Back in May, Harry Styles stood up at the Ivor Novello Awards, the most prestigious songwriting honors in Britain, to present Thom Yorke with their highest award. However you feel about either singer, Styles’ tribute to him is heartwarming.
“I cannot overstate how his work has influenced my belief in the purpose of the arts in our world today. And I cannot overstate how much his work continues to influence me.”
Styles frequently praises Yorke, mentioning in a recent interview that seeing him perform a Radiohead show in Berlin the year prior had inspired Styles to start performing live again, after years away from the stage.
One of the biggest pop stars on the planet. Re-inspired by a creative life that continues to persist, after over thirty years of output. Yorke’s singing voice is distinctive, sure. His creative voice though - the writing, the recording, his passionate performance style - has remained intact, in Radiohead and beyond, in other forms: for other bands, for his solo career, for film soundtracks and other collaborative projects.
I’m keenly interested in not only where someone’s inner creative voice comes from, but how does it evolve? Or more accurately, how does it remain consistent, while trying on different forms and exploring different mediums and still reflecting the cultural context around it?
Let’s come down the mountain from wise ol’ Thom Yorke…
On a significantly smaller scale, I used to perform as a comedian. There's a principle in comedy that’s always fascinated me. That the truth is what’s really funny. Whatever is true gets the deepest laugh. When a truth gets revealed - that always sticks with you.
So beneath all the character work, the absurdism, and the bits, we dig for what’s real. Pointing at what everyone has already known but hadn’t heard uttered out loud, in just that way. Finding the gap between the mask and the face, exposing hypocrisy and punching up, revealing our humanity through characters who invariably sabotage themselves.
I performed improv weekly in front of large crowds at the height of the NYC scene. I’ve written and performed stand-up, sketch comedy and comedic plays. Managed a comedy group whose videos went viral before ‘virality’ was an expectation. I’ve sat in writers' rooms, walked across stages of all sizes, and paced in edit bays, searching for the truths that would make a room full of strangers laugh together.
I loved that work. I loved the people I did it with. I loved the energy that comes from being genuinely present and discovering truths, right along with the audience.
And then, real life brought the curtains down on me.
Alright, maybe that’s a bit more dramatic than it needs to be, but without going into detail, there was a period in my late 40s when suddenly several significant life-changing things happened, all at once. And as such ‘things’ tend to do in the midlife, they reorganized what I find funny, what I consider important, what I feel compelled to say.
I didn't lose my love of levity; these days I find the funny most reliably through my seven year old daughter. Her particular way of observing, noticing, interacting with and questioning the world around her. Completely fresh and yet very familiar at the same time.
Quick example. A couple of years ago we escaped the big city for a long family weekend in the mountains. Drove from Los Angeles to Big Bear. On our drive up, as parents often do, we kept pointing out interesting things for her to look at and think about. Just as we’re curving around a sheer cliff and gasping at spectacular vistas, she had her young eyes focused on the boulders in the foreground, on the side of the road.
I heard her sigh loudly from the back seat.
“Rock, after rock, after rock…nothing interesting.”
She delivered it with such a dismissive old-man complaint tone that it shocked us and we instantly burst. I was crying so much from laughing so hard, I almost had to pull over. We’ll probably be quoting this one to each other for the rest of our lives.
Unsplash: Jake Kling
Okay, let’s head back down from the mountain yet again.
So with life knocking me around a bit over the past decade, my perspective and purpose have both shifted. What I’m making now is a bit quieter, a little less silly.
This shift isn't a departure from what I was doing in comedy, however. There are fewer punchlines, but I’m still digging for what’s true, what’s interesting, and trying to shine the spotlight on it, to inspire my audience.
The version of you ten years ago, in a particular project, a particular collaboration, a particular moment when the work felt genuinely yours, and it made you feel alive - that wasn't the final version of you. It was a version.
The version you're inhabiting right now? Also not the final one.
This is what creative professionals often miss in the midst of transition. They look at what they used to make and conclude they no longer “have it”, that they’ve lost something. Their confidence. The clarity. The electricity, those vibes that made the work feel effortless. What they may have actually lost is the form, the medium. The voice beneath is still there, it just needs a new outlet.
Another big misconception is that this is a one-time search. A new form isn’t the final destination. Life keeps accumulating, the voice keeps growing. What you need to say at 45 is not what you needed to say at 27, and it won't be what you’ll need to say at 64.
The creative life is built from an ongoing practice of noticing and making decisive choices. What's true right now, what wants to be made, what needs to be said, and what form is the best fit for this particular moment.
I’ve learned over and over that this practice can really benefit from that which many often don't seek out or have easy access to: honest reflection and guidance from their peers.
Honest conversations with those who understand their world and what they’re fighting for. Not feedback about the work itself, as most creatives have colleagues and friends for that. Genuine, constructive responses from those who can see their gifts, and help them hear themselves clearly. Exploring the more urgent and profound questions, like the major career decision that keeps them up at night. The new choices or explorations that they can't talk about around the office. The version of themselves they want to become but are fearing, because nobody in their current life could possibly understand them.
Not a coach, or a course. Not another LinkedIn post. A consistently reliable space.
Where the questions aren't just asked once and answered, but are returned to again and again, as the voice keeps evolving. Where real people who can reflect something accurate back, not because they're experts, but because they're living through it too.
That's what I'm building with The Courageous. Not a one-time experience where you fix the thing, figure out your next move and exit. A place you come back to. Realignment is continuous. As soon as you make a move, the next question comes up, leads you to the next rabbit hole, and you will eventually need another next move. The version of yourself you're becoming right now will eventually give way to another version, one you can't fully see yet. But others can often see your potential and your path before you can. And your pursuit of new directions can inspire them to take action, too.
Realignment can cause waves. In the arts, we’ve seen this everywhere.
Picasso had his “periods”, Warhol frequently changed mediums, Gerhard Richter is 94 and still refuses to be categorized. We all know about the Beatles’ rapid evolution, and how Dylan's folk fans were furious when he went electric. Fans still argue about which version of Bowie was the “real” one; Madonna built her entire career out of constant reinvention, and Lady Gaga, Janelle Monae and Billie Eilish have followed suit. Who else - Cormac McCarthy, Toni Morrison. Mikhail Baryshnikov. Stanley Kubrick, Spike Lee. Steve Martin’s been bewildering audiences for years. The most attended concert tour of all time was Taylor Swift’s. Ten million fans celebrated “The Eras Tour”.
Realignment is all about keeping you and your restless voice afloat, as you discover different forms and move through the latest storms in your life.
Thom Yorke didn't retire after OK Computer. He kept going. Through Kid A and Amnesiac. The King of Limbs. A Moon Shaped Pool. The Smile. Each one a different form. With the same restless, searching, unmistakable voice underneath.
Early in his career, Yorke noted that Neil Young’s consistent adherence to his own creative truths was a heavy influence.
The lesson he took from Young was that it “doesn’t matter what era…you’re just laying down whatever’s in your head, wherever you’re at, at that time, and you’re just always staying true to that. No matter what it is, you’re just staying true to that. Neil Young…has always, completely, stayed true”
In turn, Yorke’s inspired another generation to go climb their next mountain.
What's your voice, underneath all the forms it's taken so far?
Who is helping you hear it?
Who will you inspire next?
Drop me a line and tell me what you're working through. And tell me what came up as you read this. I read every single response.
You’ve got this.
Onward,
Kevin
Founder, THE COURAGEOUS