I cracked a tooth making music

Hey music makers!

I've been in excruciating pain since last Wednesday.

A cracked tooth, likely from clenching my jaw while I sleep. I didn't realize it at first, but I've been carrying stress into my sleep. Stress about the one thing that's supposed to bring me peace.

Music.

The thing that once gave me peace has become my biggest source of anxiety. I've been gripping so hard chasing professional goals like placements, major label deals, industry milestones, measuring my worth by external validation, that my body is literally breaking down.

This pain radiating from my jaw has disrupted my sleep for six nights now. And every night, as I worked through it with breathing exercises, one question kept surfacing:

What's the lesson here?

On night six, I finally found my answer.

I've lost my way.

Music used to be my escape. My curiosity. My joy. But somewhere along the line, it became a source of shame. A daily reminder of what I haven't achieved yet. A checklist I can't seem to complete.

The thing I love most has been poisoned by pressure I put on myself.

But I'm done with that.

I'm releasing my expectations. I'm recovering my 19-year-old creative spirit. I'm returning to curiosity. The kind that doesn't need permission, validation, or a finish line.

This newsletter is part of that recalibration.

This is one of the songs that made me fall in love with music. It was a source of calm, beauty, and wonder when I was younger. Revisiting it now reminds me why I started and what I've been missing.

The first phrase uses a classic predominant-dominant-tonic move (IV - V - I) to mirror the lyric. IV to V asks the question. The tonic answers it. But the way the tonic chord is presented is absolutely beautiful: the arrival on tonic includes a chromatic bass walkdown (D - D/C# - D/B - D/A) that deepens the emotional resolution with smooth, descending voice leading.

The second phrase subverts expectations nicely. Instead of repeating the strong resolution, it moves from IV to iii (a weaker tonic substitute), then lands on ii7 - vi7. This is a predominant to tonic movement that's softer than the first phrase.

Then comes a brilliant detail: On the second pass, Jeff Porcaro and John Bettis (the songwriters) replace the Bm7 with an Aadd4, shifting the harmonic movement to ii7 - V. This creates a half cadence (ending the phrase and section on the V). Instead, the progression loops back to IV, maintaining harmonic openness and drawing the listener back into the cycle.

This contrast of strong resolution followed by gentler motion creates emotional depth and variety without overcomplicating the harmony.

Try this:
Play through this progression and just notice how it makes you feel. Forget "Is this impressive?" or "Will this work for my goals?" for a moment.

Just ask: what emotion does this evoke?

That's the practice. That's how you recalibrate.

Creativity suffers when you chase validation. It breathes when you follow curiosity.

When I committed to music at 19, it was a journey of pure discovery.

I'd sit in the music library listening to old jazz records. I'd get sheet music to songs like "Ordinary People" by John Legend and feel accomplished just learning it well enough that people recognized what I was playing. I'd walk around campus with my MP3 player (not an iPod because I couldn't afford it) listening to albums I'd downloaded.

I threw parties on campus and pretended to be a DJ when my friend Aaron got turntables. I interned at studios in Pittsburgh and Philly, ran errands for producers, met Lil Scrappy and the legendary Pete Rock.

Music was shaping my life. Every small improvement felt like a major milestone because I was driven by interest, not industry standards.

But that got tainted.

I lost my way because of the pressures I placed on myself to reach specific professional goals. This created an over-reliance on others for validation, for opportunities, for assessments of my progress. My creative outlet became a source of shame rather than peace. It became my biggest source of anxiety and daily stress.

And that's why my jaw was clenching at night. That's why my tooth cracked.

I was gripping so hard both literally and figuratively, that my body couldn't take it anymore.

As a kid, I used to watch music videos for hours, every bit of music programming I had access to. Now it's hard for me to watch the Grammys. Sometimes even concerts feel heavy for me.

But I'm releasing those expectations. I'm recovering my 19-year-old creative spirit.

My pursuits are now driven by curiosity, not external accolades that are out of my control.

Here's what I'm learning:

When you release the grip on external validation, the placements, the deals, the follower counts, the "shoulds”, you make space for curiosity, play, and the kind of music that feeds your soul.

Replacing questions like "Is this good enough?"

With "Does this excite me? Does this feel true?"

The real milestone isn't the Grammy. It's falling back in love with the process.

Music at 19 was effortless. Music now has been loaded with pressure. But here's the good news: I'm finding my way back. One curious exploration at a time. One song that moves me. One progression that triggers a past memory.

I’m throwing out the agendas and the checklist. Just exploring, practicing, and creating music that fulfills.

I'm loosening my grip. And I'm inviting you to do the same.

That's what I'm reclaiming. And I hope you'll join me.