Introduction

Life is pain, but we’ve got to scrape the joy out of it every chance we get. That’s a quote from Andy Samberg’s masterpiece Hot Rod. I’m not sure how I reached a point in my life where I’m pulling inspirational quotes from the guy who wrote “Dick in a Box,” but here we are. 

I like to consider myself an artist. Considering yourself any kind of artist is accepting a life of pain, disappointment, and delusion. No matter how much time or work you put into your craft, you’re considered an amateur until your work is acknowledged by a higher power - or youths on the internet. It doesn’t matter how skilled you are, how long you’ve worked at it, how unique your work is - you’re an amateur. Period. Imagine if someone went to school to be a lawyer. They finished school and passed the bar exam. They are now a professional lawyer. They don’t need to be good at it. How many good lawyers do you know of? If I had to guess, I’d say most probably are mids at best. And yet, they’re still considered professionals, despite their lack of skill and/or experience. But for artists, you’re an amateur until you accomplish something that’s at least worth a Wikipedia entry. That’s the bar. 

Navigating your way through this impossible landscape with all that in mind is something that only the most delusional, self-important, aimless drifters of the world commit to with any level of perseverance. Early on in their journey, most artists will travel with vigor and passion. If they have a firm grasp of reality (and rent to pay), they’ll abandon their quest after early turbulence - for most, the energy necessary for pursuing art as a means of living is difficult to muster after a week of norming hard enough to cover basic living expenses. For those who choose to continue trudging through the shitstorm of disappointed parents, unfulfilling day jobs, and the constant bouts with internalized self-doubt, there is silver lining to be found in the form of unfiltered, unadulterated happiness that flows through every part of your being for the entire duration of performance, creation, or expression. 

To summarize in a less condescending, Rick Rubin tone: everything about pursuing art sucks except the moments you’re actually creating or performing. While I can’t speak to specific examples for every art form, I can paint a picture through my lived experience in the music industry.

My name is Pete Shoals, and this is my story. Actually, it’s their story. “They” are The Pits. They might as well be your band, except they’re not. They’re not even my band. They’re actually not even a band anymore, but this was their journey through the labyrinth of amateur musicianship. 

That name again is Pete Shoals. I’m not on social networks, so don’t look for me there. I don’t do a lot on the internet. I wasn’t super interested in anything about the internet except ebaumsworld.com and PureVolume when people started spending a lot of time online, so I kind of missed that whole train, and now it’s too late for me to start giving a shit. I have the same flip phone I bought the year I graduated high school because it still works and I take care of my stuff. Please don’t text me, it still costs me 10 cents per text because I haven’t updated my phone plan since 2004. I stick with what works. I played rhythm guitar in a semi-popular, nearly semi-successful band that used to tour the Midwest in the late-2000’s-early-2010’s, but I haven’t touched an instrument since I turned 20, the band replaced me with some cool guy with tattoos who took his shirt off a lot, I fell into a deep depression, dropped out of community college and started working 50 hours a week at my uncle’s pizza window. 

Not to be dramatic, but this is the greatest story ever told. Or at least the greatest story that I’ve ever told. Or maybe the second greatest story that I’ve ever told, because the one about the time I got to touch the Stanley Cup after the Chicago Blackhawks won in 2010 is a really good story. But this one is still pretty good. Top 5. I’m recounting these events to the absolute best of my memory, but no one’s memory is perfect. I’ll tell you what I’d tell my lawyer if I had one: if I get stuff wrong or leave stuff out, let’s pretend like it’s on purpose for the sake of the story. That’s all anyone wants anyway, no one cares if it really happened. 

Like I said before, being a musician fucking sucks. Sorry for cursing. But it does. Like our emo godfather Craig Owens said, this is probably the best, not to mention the worst idea that I have ever had. 

That name again is Pete Shoals.