Why Magic? A Manifesto in 3 Parts
For the Magi
A friend of mine, one of the few folks in my field of magicians who I genuinely like wrote to me recently “why magic. Write that as a blog.”
So I said “for me or in general?”
He said “for you.”
I tend not to write much about magic, I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself. But it’s as big a part of my life as anything else. So I thought it through and here it is bare-naked. Why magic for me. I’ll only give three reasons to keep myself from writing a book.
The first reason is simple. I’ve been doing magic for a long time and it’s what I’m best at. I’m a good thinker, an original creator, and I know magic more than anything else. And I’m good at it and it’s nice to do things you’re good at.
The second reason. Rozz-Tox Manifesto Item 15: “You want a better media, go make it.” Frankly, magic sucks and magicians are worse. The industry is run by amoebas. They’ve no backbone. It’s just vapid entertainment. You pay a ticket-fee to a (not so) theatrical masturbation. If that’s what you want then go get it. But originality is hard-sought and seldom-found. It’s just some guy doing another guy's trick, which is another guy's trick. And I’d be fine with that if some original script or meaning or character came through more often. But when someone does hit on an original thought within a week its made its way into hundreds of other people's acts around the world often without credit. And what’s worse, the ignoramuses are proud of it. So vapid, so uninspired.
In an artform where the concept is a wonderland of “anything’s possible” and everyone preaches to “be yourself” how come everyone is doing the same material? Half of the time with the same script even? How many times do we have to pretend the deck of cards is invisible before you find a better angle? How many times do I imagine something on an invisible T.V. screen before you find a better way to pretend to read my mind? This is all part of the work, the major part of the work. You don’t have to reinvent the wheel but you should redecorate it at least. It’s vapid, uninspired, lifeless pandering. And the worst sin of all it’s poorly written, poorly constructed, poorly conceived.
The third reason: I love magic. I love it too much to see it treated unkindly, indelicately, unartistically, ungently.
I love the charm of a good trick. The touch of the true artists who have graced this form (they certainly do exist, I was speaking in generalities before).
When I perform my trick The Meaning of Meaning and afterwards the audience talks about the words I’ve said and not the trick I did, then I’ve got them. I’ve done my job. When I perform my trick Every Trick’s a Story and the audience says the poem with me (which does happen, one lady even showed me an Invictus tattoo afterwards and hugged me) and/or ask about the poem after, I’ve reached them. I’ve reached them emotionally, intellectually, truly.
Ever since Paul Harris released The Art of Astonishment magicians say “magic’s all about the moment of astonishment. The moment they gasp and they’re like a kid again.” Bullshit. That’s not the end-goal. That’s the first-goal. If I do very good magic I will get that. My magic should be good. After that I can take aim and hit them someplace else. In the head or in the heart. But to call myself an artist I have to have that ability.
I’m not saying what I do is for everyone. Lord knows that wouldn’t be true. But I think that’s the problem with most magic shows. They want the show to appeal to everyone. But to appeal to everyone is to appeal to no one. It is to give up on trying to really reach anyone in the heart and stop them dead in their tracks and instead offer a show that just tries not to offend anyone. A show that necessarily no one loves or raves about, but is likeable enough.
This problem is further complicated by bookers that have no backbone; the amoebas I spoke of earlier. Magic isn’t treated like comedy where you’re rewarded for your individuality and your originality. In magic you’re expected to have no originality. Magicians ask each other “what kind of magic do you do?” Asking you to box yourself in a corner. And “what magic creator’s material do you like to perform the most?”
“Myself! My material! What the f…”
Audiences appreciate the edge. They appreciate the honesty because it’s so hard to find. I don’t even pander for kids. My friend likes to tell a story of a time he saw me perform in a family show. In which I performed the two routines I mentioned earlier (I’ll put links to footage at the end) in which I mention the final words of an inmate on death-row and a long script about what is meaningful. The kids were annoying in everyone else’s set. They got quiet to hear what I said. And their parents congratulated me afterwards saying I should perform in schools so more kids can hear the content. But schools wouldn't book it. It’s not squeaky clean. It’s too visceral. But it would be disingenuous for me to come out and produce a-thousand-yards of coil from my mouth. These kids learn about slavery and atomic bombs and active shooter drills. That’s their reality. Why do we act like they don’t know it?
Bookers won’t book… they’re amoebas. One booker told me “May be one of the best things I’ve seen in magic. But you can’t do it here.” Another said “I can’t believe you said that on stage!” Look at the audience. They’re not upset. They get it, they love it. They’ve never seen a magician offer anything of consequence.
For some reason every other artform is allowed the privilege of exploring the depths of their form. But when a magician tries the bookers scorn him. It just strikes me kind of funny.
You can’t do magic for yourself. You need an audience.
So, why magic? Because I’ve seen it work. I’m good at it. I love it. And I will explore it.
I have truly reached some audiences on a personal level. I will continue to pursue magic in my way as I hope to move more people and be moved by them.
In my corner of support are some of the greatest people, venue owners and bookers, and some of the greatest magicians I’ve ever known or seen. They’ve inspired me. I hope to show them and my audience what I’m capable of. As my longtime childhood idol (and a man I’ve written about numerous times) Michael Vincent says “make them feel it!”
The second routine is Every Trick’s a Story
The fourth and final routine is The Meaning of Meaning