Yanni in Words with David Rensin
I stuck a post-it at every sentence that inspired me. Look at how many inspirations I got!
Each post-it is an inspiration, and you can see I had lots!
So just for rememberance sake, I’m gonna type out all that “spoke to me” from this book. If you see anything interesting, perhaps you should pick up Yanni’s autobiography too. 
p.2: The less you want, the richer you are. The more you need in order to be happy, the more miserable you’ll be.
p.7 People always ask what drew me to music. The truthful answer is that it was a way to get attention in my family.
p.9: Although my parents held music in high esteem and believed that knowing how to play refined a person and that it could be a friend for life, they encouraged music only as a hobby, not as a profession.
p.23 Some regard what I have as a gift. I take issue with the idea of “gifts” not because I have any problems with exceptional talent, but because the concept of a gift means that some people have it while others do not – and it’s just their tough luck. This imples that my accomplishments have little to do with spending sixteen hours a day in a room, for twenty years, working obsessively, and that my “talent” is a result of God looking down at his children saying, “Hey, let this independent dark-haired kid from Kalamata have the ability to write music.” I say no. Absolutely not. That’s so untrue. And it’s so misleading, especially to young people.
p.44 [Yanni's father couseling Yanni's frustrations at school] they’re wrong, but you still have to show respect. Don’t take it personally. Don’t shortchange yourself. Look beyond now; focus on your future.
p.45 It begins when we’re young, with our parents, and it continues at school, where the key is not to teach in a way that breaks the spirit – or ignores it – so that the student never explores or takes a chance.
p.46 Self-judgement is the destroyer.
p.54 [When Yanni was about to go study in Uni of Minnesota even though he knew little English he said this about his father] He gave me permission to fail without ever implying that he expected I would. With that, he took the pressure off. Dad is a clever man. He understood the source of my stress.
p.64 I knew what I was doing in America: trying to become somebody. The loneliness and disorientation were part of the price I had to pay.
p. 125 I’d already done that trip with Chameleon and I knew it didn’t work. I wanted to play theatures – at least 2,000 staters – and said I’d risk it. Everybody told me I was crazy, but I insisted that my sound was too big for small spaces, and even if only four hundred people showed up, I’d give them the best show they ever saw. You’ve got to start somewhere, and I wasn’t going to start in nightclubs, where I’d already been. It was the right choice.
p.126 That mistrtust was beginning to characterize my relationship with the record company, often putting me in the position of saying “Fine, I’ll do it myself. Thanks.” And most of the time, in one way or another, they kicked and screamed:” This ain’t gonna work.”
p.127 I was in a box. All I could do was continue to write, record, perform – and push whereever I could. But exposure is an obstable course that requires proper advertising, tour support money, creative marketing, and word of mouth.
p.129 Instrumental music works on us subconsciously. If it doesn’t move you emotionally it’s meaningless. The music has to give you goose bumps.
p.129 Others make fun. I don’t remember the first time I heard someone called me “Yawnee”, but I can take a joke. Sometimes I even call myself “Yawnee.”
p.130 Will everybody like what I like? Absolutely not. That’s impossible. As soon as you put your art out there for people, someone will say “Because it is blue, I love it,” and, for the exact same reason the next guy will say “Because it is blue, I hate it.” Once you understand that, there’s freedom in the creative process. Otherwise, your creation is just a reaction to criticism. You won’t be able to let your mind run and say, “What would I like to do today?” Instead, you’ll hear a little voice in the back of your head: “You must get it under four minues long, and have a good rhythm, and get some lyrics”. That’s enslavement.
p.131 Just because critics like you doesn’t mean you’ll sell albums, and if they hate you it doesn’t mean that you won’t. When did you last go to a critically panned movie and have a great time anyway? The media has its opinion, but any artist who depends on being a media hit is lost in the long run. Believe it or not, the media is a tiny audience. Loud, but tiny. You’ve got to show your art to the public. They decide. In that sense, the opinion of my neighbour the garbage collector is just as important as any critic’s.
p. 148 “If you are the music, you can write the music. If you’re not the music, you’re outside, judging it. Judgment and creativity are opposites. Both are valid, but they can’t exist in the same place at the same time. To create, you have to become one with your creation and let it flow freely. You have to be in the zone. For me, I have to become one with the music. The instant I begin judging my creation, I find myself outside looking in, and the creative moment is gone.”
p.153 When you take an instrument that’s meant to be heard acoustically, in a room, and amplify it to 110 decibels, it becomes a different instrument. Each instrument also has its own quirks and its way of being treated. I had to study each one and create a way to fasten a microphone to it, not to mention find the right microphone for that instrument, then run it through the console for its own special effects, equalizers, compressor limiters, and gates. Only then would I have a sound. It took me six years of trial and error to get it right. The result is an enormous power and range onstage. My concerts can be as gentle as a single violin or flute and as powerful as a full-on rock band.
p. 159 It’s perhaps easier or more common to think of fearing failure – and I did; I’m vulnerable like any other human – but the fear of success is just as real. Sometimes it’s easier to love the dream than to live the reality.
p. 161 Nobody could believe in me the way I believe in myself.
p.162 When I think back on how much she didn’t need this in her life, I realize how much she loved me.
p. 165Through it all, as a way of motivating me, and perhaps, pacifying me, Linda kept saying: “See your success in your mind. See yourself on television. I know it’s difficult, but see yourself there.”
p. 169 At Tom and George’s urging, we edited the concert we’d filmed in Dallas into a one-hour show and sent it to PBS stations in cities where we toured. It hadn’t been a phenomenal show, and the tape didn’t look or sound the absolute best, but there were some brilliant moments and fantastic shots. It played in thirteen markets, mostly in the midle of the night, but two places, Indianapolis and Tampa, got surprisingly good results. That planted a seed in the mind of a man named Gustavo Sagastume, at the Tampa station, who would be of great help in the future.
p.174 I also talked to Linda, who knew I had to go to a place inside myself I’d never been: I had to fight for myself against someone I cared for and loved and thought was my friend.
p.178 I thought of how, when we’re still young, we have all these great dreams, then society comes and slaps us in the face and suddeny most of us change our tune, abandon our dreams, get scared, forget who we are and what we wanted to do. But it doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t have to lose sight of ourselves, or sell out. I had sold out stupidly, thinking that somebody else knew more about what I do than I did. I’d gone against my instincts. I’d second-guessed myself into a corner.
p.179 I ehould have kept focused on the dreams I had when I was younger, when I believed in everything, before life started putting up roadblocks and walls, before people told me I couldn’t do what I wanted to do. Those people had already sold out and couldn’t stand the fact that I resisted. They said I’d be an old man with no money, needing help for the rest of my life. Why didn’t I get a real job like everyone else? I’d come a long way on my vision of who I thought I was, and the eagle Taiee confirmed it. On the way home I started to cry.
p. 184 Peter did what he did with the contract out of fear that I would leave him. The irony is that he sold Private Music to BMG and I stayed. He sold the publishing company and I bought it. In the end, I had to forgive Peter and move on; that’s the ultimate freedom. I don’t know how anyone can live a life of hate, although I’m sure there are people around the planet who have been through wars and seen atrocities and violence and ugliness who could give me a million reasons. I don’t deny their pain, but I still don’t believe hatred is the answer. When you hate, you’re enslaved. When you release your hate, you’re free. But hate won’t just disappear on its own; we have to choose to be free of it. Can we? I think so, one by one. I choose to be hopeful because it feels good and does good. Maybe I’m naive, but I can’t wake up in the morning as a pessimist and still get out of bed. Peter and I wiped the slate clean, and I was a free agent.
p. 195 I knew I couldn’t show my anger, so I walked away, a cool customer. If you’re not cool, you’re dead. Then I heard through mutual freidns that the people at the stations had said, “Now we’ve got Yanni against the wall. Now Yanni will pay.” As expected, they called back and said, “We’ll broadcast the concert, but we won’t pay you, and we won’t give you any spots.” I nearly pulled out my hair wondering if somebody was actually trying to sabotage me. I couldn’t figure out why, when all I wanted to go was a show.
p. 196 As with any country, Greece is a land of contrasts. There’s beauty and ugliness. Harmony and Conflict.
p. 203 I focused on staying calm. I surrendered my anger, and my role as victim, and just thought, ” This is my dream, This is how it’s going to be. I’m going to do it.”
As luck would have it, the government had dissolved and at the exact same time, Andreas Papandreou, who would become the next prime minister of Greece, was giving his campaign press conference at the Intercontinental Hotel. I shrugged my shoulders and thought that maybe two reporters would show up to see me. Wrong. I had more media at my press conference than at any other I’d given in the country. I was flooded with reporters and cameras. Even better, the media was on my side. Nobody took a potshot at me. This forced the government’s hand, and the tickets went on sale.
p. 204 Instead of allowing them to broadcast the show, I gave it to their competitor, and there was nothing they could do about it. Frank Sinatra was correct. Success is the best revenge.
p. 205 Stuff like this happened at every turn. Everyone wanted a little money here and there. Everyone had their hand out: gimme, gimme.
p. 206 My family came to Athens for the performances. They were very centered, and I tried to emulate their calm. I was once again reminded of my parents’ love of music and life, and how they’d also given me that gift.
p. 207 On the day before the concert, the second promoter I’d fired sued me in such a way that I wasn’t supposed to know about it, and therefore I wouldn’t show up in court. I’d lose the case, and he could stop the concert. Fortunately, some people who worked for me got wind of the lawsuit. I hired two big-time lawyers, the kind of guys who defend the prime minister, and won. The promoter claimed that I had damaged his reputation, but he didn’t have a leg to stand on. One less thing to worry about.
p. 209 Afterward, Linda cried and said, “You’ll never have a sweeter moment than the first time you outrageously make your dream come true.” She was right. Focused will is incredible. If you have a dream and you don’t give uo no matter what obstacles come up, then life’s problems will fall away and you will get what you want. It happens. it works. Some people experience it naturally and some people don’t believe that power exists, but it’s in everybody. We’re all capable if we have faith and passion.
p. 211 The next day the reviews came out. Miraculously, not one paper gave us a negative review. Instead, they embraced me. I was grateful – and relieved.
The next night, an hour before the show, the Parthenon was still not lit. George called (Greek minister) Kassimis into the truck and said, “You see that? Yanni is not going on the stage until that thing is lit.” Kassimis led George and a group up the walkway to the top of the hill, where he confronted the guard, who shrugged and said he didn’t have written permission. No payoff, no lights. Typical. I’d instructed everyone to pay no bribes. Kassimis told the guard who he was and gave him a piece of his mind, and we got permission on the spot.
p. 227 “Long story short: We got the date. We put it on sale. We got channel 12, in Singapore, to do the promotion. They aired Live at the Acropolis and it was a smash. Before we knew it we had sold out. I went back to the general manager and said, “Can we sell behind the stage?” We added another five hundred seats, which were really dead seats. We still had such a demand for tickets that when another date became available, I gracced it. In the end, we sold out two shows – seventeen thousand people – and broke the stadium record. We did more business than Elton John. More than Phil Collins. More than Janet Jackson.” Afterward, the local newspaper wrote: “In Hanuary [1995], we didn’t know who Yanni was. Now [in March] he’s the hottest thing in town. How did he do it?” Danny could work miracles of other sorts too. I’d discovered that even if we landed in some remote, humid Asian capital and had less than an hour to unpack and meet before going to an important dinner, he could show up fresh and immaculately groomed, wearing a perfectly pressed suit and tie. Even I can’t do that.
p. 252 [to play at the taj mahal] The problem was that Bhandari’s [political] opponents had waited until we were far enough along and had spent so much money that the concert had become the Event of the Year. They’d made a clkever chess move by realizing that for their cause to be noticed it would be smart to pick on something everyone was paying attention to. We were it. By the time they spoke up, every newspaper, every TV station, and all the magazines had reported on some aspect of my project. We were big news. We’d gone in with nothing but positive thoughts, but suddenly we were warriors engaged in battle. The game had become to anticipate the next move.
p. 282 Someone who hasn’t lived my life might say, “Man, what’s wrong with you? Come on. Don’t you remember the old days? You used to make $150 a week, and eating McDonald’s was your highlight. What’s the matter with you? Snap out of it. Be grateful.” I was. But after years of being the center of attention, of night after night performing in front of thousands of cheering fans who adored me, who wanted to touch me, were inspired by me, took pictures with me, who would have been thrilled to have a single hair from my head, I’d lost focus. I adored my fans and the music, but I’d misplaced the real reasons why. I can’t put my finger on when I began to lose the feeling and cross the line, but I had the sense that there was no more Yanni. Perhaps this was the new lesson that life had in store for me, the answer to my question: What could possibly compare to the stress of the Acropolis experience? But typical of someone who neglected himself for years – and who believed with all his heart in the nobility of taking the pain – I ignored how I felt. At times during the tour I came close to breaking down. But I don’t break down.
p. 291 I needed time off, but I didn’t know if that meant three months, or three years. I only knew this: There was trouble in paradise. I had accomplished my dream, I’d reached my goals, I’d gotten everything beyond any stretch of imagination – and I was still unhappy. I had no sense of direction. Everything seemed flat, dark, without meaning. I realised I was in real deep trouble. That terrified me, because what can you do to fix your life if having everything you’ve ever wanted doesn’t do it for you? I wished I could go back twenty years and reclaim what I’d lost: my infinite ocean of optimism.
p. 293 Once, people thought I would never quit swimming, that I would become a great champion. They couldn’t believe that I;d just walk away. Same thing when I studied psychology. But I did very well both times, so why should music be the end of the line? It would be very difficult to quit again, but it could be done.
She [grandma] never was impressed with my career. She just wanted me to take care of myself, to have a good life.
p. 295 One mother wrote to me to tell me that her very young daughter had been struck with a mysterious disease, could no longer talk or even feed herself, and would eat only when my music is played.
p. 297 These letters reminded me that music is the ultimate language, the one that made all my life choices worthwhile. I had often asked myself: Would I wake up when I was sixty or seventy and look back and say, “What the hell was that all about?” Would not having a wife and family have been worth it? Was there meaning to creating the music? Or was I just a kid with a toy? Was it merely an overblown hobby? Those letters helped me find an answer.
p. 299 My habit in the studio had always been to turn on a tape recorder and then sit at the piano, focus on surrendering to the black, and wait for something to come out of me. I don’t play things I’ve already written, I just play whatever comes forth. It’s all improvisation. It always has been.
p. 300 I played for maybe five hours, stopping once in a while to pace myself, to avoid cramps and overheating. I didn’t want to oush too hard. I didn’t know if my battery was fully charged or had just a little juice. Maybe I’d write a song or two and it would be all over. Instead, I found an unending supply of music, which showed me once again what I’ve always believed: Creativity is boundless. All I had to do was to mentally arrive at the place where I could let go. It’s not a matter of logic or control. I could be depressed or happy. I could be empty or full. I had no problem surrendering to the black. I soared again, the way I always had.
When I was done, I had worked on three different pieces, all of which ended up on my next album, If I Could Tell You. They just came out. I was ready. The next day I listened to the tape and was dumbfounded at my dexterity. But when I tried to repeat the music I’d recorded the night before, my fingers kept hitting the wrong notes. It wasn’t just that my hands were sore; I wasn’t in the same mental place. Then I had played with my soul. Now, using memory and logic just didn’t work for me. I stumbled, flat-fingered, if you will. My hands acted the way I’d expected them to act the night before. That stunned me. And it reminded me again of what I knew but sometimes forgot: Creativity cannot be controlled. Only surrender does it come.
p. 303 The act of creation gives me an alert mind, a physical rush, and an overall sense of well-being. Creation leads to satisfaction. The music I write is so in tune with who I am that when I play it back, it heals me.
p.304 For me, creativity is best described as surrender and clarity. Picture it taking place in a zone or in a private music universe in my head. There, I am one with what I create. I don’t think about the music; I just wait in the light at the edge of the black, or unknown, and bathe in the silence until the music comes to me, all at once. It is abumdant and it flows freely. I don’t observe the process – if I do, the process stops – I am the process. I don’t analyse or manipulate what comes, and most of all I do not judge. Creativity and judgement are opposites; both are valid, but they can’t exist in the same place at the same time. The instand I judge my creation – good, bad, indifferent – I find myself on the outside looking in, and the creative moment vianishes.
People ask: Is this kind of creativity accessible and available to everyone? Mus have have a “gift” or natural talent? (No.) Does it require lots of money, a secluded aerie, and leisure time to spare? (No.) How about a dark garret, personal demons, and a drinking problem? (I think not.) Can a middle-class housewife who wants to write a novel be creative even though she has three kids, a grumpy husband, and a full schedule? (Yes.) Can students be creative? (Naturally). The elderly? (Absolutely.) Everybody, from the company CEO to the janitor who cleans the office building, from the chef to the teacher, salesperson, and two-year-old, is in some way creative everyday.
Creativity is extremely easy. Effortless. So why does it seem so tough to achieve? When people want to express themselves artistically, in any genre, at the beginning they tend to confuse the journey to creativity with the destination. The road to creativity is full of mental potholes. The mind plays games, has doubts, lacks clarity. We’re so diffused and unfocused in society. We’re juggling so many different things all at once. You wake up in the morning and have to take the kids to school, make the insurance payment, take the car to get fixed, go to work; you get home at seven and you’re fried. Then you prepare dinner, watch the news, deal with the kids… you brain is anything but sharp. How could you create anything under these conditions? Life gets in the way. There is a learning curve, no question. Creativity requires commitment. That adage about genius being 5 percent inspiration and 95% perspiration – it’s true. The challenge is in setting up and getting to the place where you can be creative. To do that requres only this: passion, hard work, discipline, patience, focused will, and an open mind. Like I said, there’s a learning curve.
p. 306 I have learned over the years that certain preconditions aid the creative process. Before I could focus my will, I had to learn to detach. I’m a natural worrier about all that I have to do. Anxiety about the minutiae of daily life keeps us from being creative. Most people can’t avoid these tasks, but concern about them can be handled by making a list. I write down what I need to accomplish outside the creative space, when I’ll do it, and how. Make the list, let it go. The more you do it, the easier it becomes. It’s over. Done. Empty your plate.
It helps to have a personal, protected space. I have my studio. You could close the den or the bedroom door, or whatever. Just find peace, quiet, solitude. I dim the lights because seeing distracts me while I’m playing. The darker it gets, the more my ears take over. The less external input my brain has, the better off I am. Its not easy to do, especially because you’ve got to forget who you are. To enter creativity you must leave your baggage outside. Preconceived notions and fears and insecurities can’t, by defination, come through the door. Inside, you’re naked.
p. 307 Most people can’t devote the time I do, but for however long you work, when you’re there, don’t push or feel you have to come up with anythng. Take what comes. Even if nothing happens, the time is well spent. Learning how to focus is good practice.
p. 308 [First comes the emotion] After I know the emotion, it’s easy for the appropriate rhythm, melody, instruments and so on to come to me. These choices are easy because the emotion fils me and my whole body vibrates on that frequency. You may not have the same luxury of time that I do, but in whatever time you’ve got, stick with the emotion and don’t let go. The emotion is the key. I know that if a piece of music touches my soul, it will touch the souls of others. It’s no different for any creative person: What’s true inside of you connects to the truth inside everyone.
p. 309 You’re training yourself to concentrate on one idea or emotion, to stay with it, to go deeply into it, to become it. At first, your mind will be a mishmash of turbulance. But as you learn to focus and become one with that rhought, you transform. Like a diamond, you cut through glass. A single focused thought is very powerful. Eventuallt your art will show for itself. And when it comes, it’s unconditional. The creative moment is made of truth. Your creations are your truth. It’s the pure you.
I don;t have to be in the studio or creating music to focus to intensely. Because creativity is not only about creating music; it is about creating your life. While I’m in this space I will often close my eyes and surrender and ask life to give me what is good for me. I see life as I want it to be.
Focused intent is the instrument of power. The source of power is in faith. How clear can you be and how much faith can you have? How little doubt can you have in what you’re creating? The more doubt you have, the less liely it is that the creation will come to life. Creating music teaches me how to create life. I cannot prove it and I don’t want to.
The process is extremely personal and sometimes, because I’ve been embaressed to close my eyes and do it in public, I’ve even done it in a bathroom. But focusing is focusing. It doesn’t matter where you do it. You don’t have to be by the beach or on a dramatic cliff with the wind howling
The more time you spend in that space, the more creative you’ll become, and the more effective you’ll become. But just as with everything else in life, you have to work at it.
Part of the difficulty in getting there is that in our culture we’re really not taught to trust the instinctive moment. We’re told to rely on facts and figures, probability and analysis, history and reason. All are fine – in their place. We also have voices in our heads – parents, teachers, the media, ourselves – that interfere by judging. “That’s not good enough.” “Who do you think you are, Mozart?” “No one will care about what I’m doing.”
When I was younger I got in my own way by asking myself questions life, How long does a piece need to be? What kind of music should I write? The answer is to write what you like. The piece is going to be as long as it keeps you interested. If it bores you, cut it.
p.311 Society does everything it can to fill you with a distrust of yourself and others. We grow up in an environment where we’re laughed at or criticised for thinking that what we create could profoundly affect people and maybe make a difference in their lives – or be worth doig for nobody but ourselves. Even when you’re not tryin to be creative, you should work on getting rid of those voices. To take some time each day to sit quietly in a room without any distractions, or to walk, or even just to turn off the TV is probably one of the most valuable things you can do. Left alone with your own thoughts, you will exercise focusing your mind. Like a muscle, the ability to focus will keep getting stronger.
p.312 Everyone, and I mean everyone, falls into the trap of judging material as it emerges. That kills the creativity. I have screwed up the process in every which way possible. I always felt intelligent and experienced enough to think I could mold the music instead of just letting it happen. That’s using logiv and knowledge and experience, and sometimes I messed up so badly I had to throw away entire songs. They weren’t among my better ones, and you’ve never heard them. It took me years to accept this truth: Let it be. Once I’;ve let go of everything and I’m calmly facing the unknown, the music comes. Give up control and something comes. I guarantee it. However, be prepared. What comes out may not be what you’re expecting or hoping for. Remember, creativity is not linear. It’s a quantum leap. You’re just there.
p. 314 I allow the piece of music to tell me what it wants to be. Logically I must be causing, but in my experience, I can’t really tell. All I know is that at the outset I don’t know what’s going to happen but in retrospect I realize the song couldn’t have turned out any other way. I tust that life will guide me to this power.
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