Don't Leave Me Hanging On The Telephone

Here’s what I’ve been feeling lately: my creativity is stunted, my drive diminished, and my overall mental state is in a far more self-pitying place. I’ve been a comedian for ten years and have experienced varying levels of achievement. None of it enough to feel successful, by my own definition. 

When do I feel most like shit? When I’m comparing myself to others and their successes, of course. When I see what they have, and what they’re doing. I want to be happy for them, and usually, I am, but sometimes I’m simply not. It’s hard when I feel overlooked. I promise you I am not an egomaniac. I don’t think I am God’s gift to comedy or to art or fellow fat sluts, or whatever. I am proud of what I’ve done though. I’m proud of my writing for VICE and other publications. I am proud of self-releasing two comedy albums. I am proud of writing and starring in a legitimate scripted production for Audible, probably my biggest career achievement yet. I am proud of all this, yes, but I am also fucking tired. I’m tired of having done all of that, and still not be able to afford a one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles. I’m tired of needing popularity in order to “make it”. I mean, look at all the comedians desperate to go viral on Twitter simply for the hopes of getting a writing job on season 12 of The Goldbergs, or whatever. It’s an exhausting fucked up system where most of us have to struggle to get noticed and in the process are required to sacrifice our time and money with little in return. This is a clear-cut recipe for fucking up one’s mental health and so many of us in this trade are willing to do it all for the hope that one day we’ll have some sort of power over our art in a way that also provides us financial stability. 

To quell the hard-to-avoid comparison trap, people will tell you, “you don’t know how they got there”, which is true, but, that said, I do have an educated guess because in this industry, we all kind of follow the same general paths. The second most popular (read: dismissive) sentiment is that the example should be motivating. The success of others should be something you treat as a sign that your time will come too. There is truth to that, which I am desperately clinging to, but I think the greater reality is that some people are just more fortunate than others. Whether it’s timing, packaging, connections, or some other variable that got them on a faster track to a tv deal, or what have you. In my experience, some people just get better breaks than others and the reasons are often unclear.

Maybe that pill is harder to swallow than the “good vibes only”, manifest-your-dreams, dogma that’s shoved down our throats more and more these days. A dogma that ignores a few important realities: there are things that affect you, which are out of your control. As much as we might want to believe everything we desire can be achieved by simply willing it into our lives, we have to also understand that some of what we desire is not attainable through will alone. Capitalist structures are in place to keep people of a certain look, race, gender, sexual orientation, and/or a combination of those traits, out of focus. At the end of the day, people in power must be a part of your success too. In comedy and entertainment, talent is only a percentage of what it takes to succeed. Desire and hustle, another factor, sure. But, variables out of our control are also at play in that equation and we can’t ignore that or pressure people to self-blame as if hegemonic power structures aren’t at the root of it all. 

Don’t get me wrong, I know there are things I could have done differently throughout the years. Things that I do now hold myself accountable for. I’ve been in therapy for enough time to know what my faults are. I won’t get into them here but, trust me, I’m a work in progress. Speaking of therapy, my therapist often suggests I focus inward. Why am I feeling what I’m feeling? What’s going on inside me that I may be projecting onto others? When I look at it from this perspective, I realize what controls me is fear. I’m scared. It’s hard to explain my frustrations and sadness without also sounding like a whiny bitch. Every time I complain, I hear an echo of what others might be thinking: look at what you’ve accomplished; look at all the opportunities you’ve been given. I don’t take anything I’ve worked hard for, for granted. But, I also can’t lie and act like I am exactly where I hoped I would be at this stage of my career. At the end of the day I know when I’m feeling like this, that it’s entirely about me -- not about others. It’s about me still financially struggling. It’s about my family pressuring me to change career paths. It’s about not knowing if my relentless pursuit of all this will ever lead to what I want. As I age, it becomes more frightening. Of course, I believe in myself, but let’s face it, that’s not always enough. To truly succeed, others must believe in me too–others with power. To put it plainly, I’m scared that day will never come.

Let me tell you about one of my favorite songs: “Hanging on the Telephone”. If you know the song, you probably attribute it to Blondie. It was a popular single from their third studio album, Parallel Lines. It’s a catchy tune. Easy to dance to, and deceptively upbeat considering it’s about a romantic relationship falling apart. Various other artists have covered it since Blondie released it. While it never gained long-term play the way “Heart of Glass” did (also from that album), it’s still a hit. 

But what a lot of people don’t know is that Blondie’s version is also a cover. The song originates from a power-pop trio known as The Nerves. The Nerves were active in Los Angeles in the mid-’70s and consisted of Paul Collins, Peter Case, and Jack Lee. They released one EP with four tracks on it. Those four tracks included, “Hanging on the Telephone”. This EP did not catapult them into stardom. They were slightly too ahead of their time but are now considered vanguards of the punk and power pop scene that emerged in Los Angeles soon after they disbanded. When the trio went their separate ways, Peter Case formed The Plimsouls while Paul Collins formed The Beat (and today is regarded as the “king” of power-pop). 

Then there’s Jack Lee, the one I think about most. “Hanging on the Telephone” was his song. He wrote it about his own strained relationship with his then-girlfriend. After Lee left The Nerves, he was broke and struggling. If Blondie hadn’t re-recorded this song, it might have very well been completely forgotten. The song was tweaked, yes. Better production value, obviously, and Debbie Harry’s vocals also make a huge difference. But, on the whole, it’s pretty much the same damn song that The Nerves did… only, for Blondie, it was commercially successful and topped music charts. 

So, here’s where I make this about me again. Sometimes, I think to myself, what if I’m Jack Lee? You know, almost there but not quite. Maybe, like The Nerves, I was slightly premature. I guess my fear at this stage is wondering if there is still a chance. Could I get to where I want to go or has the spot been filled by a younger and more commercially appealing ingenue? I have to acknowledge that a fat woman ranting and raving about not sucking dick while demanding to have her pussy eaten, was probably more grating to the majority of male power players than it was...marketable. Posting slutty photos of myself as a fat woman, belly out and with no filters, was not doing me favors with this particular audience either. I’ve always wanted to do things on my terms, though. I guess now I must face the consequences of that, and you know what? I am proud to do so. 

Here’s another important note about Jack Lee and that song. When Blondie approached him to ask if they could cover it, Lee was in total financial ruin. That song being redone by Blondie brought him some money and more songwriting opportunities. Blondie’s popularity gave him a chance to reignite his career. He wrote “You Are My Lover” for Suzi Quatro and, another song he previously wrote and recorded, “Come Back and Stay”, was similarly turned into a hit (Blondie style) by Paul Young. Ultimately, Lee left the world of songwriting. I imagine before he bowed out that his definition of success probably had to alter. Maybe he wanted to be a rock star, but a new lane appeared in having his songwriting immortalized by other, more popular, artists.

Jack Lee made his mark. Something he created did make a lasting impression on the world, whether people realize it or not. And for every million people who don’t know his name, there are people like me. There’s someone who acknowledges and cares about Jack Lee’s contribution. So yeah, maybe I must face some facts: some of the things I did years ago, things that might have left some sort of impact, are not directly attributed to me. But is that what I did it for? Was I in this for recognition or to create something I love and am passionate about? 

When I’m at my most self-pitying, the egoist in me at least wants credit and acknowledgment. When I snap out of my self-absorbed wallow, I look at the greater good that has come of the years of work my peers and I put into the scene being what it is today (as well as those who came before us). You can’t predict where life takes you, no matter how hard you try. What you can do is stand for something, and hope it eventually helps create some change -- no matter how big or small your part in it. I love seeing how different it all is for younger female comics today. How much more freeing and accepting the scene is versus when I started. How much more inclusive, and less predatory it is too (but still has work to do, of course). Big changes happened really fast, and to be a woman in comedy now is worlds better from how it was even five years ago. That’s an amazing and beautiful thing. 

So yeah. Maybe I’m Jack Lee and not Debbie Harry. Maybe I’m still on my path to becoming whatever it is I need to become in order to afford a house in Los Angeles (or at least a one-bedroom apartment for god’s sake). There’s no use in stressing over any of that though. We are all just struggling to make sense of life, and the fact that even one person is interested in what I have to say is a blessing. I don’t want to be the bitter old bitch who resents the success of others. I want to be hopeful, stay motivated, and accept whatever comes of this path I’ve set myself on. My definition of success is being redefined. Maybe I’ll never be a movie star, but success now feels like it should be something more important than that. I want my success tied to my devotion and ferocity. To those who see it and support it, thank you. I am dedicated to fully letting go of the ego-driven comparison trap. I am dedicated to not letting any of this shit get to me, while also accepting that I can’t change who I am or what has happened in the past. I’m in this because it’s what I love to do and I am never going to stop.