How Bananas Can Help You Overcome Criticism

I hate bananas.  Their texture feels like the meaty guts of a waterlogged snail.  Their shape is phallic and has been teased throughout Bloodhound Gang music videos, banned by Islamic Priests for tempting women, and-oh yeah, Millie.  Anytime I try to spell the damn word I end up singing Gwen Stephani.

Bananas are selfish.  They overpower EVERYTHING.  Banana bread, banana custard, banana pudding, all you can taste is bananas.  Peel one and smell it for miles.  I even used to pull out the Banana flavored runts and give them to my sister.

The other day, I went to an esteemed restaurant and was checking out the dessert menu.  Chocolate lava cake, New York Cheesecake, skillet cookies?!  Oh, and gourmet banana boats.   Does it look delicious to you?  Bleh, I’ll pass.

At the same time, the chef got organic ingredients, and spent a year developing and perfecting his dessert.  The guy went to college and graduated with a degree in bananas.  Or, erm, pastries.  For all I know he could have sent virgins to the islands to harvest bananas, dip the fruit  the fountain of youth, then asked free-ranged dragons to grill the dessert themselves.  I would have still turned my head and picked the skillet cookies thankyouverymuch.

I don’t like bananas, no matter how many virgins pick them.

Pretend for a second that you’re in a band.  You’ve spent a year developing a two hour set of original music.  Okay, throw in a Clapton cover for the fans.  It’s taken you a decade to get this good at your instrument.  Over the years you’ve collectively spent a few thousand dollars on your gear and you sound pretty good.  You’ve got a pretty nice show together.

You lug all your heavy gear to the venue to play a show.  The show is over and you’re milling about the floor chatting with fans.  Everyone says you’re great, they had a good time, they want to know your youtube, can they jam with you next weekend- it's awesome they loved you.

Then there’s always that one guy who gives you a jerkoff backhanded comment that sounds something like this:

“You guys were pretty good, but you’d be AWESOME if you got a male singer.”

Cue Lindy’s kneejerk reaction:

What’s that supposed to mean?  Do you know how much time our singer has invested in this band?  She writes all our lyrics, dude.  Go dissect those and tell me we’ll get a better lyricist.  She’s gets private vocal lessons with Aphrodite every Tuesday, man.  What gives you the right to tell me to
replace my singer?  You know how much work that would actually take?!  I’d rather write a textbook on the history of bananas, jerkoff.

Wait, bananas.

This is probably how the chef felt when I rejected his free-ranged virgin handpicked bananas.  It’s easy to get defensive when uninvited criticism sneaks up on you.  Criticism is a tough thing to handle
especially when you’re unprepared to hear it.

The thing to remember about unwanted criticism is this: everyone is entitled to their opinion.  Is there a time and a place to speak those opinions?  Yes.  Do most people have the social graces to keep
that etiquette under control?  No.  Why not?  It’s actually because (wait for it…) they’re excited.  The person who said they want our band to replace our lead singer was excited and enjoyed the show.  In his mind, he’s helping us excel.  In the throes of passion and an adrenalin packed concert he felt the need to invest his opinion.  He thought he was helping.

Constructive criticism is a good thing.  It means people are interested enough and engaged enough to help you succeed.  If they thought your band sucked and there was no room for improvement they’d have walked out.  When people take the time to give feedback it’s because they want to share their thoughts and feelings with you.  It’s because you actually made an impression on them.  It’s because they want to be part of what you’re offering.

Are most of their suggestions good ones?  Well, it depends who it’s coming from.  A non-musician?  A fellow drummer?  Paris Hilton?  You don’t have to take every piece of advice that gets shoved down your throat. 

So, how does this all fit into bananas?

Teehee, no pun INTENDED. (blahahaha yes it was)

There are a lot of lessons to learn from unwanted criticism.  (Criticism that you asked for is a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT STORY that we won’t cover today.)  It humbles you, always, and that is a very important thing in the music industry. 

The basic lesson I keep learning over and over again is that each music listener has their own pallet.  I don’t like bananas- prepare them however you want, I’ll turn my head away every time. Some people feel the same way about country music.  Or songs with guitar solos.  Or instrumental music.  Some listeners don’t have a pallet that fits your music.  They don’t like heavy guitar tones so they gravitate towards Taylor Swift.  They don’t understand guitar leads, so they’d rather listen to synth driven music.  The don’t like soul singers so they stay away from Adele and Amy Winehouse.  

 It’s okay, I don’t like bananas.

Not everyone is going to like your music- your singer- your guitarist- your lyrics, and that’s okay.  You don’t have to please all these people, even if they give you feedback. 

You just do you and those who feel you will come on board.  The ones who don’t will order a chocolate lava cake instead of a banana boat.

My good buddy Lincoln gave some awesome advice back in the day:

"You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time."

You can’t please all the people all the time, so next time someone gives you advice you don’t like or didn’t ask for just take a breather.  You’ll continue to go on your path and do what you do best. 

I don’t like bananas, you guys. It’s no fault of yours, I just don’t.

Stay inspired fellow musicians.

Keep rocking.  

-Lindy Day

PS - if you like looking at pictures of mouth watering desserts, check out our pinterest board. :)  Alas, you won't find banana desserts, but you'll find lots of other delicious treats.