NEW INC. MAGAZINE COLUMN BY HOWARD TULLMAN

 

When You Need Inspiration, There's Always Magic in Music

Being an entrepreneur means hitting rock bottom from time to time. That's when I fall back on the Boss and other musicians to help me to push through. 

 

BY HOWARD TULLMAN, GENERAL MANAGING PARTNER, G2T3V AND CHICAGO HIGH TECH INVESTORS@TULLMAN

Credit: Getty Images

 

Dark days and lonely nights are part of every entrepreneur's journey. We've all been there and--as far as I can tell--these are inescapable, inevitable, and actually essential waystations on the path to success.

But the trials and tribulations alone are no guarantee that you'll get to where you think you're headed. And you'll undoubtedly redefine what real "success" actually looks like many times along the way. It's not simply that success is a moving target; it's also that your own goals, expectations, and desires will morph over time. Family, friends, feelings, failings, and other concerns need to be factored into the calculations to bring the first fantasies into final focus. As long as we're breathing, we're all works in progress--unless you're a certain emotionally bereft narcissist who stopped growing and progressing when he was 8 years old.

And what will become clear as well is that without embracing, enduring, and overcoming the ups and downs and the many bumps in that long and winding road, you'll never get to any place worth going anyway. Even if you do reach the next plateau and take a moment to reflect, you'll find that you won't yet have the thick skin, empathy, patience, and resilience you need to build and lead a competitive and sustainable business that's likely to last, to matter, and to make a difference. A life well-lived is about legions, longevity, legends, and legacies. Sean Rowe in his song "To Leave Something Behind" says: "When my son is a man, he will know what I meant. I was just trying to leave something behind."

The keys to winning in the long run are to keep going, to turn obstacles into opportunities, and--as Dr. Phil-ish as it sounds--to be your own best friend and understand that sometimes even the best of us needs to be reassured, cheered up, bucked up, and reminded of why we've chosen this crazy life. As Jackson Browne wrote in "Doctor My Eyes": "Is this the prize for having learned how not to cry?" There's no better time than the super stressful present for a little dose of encouragement, reassurance, and recollection.

In my own life, the most powerful tool to recharge the batteries, replenish the emotional reserves, and pick myself up off the floor for the umpteenth time--apart from my family and a couple of critical companions on the journey--is music. Crazy loud music. And, if there was a single lyric that saved me, it was the Boss, Bruce Springsteen, singing: "no retreat, baby, no surrender" in "No Surrender," in 1984.  

This song was my personal "Battle Hymn of the Republic," and whether I was screaming out "we made a promise we swore we'd always remember" or rallying my team of "blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend," there was a power and a magic to the words, to the emotions they invoked. And also, to the idea of honoring longstanding and shiny new commitments without regard to the costs that helped me through some of the toughest times. The feelings that ripple though you in these moments are indescribable.

To this day, I can honestly say that the only song that even comes close to "No Surrender" for me is "Lose Yourself" by Eminem from the movie 8 Mile, which appeared in 2002. That song hits on every cylinder: The absolute desperation to succeed and the fear of abject failure is all so palpable. I even got permission from Eminem to use it in a video I produced for Bono's RED charity a few years later.

This song is all about the moment, the test, the shot (in Hamilton terms), and rising to the challenge in spite of the fear. Eminem sings: "You own it, you better never let it go. You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow." But the real message is perseverance, in spite of the pain: "I've been chewed up and spit out and booed off stage. But I kept rhyming and stepped right into the next cypher." And finally, a line that tails off at the song's end about belief in yourself: "You can do anything you set your mind to, man."

Every entrepreneur who's willing to be honest can tell you about his or her talisman, touchstone, recollection, song, scene, or mentor that helped them brave the storm and get to the other side without giving up or giving in. This is one of those things that we've all heard, but it always seemed to me that you've got to have been there yourself to really understand. As Louis Armstrong said about jazz: "if you have to ask what jazz is, you'll never know."

Any good entrepreneur will tell you that, in the end, running a business is never about the outcome, win or lose; it's about the challenge, the people, the journey, and the creative process that builds the lifelong power, memories, and meaning for the members of the team. Trying to describe those special shared times--the juice and the energy, those moments when the earth moved, when things finally came together and jelled into a new reality--was always impossible. Much like the power that certain anthemic music has over us.

Twenty years after "No Surrender" was released on the album Born to Run, the world took a big step forward with the creation of YouTube. Music videos had been around since MTV in the early '80s, but YouTube was a different deal in many ways. Anything and everything within reason and certain boundaries could be filmed and shared--not simply by professionals, but basically by anyone.

And lo and behold, 15 years after YouTube began, I came across a singular video that in less than a minute or two--frankly in a few heartbeats--captured everything important about the joy of collaboration and the creative process in a way that every business builder will recognize and grok in an instant. It's my new go-to piece, my tonic for troubled times, and an absolute tearjerker as well.

It's a video of the first-time rehearsal for the main theme song in the film The Greatest Showman, called "This is Me."  It's an amazing performance by Keala Settle, of course, but to me the key is to watch Hugh Jackman at a side table as he is completely enraptured by the creative energy and the emotion in the room. You see him just explode with a grunted "huh" that says it all.

I may be wrong, but there's no committed entrepreneur in the world who wouldn't recognize that moment. And having seen the movie version as well, I have to say that the informal, sweaty, slice of life YouTube video is a lot more powerful and emotionally raw.

In any case, the end result is always the same for creators of any kind--the pain, camaraderie, and joy of the magical moments in the process last longer and far outweigh the emotions attached to the final result, win or lose.

NOV 10, 2020

The opinions expressed here by Inc.com columnists are their own, not those of Inc.com.

Western Stars from Bruce

BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN EULOGY FOR THE BIG MAN - CLARENCE CLEMONS

BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN EULOGY FOR THE BIG MAN - CLARENCE CLEMONS


FOR THE BIG MAN

I've been sitting here listening to everyone talk about Clarence and staring at that photo of the two of us right there. It's a picture of Scooter and The Big Man, people who we were sometimes. As you can see in this particular photo, Clarence is admiring his muscles and I'm pretending to be nonchalant while leaning upon him. I leaned on Clarence a lot; I made a career out of it in some ways.

Those of us who shared Clarence's life, shared with him his love and his confusion. Though "C" mellowed with age, he was always a wild and unpredictable ride. Today I see his sons Nicky, Chuck, Christopher and Jarod sitting here and I see in them the reflection of a lot of C's qualities. I see his light, his darkness, his sweetness, his roughness, his gentleness, his anger, his brilliance, his handsomeness, and his goodness. But, as you boys know your pop was a not a day at the beach. "C" lived a life where he did what he wanted to do and he let the chips, human and otherwise, fall where they may. Like a lot of us your pop was capable of great magic and also of making quite an amazing mess. This was just the nature of your daddy and my beautiful friend. Clarence's unconditional love, which was very real, came with a lot of conditions. Your pop was a major project and always a work in progress. "C" never approached anything linearly, life never proceeded in a straight line. He never went A... B.... C.... D. It was always A... J.... C.... Z... Q... I....! That was the way Clarence lived and made his way through the world. I know that can lead to a lot of confusion and hurt, but your father also carried a lot of love with him, and I know he loved each of you very very dearly.

It took a village to take care of Clarence Clemons. Tina, I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for taking care of my friend, for loving him. Victoria, you've been a loving, kind and caring wife to Clarence and you made a huge difference in his life at a time when the going was not always easy. To all of "C's" vast support network, names too numerous to mention, you know who you are and we thank you. Your rewards await you at the pearly gates. My pal was a tough act but he brought things into your life that were unique and when he turned on that love light, it illuminated your world. I was lucky enough to stand in that light for almost 40 years, near Clarence's heart, in the Temple of Soul.

So a little bit of history: from the early days when Clarence and I traveled together, we'd pull up to the evening's lodgings and within minutes "C" would transform his room into a world of his own. Out came the colored scarves to be draped over the lamps, the scented candles, the incense, the patchouli oil, the herbs, the music, the day would be banished, entertainment would come and go, and Clarence the Shaman would reign and work his magic, night after night. Clarence's ability to enjoy Clarence was incredible. By 69, he'd had a good run, because he'd already lived about 10 lives, 690 years in the life of an average man. Every night, in every place, the magic came flying out of C's suitcase. As soon as success allowed, his dressing room would take on the same trappings as his hotel room until a visit there was like a trip to a sovereign nation that had just struck huge oil reserves. "C" always knew how to live. Long before Prince was out of his diapers, an air of raunchy mysticism ruled in the Big Man's world. I'd wander in from my dressing room, which contained several fine couches and some athletic lockers, and wonder what I was doing wrong! Somewhere along the way all of this was christened the Temple of Soul; and "C" presided smilingly over its secrets, and its pleasures. Being allowed admittance to the Temple's wonders was a lovely thing.

As a young child my son Sam became enchanted with the Big Man... no surprise. To a child Clarence was a towering fairy tale figure, out of some very exotic storybook. He was a dreadlocked giant, with great hands and a deep mellifluous voice sugared with kindness and regard. And... to Sammy, who was just a little white boy, he was deeply and mysteriously black. In Sammy's eyes, "C" must have appeared as all of the African continent, shot through with American cool, rolled into one welcoming and loving figure. So... Sammy decided to pass on my work shirts and became fascinated by Clarence's suits and his royal robes. He declined a seat in dad's van and opted for "C's" stretch limousine, sitting by his side on the slow cruise to the show. He decided dinner in front of the hometown locker just wouldn't do, and he'd saunter up the hall and disappear into the Temple of Soul.

Of course, also enchanted was Sam's dad, from the first time I saw my pal striding out of the shadows of a half empty bar in Asbury Park, a path opening up before him; here comes my brother, here comes my sax man, my inspiration, my partner, my lifelong friend. Standing next to Clarence was like standing next to the baddest ass on the planet. You were proud, you were strong, you were excited and laughing with what might happen, with what together, you might be able to do. You felt like no matter what the day or the night brought, nothing was going to touch you. Clarence could be fragile but he also emanated power and safety, and in some funny way we became each other's protectors; I think perhaps I protected "C" from a world where it still wasn't so easy to be big and black. Racism was ever present and over the years together, we saw it. Clarence's celebrity and size did not make him immune. I think perhaps "C" protected me from a world where it wasn't always so easy to be an insecure, weird and skinny white boy either. But, standing together we were badass, on any given night, on our turf, some of the baddest asses on the planet. We were united, we were strong, we were righteous, we were unmovable, we were funny, we were corny as hell and as serious as death itself. And we were coming to your town to shake you and to wake you up. Together, we told an older, richer story about the possibilities of friendship that transcended those I'd written in my songs and in my music. Clarence carried it in his heart. It was a story where the Scooter and the Big Man not only busted the city in half, but we kicked ass and remade the city, shaping it into the kind of place where our friendship would not be such an anomaly. And that... that's what I'm gonna miss. The chance to renew that vow and double down on that story on a nightly basis, because that is something, that is the thing that we did together... the two of us. Clarence was big, and he made me feel, and think, and love, and dream big. How big was the Big Man? Too fucking big to die. And that's just the facts. You can put it on his grave stone, you can tattoo it over your heart. Accept it... it's the New World.

Clarence doesn't leave the E Street Band when he dies. He leaves when we die.

So, I'll miss my friend, his sax, the force of nature his sound was, his glory, his foolishness, his accomplishments, his face, his hands, his humor, his skin, his noise, his confusion, his power, his peace. But his love and his story, the story that he gave me, that he whispered in my ear, that he allowed me to tell... and that he gave to you... is gonna carry on. I'm no mystic, but the undertow, the mystery and power of Clarence and my friendship leads me to believe we must have stood together in other, older times, along other rivers, in other cities, in other fields, doing our modest version of god's work... work that's still unfinished. So I won't say goodbye to my brother, I'll simply say, see you in the next life, further on up the road, where we will once again pick up that work, and get it done.

Big Man, thank you for your kindness, your strength, your dedication, your work, your story. Thanks for the miracle... and for letting a little white boy slip through the side door of the Temple of Soul.

SO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN... ALWAYS LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST. LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE MASTER OF DISASTER, the BIG KAHUNA, the MAN WITH A PHD IN SAXUAL HEALING, the DUKE OF PADUCAH, the KING OF THE WORLD, LOOK OUT OBAMA! THE NEXT BLACK PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES EVEN THOUGH HE'S DEAD... YOU WISH YOU COULD BE LIKE HIM BUT YOU CAN'T! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST MAN YOU'VE EVER SEEN!... GIVE ME A C-L-A-R-E-N-C-E. WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT'S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! ... amen.

I'm gonna leave you today with a quote from the Big Man himself, which he shared on the plane ride home from Buffalo, the last show of the last tour. As we celebrated in the front cabin congratulating one another and telling tales of the many epic shows, rocking nights and good times we'd shared, "C" sat quietly, taking it all in, then he raised his glass, smiled and said to all gathered, "This could be the start of something big."

Love you, "C".