John Lennon once summed up a personal dichotomy by saying, “”Part of me suspects I’m a loser and part of me thinks I’m God Almighty.”

The context of the quote involved a discussion about a Beatles for Sale track, “I’m a Loser,” which Lennon himself had penned; and I think it’s safe to say that he was speaking about his ego as person, in general. 

The sentiments, though, kind of remind me of what many musicians are like with respect to their playing. While I don’t think that I as an individual—nor music makers as a collective group—suffer from this kind of extreme bipolar swing ranging from horrendously insecure to raging ego with their day to day lives, I do think there is something to be said about the fact that we all seem to go through periods of self-doubt as instrumentalists, performers, band mates, and creatives.

In truth, I see more “modesty” than “ego” in most of the musicians I know. This perhaps is counter to what many may think, especially considering the image of the preening rock star or the megalomaniac celebrity with so much unabashed self-confidence that people are naturally repulsed. I do have to give a nod to the fact that some musicians have a healthy ego, which is, arguably, somewhat necessary to step on a stage and think, sometimes delusionally, that people should be watching them. (I, personally, wouldn’t make that argument, but some would and it’s a valid one.)

But that kind of thing is not even what I’m talking about here. I chose the term “confidence” in my blog title because “ego” implies excessive pride in one-self, and often an attitude about who you are in general.  What I want to explore is the scale between “confidence” and “questioning” in our own playing and how we feel about what we do within the confines of this craft.

Thankfully (because they’re difficult to be around), I don’t know too many people who believe, as musicians, they’re virtuoso or creative geniuses. On the contrary, most of us are much more quick to compliment others than ourselves. We look at our own performances more critically; we’re more insecure about our own voices and skills; we readily joke disparagingly about ourselves, making our screw-ups or off-pitch harmonies the brunt of the joke. We’re quicker to admit our shortcomings than praise our strengths. 

As a result, I think even the most talented among us never get too comfortable in thinking we’re above musical failure, that we may not be cutting it the way we should be. Sometimes I hear my musical colleagues deliver sounds that I think are brilliant, only to have them question whether their performance was any good at all. It’s a cliché, but we’re often our own worst critic.

But here’s the thing… In a way, I think a degree of humility is healthy. We want to be confident, and we don’t want to be insecure, but if we’re too confident all the time, we miss a reality about the music world: It doesn’t matter how good you are, it only matters that you’re a good fit for the situation you’re in.

A brilliant pop musician might be absolute pants in a metal band, and that same metal musician might likely not even show the most basic degree of competence playing swing music. I know when I watch be-bop drummers, I think, “Is this even the same instrument I play?”  So, we’re all going to suck at something, because you can’t do it all. (Egomaniacs and the helplessly insecure need to learn that, and the rest of us just need to remember it to keep us in a good place in the middle of modesty scale.)

Over the years—and this was not always the case for me—I’ve learned to be very comfortable in “knowing my gig” and comfortable in what I bring to a situation. I know what I do, and what I don’t do.  And, in most instances, the degree to which my skills are good or bad are directly related to how much I’m interested or disinterested in the skill in question. And that makes total sense to me. (As a very simplified example: I never was that interested in double bass drums, so I never played ‘em that much, so, consequently, I’m not that good at ‘em because I sure as hell don’t have the proverbial “10,000 hours” under my belt in that department.)

Understanding what it is that I bring to a situation has helped me to have a quiet confidence in what I do most of the time. But it’s all the stuff that is not part of my game that will keep me from ever being arrogant. Put another way, I believe that it’s about filling musical holes, and if you have a “Steve-Shaped Hole” in your project, I’m going to seem really good. But if you have a completely different-shaped hole, it’s a different story altogether. Knowing about all the incredibly diverse kinds of talents people have—and don’t have—should be enough to keep us all grounded…. to keep the confidence from becoming ego.

And I also size up others in the same way. I don’t discredit the defensive skills of an outfielder by how well the athlete can turn the double play at second base… so why should I do that among my musical colleagues? I always think in terms of “fit.” Almost every musician I know is good at certain things. I judge them by what they can do, not by what they can’t.

As musician, I think I will always be a little bit confident; and I think I’ll always be a little bit insecure. Just like life, I suppose: In some rooms, I’m comfortable; in others, I am out of my element.  I think it’s largely healthy. At least that’s what I think I think. What do you think?