It is a common observation in the #TimesUp movement that most fields of endeavor are populated by “mediocre men.” They don’t “run things” so much as “maintain things,” complete with gate-keeping, rites of initiation, rigid themes of expectation, micro-hazings, harassments, and other familiarities that reserve places in the hierarchy for other mediocre men.

Well, I was once that mediocre man, with mediocrity-level recognition in my field of endeavor. My lack of big commercial success came as no mysterious surprise for me. I knew why it wasn’t ensuing; the fact was, I was not good enough to during my years of opportunity that counted the most. It is as simple as that. But, nourished by encouragement, camaraderie, and a sense of belonging, I was able to keep at it long enough to become pretty darn good — good enough to justify doing it further, in my own way, on my own path. To make a living, to rub shoulders with people I admire, to engage with colleagues, and acquire some generous fans.

However, to really move forward as an artist, I had a lot to learn, and much of it from the influence of women in the independent tiers of the Biz. I want to describe, in the context of #TimesUp Feminism, just how that “path” of mine, in its early phase, was somewhat (if not largely) carved out by women. Hear me out:

Long ago, I “went solo.” I left a solid, mildly successful, decidedly masculine (for lack of better terms) grungy-ish hippy-ish jam band. And I had to hone from scratch an entriely new musical skill set — solo and/or duo acoustic performance. And I had to find my place in an unfamiliar tier & sector of the Biz that was largely populated, if not entirely dominated by women artists. At that time — the late 90’s — the boys in the Biz had not been playing much acoustic guitar. Not really. Sure, we all endured the awkward age of MTV unplugged, where the rocker-dudes just played their usual fare sitting down, a bit more quietly. (Heck, some even brought their full drum kits.) The girls, however, were really playing acoustic guitar — fancy finger-picking patterns, wild, bare hand strumming. They delivered imaginative, personal, poetic lyrics in newly energized packed coffeehouse-like venues (many of them owned and operated by businesswomen.) This was an independent wing of the Biz set apart from the standard, linear, male-oriented ladder. While their famous matriarchs might have been successful icons like Ani DiFranco (whom I saw thrice), Tracy Chapman, and Indigo Girls, these fellow independent solos artists did not seem to have an interest in the “Industry.”

They also weren’t especially interested in yours truly, John Shipe. My previous brushes with record-deal near-accomplishment meant nothing. I was literally the low-man on the totem pole. And I had a great deal of scrapping and catching up to do. The models for my new independent path had become women artists, many of them younger than me — all of whom had more vision and self-assured identity. They had creativity in abundance, and they were doing shrewd business.

Though I would not have been able to describe it in such terms back then, these artists were freeing themselves from the caravan of mediocre men. I would have to work very hard to participate and be taken seriously. (Which I did. And now that I understand better, I recognize the influence of those hard-working songsters: hometown friends Mare Wakefield, Laura Kemp, longtime Portland standout Stephanie Schneiderman, Canadian visitor Ember Swift, and Pacific Coast giant Shelley Doty…. and even a guitar student of mine, imaginative and fearless Jessica Plotkin. (Editor’s Note: Jessica is now Uta Plotkin.)

Subsequently, I did put together some full-bands, playing a lot of Rock along the way, with mostly male bandmates. But I worked with women as often as they would work with me, some as young as 19 years old. Some were full-fledged bandmates. Some were side-women in the studio. And most of them were fundamentally better than me by some measure in the skill set. Trained vocalists, specialized instrumentalists, or singer-songwriters further along on their path than I.

Playing back the memories, I hope they understood how seriously I took them. (For, I can’t be altogether certain that I was forthcoming in my gratitude.) I hope they felt it, my admiration. I hope they knew the value of their contribution. I hope they thrived and left the project with their musical desires enhanced. I hope I’m not wishfully thinking when I recollect the atmosphere of those ensembles as healthy and mature.

(As clear as I can recall, my “boys in the band” never behaved in harassing or dismissive ways — always professional. And while I’d like to take credit for a top-down ethos and an evolved band culture, it’s probably that I just got damn lucky for attracting quality personnel. Good people join my bands, too excited about quality of work to indulge in any kind of bullshit. Grinding away in the 3rd Tier of the Biz, we were just glad to be gigging. Glad to be in a studio. We had our minds on creative work, grateful for the talented women who deigned to collaborate with us.)

Depending on how well I’m articulating, a lot of this may come off as condescending, patronizing. If so, I’ll cop to that. Nevertheless, it’s a tale worth telling. Like I said before, every time I hear the anti-feminist backlash — some aggrieved old guy complaining that we dudes are getting edged out (cancelled!!), I ask myself, “How is it that I am not similarly aggrieved? Why do I not identify with their whining?” The answer is, I’ve seen up close quite a bit of what women are trying to get through our thick skulls.

And I think of my career, such as it is, as a mediocre man. When they talk about a certain man who might be part of the backlash: white, middle-aged, marginally talented and having to struggle just a little bit harder than he expected. They’re talking about my demographic. But what do I have to complain about? Why would I be aggrieved? I have benefitted directly from all of it. First, from the Patriarchy’s natural encouragement of young men. And then, later, I benefitted from the growth of a wing of the Biz nurtured and shaped by women.

Now, here I am, at the age of passing the torch, it feels only right that these things should be kept in mind and highlighted. I have two stepdaughters, so I’d like this stuff acknowledged and discussed in the best ways possible.

The Mediocre Man (Part II - #TimesUp)