Getting High On Your Own Supply

A contrast persists between my favourite scientific philosopher and hip-hop artists.

Karl Popper continually insisted on the importance of modesty in one’s intellectual pursuits. You had to be highly critical of your ideas, but also modest enough to concede that most of them would be wrong. Conjectures, as he called them.

In contrast, hip-hop will not pay you any respect for being modest. You have to be abrasive. In Eminem’s 8-Mile video, we see how he battle raps his way out of his squalid life. Battle rapping is one of the core pillars of hip-hop. Asserting your dominance is key to surviving in the field.

Two fields. Both have been extremely successful in changing our lives. I know they have changed mine. Through Popper, I gained insights into the philosophy of science, the logic of scientific discovery, and the attitude to have when developing my ideas. It later sprang into a book, my very first bold attempt at challenging a legacy name, Charles Darwin.

Popper would have approved of boldness, which is the attribute he assigns to conjectures that have the potential to upend previous beliefs or theories. Yet, he would never let one be completely blinded by their ideas. One has to be modest enough to drop their treasured idea once there is incontrovertible evidence that it is false. This was the basis behind his philosophy of falsification.

On the other coast is hip-hop, a more recent field compared to science, but one that has built influential movements. Court systems tried to stop black musicians from the American South from airing their views on black culture. Black Lives Matter is now a thing. John Legend and Common have a powerful song to remind the world of Martin Luther King Jr.’s contribution to the black movement. Hip-hop moguls like JAŸ-Z and Dr. Dre are billionaires with key stakes in businesses spring-boarded from their rap histories. Most notably, a hip-hop artist has to constantly repeat that they are the best in their field. They have to be high on their own supply.

Two dissenting views. Modesty in science. Braggadocio in hip-hop. I used science to develop my theory, Organismal Selection. And at the start of every chapter of my book, I used a hip-hop line. I was also a dissenter of sorts, opting to pick lines from hip-hop artists over philosophers, because I believe hip-hop retains rich philosophical histories and lessons that are sequestered from the public.

After reading Ted Gioia’s Music to Raise the Dead, I am convinced that there is a powerful reason musicians get high on their own supply. The simple answer? Musical guidance.

The highest-grossing superhero movies could not have achieved historical status were it not for music. We can list a couple.

Star Wars has a killer intro, projecting into a galaxy far, far away. Some producers wanted to scrap it, but nobody in the science fiction world would ever think of doing something that dumb. The music gives an introduction to the journey of the Jedi and the Sith. The intro is the producers telling you — take my hand and let me take you on a journey that is powerful and inspiring. Music introductions do that. As Nyashinski sings:

Decide if you wanna be alone or ride with me

The Avengers theme song was my ringtone for several years, before my close associates took it up. Whenever I was around them, I never would know if it was my phone that was ringing or theirs. I chose the song that doubled as my morning alarm. It would wake me up every working day with a hero-theme song, ready to tackle the day. Even back then, the music was a form of a high, supplied daily from my bedside. Truthfully, it was not always pleasant to hear that alarm, but I have never had another alarm that I would let ring to its very end. The music was that powerful.

The Pirates of the Caribbean has a unique theme music. Like drums, it builds the tempo, especially the fighting scenes. And this right here is the portal. Think of fighting moments of your favourite action-packed film without music. It lacks the umph the fighting scene had when you first watched it.

Music has been thought of as a guide leading the singers through moments of trials. This is true for opening shows as it is during crises. No show begins without an opening theme song. They demand one. Music is a guide.

The Boondocks has one of the most amazing opening theme songs. The word choice used helps us understand why musicians need to feed off their own hype. We’ll use it to build our case:

I am the stone that the builder refused
I am the visual, the inspiration
That made Lady sing the blues
I’m the spark that makes your idea bright
The same spark that lights the dark
So that you can know your left from your right
I am the ballot in your box, the bullet in the gun
The inner glow that lets you know to call your brother son
The story that just begun, the promise of what’s to come
And I’ma remain a soldier ’til the war is won

The stone that the builder refused. From the Bible, the stone that the builder refused was Jesus Christ. The musician usually believes that they have a powerful message that they cannot share through simple narration. It is best given through a song. From their perspective, they know it can be big enough to be compared to that of a Messiah.

Singers can dedicate years to songs. J. Cole recently did that when he released The Fall-Off, which takes us to the next lines. They are the visual and inspiration. Making the Lady sing the blues is what music does. It shines a light. It inspires. Countless times when I edit my work, I get to the final line and tell myself: Ah! Mi ni mnoma! Msee hawezi nishow!

This, I believe, is what a musician feels when they release a killer song.

Most of the time, when a musician releases their composition, it is not well accepted by the public. Since it is art, it will have elements of inefficiency. So they need to gas themselves up so that when the spark hits, it becomes a fire. In the words of Nyashinski, “Me and my fire.” Most days, it will be the artist and their fire. What comes out has to be a sweet aroma.

Music, as it was known in the past, was a guide. It accompanied the hero on those silent journeys alone. The audience could not stomach watching Frodo without a musical background. A guide shows you know your left from your right: it prevents you from veering off the right path.

The other lines could be explained across multiple dimensions. The ballot and the bullet could be the peaceful and violent ways of bringing about change. You need to know your left from your right. But it’s the last two lines I want to centre on.

The story that just begun, the promise of what’s to come. That is the message of all — ALL — superhero movies. And they are famous because they deliver on their promise. And the last line, becoming a soldier until the war is won, is an essential part of understanding how musicians need to get high on their own supply.

The music is a promise. It is also a guide. When all else seems to fail, music is the last pillar. So the musician needs to trust the music. Trust entails a gamble, and yet you cannot know how far the music will lead you until you let go. It may be a lonely journey. It may be filled with many critics, who increase in numbers after fame comes. And yet, even after the fame, music is the guide that, if you don’t trust, you feel broken, hollow, deprived, anemic — literally in a state of disease.

Musicians have to trust the music particularly during their lowest of lows. All tumultuous movies use music when all hope feels lost. And the tempo picks when salvation seems possible. One has to remain a soldier till the war is won.

Like the Vikings who hit their shields and chests before launching an attack, the musician needs to get high on their own supply. Music uses them as a conduit. They are the creator of their drug, their high. A musician is a Möbius strip of supply and demand. The same person, but after walking on the strip twice, you notice how they create what they feed on. It literally comes back full circle, but only if they entrust themselves to the music and wish to create something beautiful.

Shakira may have blown up even more during the 2010 FIFA World Cup than any other time before in her career. Notice how the song begins. A distant cry, like a call to battle or ascendance. Then comes the drums. Drums are historically known to guide and inspire in wars as in ceremonies. And the video of the song shows how world-class soccer players strive to win the coveted trophy.

All songs are a skeleton of what the musician is sharing with the audience. There’s an intro. They take you through a journey, because all good songs build towards a crescendo. Like a hike, you start at the foot of the mountain; they take you up, where the air is rarefied, scant, and so ask that you trust it especially at that moment. Classic ones have these points in the song that leave you breathless. Without breath, you’re literally dead. Here’s where music comes to the rescue, like a miracle, to bring you back to life. Then, as it ends, you descend to the foothills from where you began.

Nyashinski raps:

Uki-die, unaenda heaven, who knows?
Nani asha-die na akarudi life?
Lazaro ama Jesus Christ, that’s what this feels like

What the musician shares with their audience is what they have already gone through countless times. As they release it to the world, their work of art, it is the mind, heart, and soul reaching out to you and asking you: do you see it?

Since it’s a work of art, it has already transformed the creator. It now aims to transform you, the audience. Art is not art unless it transforms both the creator and the audience. Now you know where I stand regarding AI — it doesn’t transform AI, nor does it have the kind of powers to transform its consumers.

Music, in contrast, is so powerful as to wake the dead. It does that, literally, but leaves you breathless in certain parts of the song. Let me share a couple of memorable ones, where there is a crucial pause, no beats, when the artist and the art, the music and the musician die, then come back to life, stronger and more powerful than when they began.

Celine Dion’s To Love You More; Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You; Eminem and Dr. Dre’s I Need A Doctor; Bon Jovi’s It’s My Life; all these songs and many more show how a drug can kill you and bring you back to life. Music is that drug to musicians. A good kind. A transformative one. And when they have established this kind of relationship, separating themselves from it is synonymous with killing them. They will have no guide. No spark that makes their idea bright. No inner glow to make them call their brother son.

Thirty Seconds to Mars, one of my favourite rock bands, begins one of their most popular songs interviewing their fans, most of whom look to music as their saviour. From the origins of music, they are not wrong. Heaven is filled with angels who are always singing. The most faithful servants are promised entry into heaven with song and pomp. Harvests were celebrated with music. The dead were accompanied with music. The heroes come back with music. And when a hero dies, they ask that they sing songs in their honour. One Catholic hymn says to sing is to pray twice.

And the musician is the living conduit of this powerful force. They have to trust that it will take them on a journey. With every song release or composition, like the conductor in a train or a bus, they wish you to take the journey with them.

A musician will get high on their own supply, because it is a journey of trust.

This song inspired some of the lines used in this article. Source — YouTube