(Banner photo by Darin Back)
By Chris Koza
Musicians know well the time-honored cycle of releasing new music: write, record, release, promote, tour, etc. This cycle is to be repeated in perpetuity until something breaks - either one’s freedom from relative obscurity or one’s will to continue. Everyone is familiar with the textbook definition of insanity - to expect a different result while continuing to make the same choices. For a musician trapped in this rut and unable to perceive a way out, the approach forward can begin to feel pointless and uninspired. Just “going through the motions” is no way to feel fulfilled in creativity, with relationships, or in life.
“Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage,” snarls Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins from the song Bullet With Butterfly Wings. This lyric could apply to so many who knowingly or unknowingly identify themselves as feeling victimized by their situation. For the musician who feels stuck in this cycle of write-record-release-repeat, the cage is the parameters of the music industry. The rat is the dehumanization that occurs with the commodification of one’s memories, emotions and life experience. Going beyond music or creative purusits, what if this cage is one’s perceptions of reality in general, and the rat is one’s own mind/body?
Several months ago I realized that I had fallen into a well of negativity where the walls were too mossy and slick for me to climb out. It didn’t feel that deep or far away from the ground above - I could still hear the conversations and the laughter - but I had the sense I was noticeably removed from the action; there but also not there. This feeling is one I’ve known for most of my life and it has always lingered and receded to varying degrees. As a kid, I would feel excited to go to a birthday party at the roller skating rink and see all of my friends, but once there, I’d just retreat to the arcade by myself to pump quarters into Spy Hunter and Arkanoid. Or in high school, I’d finally work up the nerve to ask a crush to the dance, but once there I would feel hollow knowing that this moment was fleeting and that real life was everything that came after.
Chris Koza (third from right) with the Dissonance crew following an intimate house show (concert + conversation) held on May 22, 2022, in St. Paul. (L to R) Jacob Robinson, Jeremiah Gardner, Sarah Souder Johnson, Katy Vernon, Chris Koza, Hyedi Nelson and Jason Chaffee.
With the write-record-release-repeat cycle, I’ve always felt tremendous during the writing part and just prior to the release part. Recording is complicated - being both amazing and also a bit of a slog. The release part seems like a gusty swirl of autumn leaves getting in the way of a clear path forward and you have no idea where you’ll be once the wind settles. Inexplicably, once the new music is released into the world I’ve typically felt more a sense of sadness than excitement. Sure, I’m glad to be sharing life’s work with anyone who is willing to give the time of day, but I can’t steer my thoughts away from about how if this particular cycle doesn’t “break” me, then it’s back to the same beginning of the same road I’ve known for so long.
This sense of self-victimization is unhelpful when trying to nurture a positive mindset that celebrates and nurtures one’s passions instead of seeing them through the lens of burden. Additionally, this idea of “things-happen-to-me” as a way of framing the narrative has been one of the roots of the kudzu of negativity that at times has completely grown over my mind. So, it was when I realized that I was no longer slipping into this well of negativity, but was firmly stuck there, that I decided to do something I had never done before - talk to my general practitioner about these feelings of depression and ask if there was an option for medication.
I’ve done talk therapy before (and will undoubtedly return to it again) which has been instrumental in helping me get back on track while teaching me some ongoing tools on how to consider my relationships with myself and others. In the same ways I’ve had to dissolve any latent stigma I had about talk therapy, I had to set aside any prideful reservations I had about taking medication to address an emotional and chemical imbalance. I had preconceived notions of how the medicine would affect me that I needed to set aside. My GP prescribed me a basic dose of Sertraline (Zoloft) and said, unless something was very, very wrong, she’d like to see me take it for at least 6-12 months, stressing that it wasn’t something like an ibuprofen that one takes only when the pain flares up.
I was worried that taking medication would compromise my creative identity - that I would become an emotional robot who could no longer express original thoughts or ideas. And there are some types of medication and anti-psychotics that do have profound effects on personality and overall energy and engagement levels. One can easily go down the rabbit holes of reddit threads or facebook posts, which of course I did, but I felt relieved from the majority of anecdotes I read.
Those first few weeks, I didn’t notice a whole lot - maybe that I tended to sway back and forth more instead of standing still, or that my appetite for alcohol had been reduced. Knowing what I was hoping to accomplish with this medication - feeling less like a rat in a cage - I also began to consciously try and shift some other ruts in terms of ways-of-thinking I had developed over time.
I began by saying “yes” to opportunities I would normally not pursue. I tried to consider disagreement and conflict as speed-bumps of communication and not as roadblocks to connection. I considered some core stresses in my life and began to reduce my exposure to as many as I could. That 24/7 news cycle? Goodbye. Trying to keep up with the volatile state of the global economy? Not anymore. Feeling slighted for myself instead of celebratory for my peers and colleagues? Instead, I am finding joy and gratitude for others and accepting that the vast majority of what happens in this life isn’t about me at all. Why take so much so personally? Where is that balance between an overbearing and a healthy ego? How can a pill be responsible for addressing so much?
At this point I’ve been on Sertraline for 11 months. I am grateful that this medicine and so many other options are out there for people who need it. Individually, the effects have been subtle but noticeable. Overall the change has been a measurable improvement. I don’t worry about any stigma anymore when it comes to mental health. Everyone has a different chemical makeup and perspective. What is right for someone might not be for someone else, but I think laying everything out on the table can be a valuable place to start. While I don’t believe that a pill alone can solve all problems for everyone, medication can be a vital component when addressing mental and emotional health. But like that “diet pill” doesn’t really make you healthy on its own, that “happy pill” doesn’t make you happy all by itself. There is still work to do - there is still an active, present, aware and engaged self to help out of the well.
I needed some new results and I made some different choices. I challenged some narratives I’ve had about medication. I had conversations with others about their experiences and with my health professional about my options. Being the long-time DIY artist, asking others for help continues to be a challenge. But maybe now, there is a way of seeing creative work happen beyond the write-record-release-repeat cycle, or at least if it’s still a part of that cycle, to embrace it for what it is - a choice I am making about the life I am living.
Chris Koza is a composer and performer based in Minneapolis, Minnesota.