Intimacy matters more to me than correctness

(Oh oh oh! I think Benny is having a lil breakthrough 🥰)

As musicians, we put so much pressure on ourselves. A lot of that comes from the fact that we care about music so much. And sometimes it comes from the fact that there are undeniably some people who belittle what we do. My whole musical life, I’ve had close friends and family members constantly say “so when are you getting a real job? I think it’s time for you to give this little music thing up.”

(I give less of a shit about these kinds of comments as I get older. But they definitely influenced the way I moved.)

So because of these factors, we practice practice practice. And we are so goddamn hard on ourselves out of service/duty towards our love of music or our desire to be accepted by others. It’s almost like we put ourselves in a constant state of proving worthiness. And that can be a very heavy weight to carry.

Yesterday I was writing a poem about my record collection and these words appeared on the paper: “intimacy matters more to me than correctness.” I almost cried: I felt so seen by myself, which is always a special feeling to have (you are the one you’ve been waiting for, after all).

So let’s unpack this together because I know this is very important for me, and you might get something from it too.

Correctness is easy to define. The Right notes. The Cleanest execution. Perfect and precise time (like the mosttt precise. Otherwise, you’re nothing). No mistakes are allowed in this dojo (make a mistake, you’re a fucking clownnn, dude).

Correctness is easily measurable and very defensible. It gives that little Monitor in our heads something to hold onto. He is an addict for shit like that.

I think some correctness matters (here I am on my “mostly” vibes again haha!). Technique and craft are certainly part of the picture.

But intimacy is something else entirely.

Intimacy is contact. It’s presence. It’s being with the sound instead of standing outside of it. Intimacy is what happens when you let a note finish speaking before you decide whether it was “good.” It’s when your body stays involved instead of tightening up to supervise.

When I think about the music that has changed my life, I’m hardly ever thinking about how “correct” it feels in any technical sense. The music that has changed my life feels more human than that. It feels like someone is in the room with me. It feels like I’m being held, not impressed.

Sometimes on the long path of our lives, we can start to prioritize being right over being present. I think that was a huge mistake for me and maybe you can relate. And the irony is that the more I chased correctness, the further I got from the thing that made me fall in love with music in the first place. Maybe the sound got tighter, but the connection definitely got thinner.

And now you know I’ve gotta get my bass involved. The bass isn’t meant to shout. It’s meant to support, to ground, to create a place where other things can land and feel safe. And when I’m playing from a place of intimacy (listening deeply, breathing, touching my body, allowing space) my entire body feels fucking goooood. And the music that comes out…I find it to be pretty excellent (you are the one you’ve been waiting for…again & again)

Intimacy doesn’t imply sloppiness. It doesn’t mean not practicing (all instruments love to be touched often). It means remembering why we practice. Technique is not the point. Not for me anyways. Not anymore.

Lately, I’ve been asking myself different questions when I play. Not “Was that perfect?” but “Did I stay?” Not “Did I nail it?” but “Was I listening?” Those questions feel lighter and way kinder. And somehow, more demanding in a way that feels easier and very Benny.

For me, choosing intimacy over correctness feels like choosing life over surveillance. It feels like trusting that what I have to offer is enough when I’m actually there. Maybe what comes out won’t look the way it does in the crazy story of my life that my brain likes to write. But the music doesn’t want that. It just wants a friend to see it and maybe share some snacks with.

Maybe you’ve been carrying this weight too. You’re not alone and please know that I am really here for you. But you can also learn how to be there for yourself.

(you are the one you’ve been waiting for

again & again & again

over & over & over).

I’m a field, come lay on me anytime,

Benny