for the first time.
Of course, I was bullied for being a rapper because I wasn’t a cool kid and didn’t fit the profile. Nevertheless, I released another two mixtapes before my debut album Assorted Nonsense in 2020, with the help of a paid release campaign. I performed at a handful of other small festivals and supported a couple of local artists in the years that followed, nothing major. The coolest gig was the album launch, which sold out due to a strictly limited capacity thanks to the pandemic. But the electric atmosphere of that first headliner never returned, so the doubts crept in.
Anybody who has met me before will know that I’m my own worst enemy. This translates into my writing and has led to some pretty dark songs. “Treading Water,” the closer of my last release, is a great example and a personal favourite of mine. I wrote it during a bout of depression and wanted the second half of the song to be hopeful as a reminder – to myself and others – that there is light at the end of the tunnel. I cried when I heard the final mix because I was so proud of how far I had come on my mental health journey. As an artist, turning pain into something beautiful is what it’s all about.
Like journalling, I make music to process difficult thoughts and rationalise complicated feelings. Sure, I still throw in some battle rap bars and produce a boom bap beat every now and then, but the main reason is to alleviate stress and express myself. I actually wrote two album’s worth of music – more alt-pop than hip hop – after a breakup years ago. They were conceptual and pretty rough since I produced and recorded them myself, the first under the influence. But even though it will never see the light of day, it served its purpose in helping me to understand and manage my emotions.
Social anxiety and self-sabotage aside, another reason why I don’t perform anymore is because I don’t feel the need to. Once the songs are recorded, and in most cases released, I’m ready to move on. Maybe that makes sense to any musicians reading this, maybe it doesn’t. Honestly, I don’t know how professionals sit on their finished music until the label’s scheduled release date, which is sometimes years later. I used to think that this was because I lost interest over time, but now I realise that I treat my lyrics like diary entries. Why would I want to go back through old journals when I can just write new ones?
Sometimes these songs reflect a period of my life that I may not want to relive, so I would rather bury them instead. Each new song is also generally better than the last, so I cringe when hearing my old stuff now. Every miscalculated syllable, poorly-timed breath, and off-key note sticks out like a sore thumb, even if only to me. Besides, performance requires rehearsal and when playing my own songs becomes a chore, the enthusiasm wanes. You can hear the early onset of this struggle in my song “Emotivate,” when I utter the lines ‘I write, rehearse, record, perform, repeat/ ’Til I ride a hearse, it’s all I ought to be.’
Another thing that I’m sure any creatives can relate to is how quickly my interests change. We’re hungry fidgeters always looking for the next project to fixate on and sink our teeth into. Not necessarily because we get stagnant, but because we need constant stimulation. We also need designated downtime for new ideas to generate. My latest passion, an old favourite that I’ve revisited with a newfound drive, is writing. Before that, it was podcasting. It’s a natural progression that will probably never settle on one hobby at any given time and most likely loop back more than once.
Just to clarify, I still make music. I recorded a voice memo of a melody and lyrics that I came up with on my way to work just the other day. I also took a week off last year to track vocals for some beats that I made. This is the capacity in which I comfortably operate these days. That’s not to say that I’ll never perform again, but being an independent artist is HARD. If you’re not doing it for yourself, you simply won’t make it. My ship has sailed, but I found my calling elsewhere.
So, the next time somebody asks me ‘How’s the music going?’ maybe I’ll say that it’s going great, you just might never hear it.
Here’s a short live video and interview shot by my friend Cheyne of Wild Honey Production from a gig at Brisbane’s beautiful Black Bear Lodge in February, 2021: