I just finished this excellent Rolling Stones article. One of the best longreads I’ve had. Worth your time. Really.

I also found a great lesson inside of it.

Well, I found lots, but one stood out.

It’s the way she describes her phenomenal carreer.

(Or so we thought.)

“This is not my career. This is my hobby.”

(Newsflash: It’s not a career.)

Quite an appalling statement from someone who broke just any kind of music records imaginable and has maybe 50 of them gold statues stuffed in her closet somewhere.

She wrote, produce, promote. Then she goes about to her usual life.

“”I’ve been to every park, every shop, every supermarket you could ever imagine,” she said.

I can’t help but think: Hey, maybe that’s why she write songs so darn good.

It’s the reason people are drawn to her, apart from her one of a kind husky sweet voice.

Her lyrics reminds us how bitter a broken heart is, how lonely a failed relationship feels, how painful it is to see your ex-lover in the arms of another.

She (at least her songs) understands us. You can literally touch the sweet pain.

I’ve read somewhere an excellent advice to writers:

“If you want to write better: Don’t lock yourself up in a room with a typewriter. Go out and experience life. Only then you’ll write better.”

An advice close to all of us in the creative profession.

Can we write a powerful, moving, close to heart creative briefs if all what we do is sitting in hipster cafes writing creative briefs?

Can we write an undeniably true, hurtful lyrics for a love song if we never experienced real brokenness?

Can we talk in a language relevant to the the people on the street if all we speak is marketing jargons after marketing jargons, all of those we learned in a marketing conference?

I can’t help to imagine these two groups of people.

This side: Adele, and on that side, say: the Mileys (Maybe the Kims and Nickies are there too.)

One goes to the supermarket, the other goes to flashy superrich boutique openings.

One goes back to her old apartment above a discount store (really), the other goes back to either her Malibu house or her New York penthouse.

One goes to the park and step on dog sh*t, the other goes all out all nite in the hippest underground trance parties.

(I know I’m exaggerating my fantasies a bit, but I’m making a point here.)

Look the lyrics up.

Adele wrote beautifully about the pain caused by her former lover and her journey to forget about him, the other wrote something about a big snake up her butt or something.

🙂

All I’m saying: Don’t forget to live when you want to write/film/take a picture/talk about life.

Go to a supermarket sometimes.

Stop writing briefs in those darn hipster cafes.