Is It Possible to Be Too Multi-Talented?

No doubt Prince was one of the greatest artists of his time, a player of chicken-greased funk and tremulous ballads, doled out on more instruments than you can shake a tambourine at. By the time of his self-titled album Prince (at age 21) he played all the instruments, sang the vocals and produced the tracks.

So why, years later in life, did he say: “Too much freedom can lead to a soul’s decay”? Was that an epiphany or an intriguing lyric? Was he suggesting artistic freedom could be self-destructive? Certainly “decay” is a strong word, especially in relation to one’s soul. You’d think freedom was the one thing Prince espoused, but apparently not, at least not if you’re interested in longevity—which he seemed to be until…well, you know, he died . 

Artists dying in the prime of their lives seems like a waste, particularly when the artist was so profoundly good. Be a rebel, be an iconoclast, be a visionary—just don’t go dying in a frigging elevator. I mean, seriously, folks, we could have made careers out of playing cowbell with his skill.

That still doesn’t answer the question, though. Was Prince right? Does too much freedom decay one’s soul? And was he talking about being too multi-talented? That’s the only freedom that makes any sense in his case. The man spent so much time being multi-instrumental, multi-business, multi-construct. If anything, you’d think he’d feel blessed every minute of the day. I know I would be, but then I have almost no talent whatsoever.

I’ll admit, Prince’s bandana around the head was a little too Lucy Ricardo for my taste, but his playing never ceased to amaze me—nor his ability to be so, I don’t know, unpredictably Prince .

I remember seeing a sound check in Osaka, Japan, 1990, where Prince played an off-the-cuff jazz rendition of “Summertime” at the piano. And that was just to hear everyone else’s volume levels. Then there’s the Rock Hall of Fame induction of George Harrison where Prince finished “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” throwing his guitar in the air while everyone stood and gasped. When Eric Clapton was asked what it meant to be the greatest rock guitarist of all time, he said: “I don’t know, ask Prince.”

So, again, what’s the problem here? How do we lose these multi-talents at such a relatively young age? Either they go off to the crossroads, play with weapons, or abuse their medications. And how is it that some of our greatest jazz players did all three on a regular basis and still performed well into their seventies?

The only conclusion I can draw is that jazz musicians—with the possible exception of Duke Ellington, Count Basie and the Gershwins—pretty much stuck to their one instrument. Dizzy Gillespie stuck to his trumpet, Dave Brubeck stuck to his piano, so did Oscar Peterson. Joe Pass stuck to his guitar, Ella stuck to singing. I won’t go so far as to call them singular talents, but there was a concentration that obviously led to a long life expectancy.

Look at all the blues artists who played essentially a three-chord repertoire, living well into their eighties. Prince fiddled with a lot of sixteenths and died at 57. It’s worth doing the math.

So could it be that multi-talented artists simply spread themselves too thin? Was Prince enjoying too much of what could be called an artist’s freedom? And did this lead to a decay that affected his music and his popularity? The week before he died, Prince only sold 5,000 albums and 14,000 downloads. Not exactly a slam dunk considering Purple Rain , Diamonds and Pearls and Sign o’ The Times all went multi-platinum.

This all leads me to believe that artists—or anyone, really—should think twice about spreading themselves too thin. Being multi-talented could have deleterious effects, not the least being a decline in popularity and interest.

I’m particularly worried about the people who wrote me, saying there’s nothing wrong with being multi-talented. As one woman pointed out, “It IS possible physically to be ambidextrous; ergo, it is possible to be simultaneously right and left-brained. As I am (not ambidextrous, but ambi-brained).”

Fair play, Jane, except I worry about you, anyway. I look at your title (titles) and wonder how you can handle being a Journalist, Copywriter, Sub-editor, Americanizer/Angliciser, Proofreader and Director at Creative Editorial Ltd . I’d think being an Americanizer/Angliciser would be enough for anybody.

Then there’s Henrietta, Writer and Social Worker , who doesn’t believe renaissance people can be happy in organizations that “clip their creative wings and tie them down to a desk!” I heard Prince went through a rather kinky period where he liked being tied down to a desk, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what Henrietta’s talking about. 

What she—and many other multi-talented people—must realize is the danger lurking in freedom of talent. The division of the brain must have a specific purpose. If we were all ambi-brained, think of the mess we’d have made of things like The Pyramids. We’d be stepping all over each other. Isn’t that what’s happening today in construction? Six men in hardhats standing around a manhole cover? No wonder we’re building sewers instead of pyramids.

As another writer explained to me in a comment: “Yeah, dream of writing that fabbo script…award-winning ad…just do what you do well…because…and trust me on this…we’ll not be collecting any shiny thingy’s anytime soon.”

That may be the whole thing in a nutshell. It’s okay to dream, to fulfill fantasies, to enjoy many pursuits, but the rewards of our efforts in the ambi-stream is far less in the end than the specialized “doing one thing well.”

In other words, there’s nothing wrong with being many things, as long as you can look back and be proud of at least one accomplishment (besides having kids). As crazy as that sounds, very few people can do that. Even fewer can say they’re perfectly fine being remembered for that one thing. 

I’m not against variety, but sometimes, instead of racking up things that make a nomenclature of titles, we let it happen on it’s own. Life does have a way of directing us to our respective paths. Or as Web Webster, Copy Chief at Griffin Technology aptly explained to me: “It may be interesting and self-referentially clever to describe myself as ‘senior copywriter/brand strategist/lover of animals/man about town,’ but if the posting says they’re looking for a ‘packaging writer,’ then I’m a Packaging Writer.”

I think that says it all, or it would if I wasn’t so busy listening to “Let’s Go Crazy.” If it doesn’t, and you feel I’ve given multi-talents, or Prince, a short shrift, please feel free to contact me here or at: rcormack@rogers.com

Robert Cormack is a freelance copywriter who will adopt any title you want (short of unemployed). His first novel: “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive) is available online and at most major bookstores. He is presently working on his third novel. Check for more details at Skyhorse Press and Yucca Publishing.