When I say Incubus, I’m not referring to the demon that sexually preys on women in their sleep…
I’m referring to one of my favourite bands of all time.
I’ve chosen Incubus as today’s I for the A-Z Blogging Challenge, as there is something unique about them that makes me feel better as a writer.
Why? Because they transcend genre.
I don’t know if anyone else has this problem, but I struggle with the notion of sticking to a particular genre in my fiction. Is it because I’m not dedicated enough, or have enough direction? I don’t think it is.
In my “ideas spreadsheet” (lets not get too bogged down with my geekiness), my scribblings and ponderings span a whole range of fiction genres: sci-fi, romance, thriller, comedy, the list goes on.
When people ask me what genre I write in, I tense up. I waffle on about what my story is about instead, and let them come to their own conclusions. My WIP has yet to be pigeon-holed.
And, like Incubus, I don’t think I fancy sticking to one particular route.
Prepare your ears for an audible feast as we explore my argument further.
Observe this track “You Will Be A Hot Dancer” from their debut album Fungus Amongus. Like many, I’d describe it as Funk Metal.
Fast forward to their next album, S.C.I.E.N.C.E and you’ll hear their style changes. According to Rolling Stone writer Rob Kemp, it “links funk metal to the rap metal” This can especially be said for New Skin:
Could that be any more different to this song, Drive, from their following album (aptly titled), Make Yourself?
Their next album, Morning View, spans various genres, from Metal to tranquil songs like Wish You Were Here:
I’m not going to go through every album; I hope that’s been enough to illustrate my point: That here lies a band who’ve reaped massive success without adhering to a particular direction, musical or otherwise.
Do you know of any authors who have fleeted between genres, successfully or otherwise?
I shall leave you my favourite Incubus song, Make Yourself. If ever I felt like just joining the rat race and aspiring to a life of mortgages, 2.4 children and wishing my life away, week after week, in a shabby office, I’d listen to this song and get a grip of my life: