The Only Pirate at the Party

by Lindsey Stirling

  Rule #15:

  Eat your veggies. (If you’re Lindsey, then stop.)

  Rule #16:

  If you tell someone your wish it won’t come true. (Don’t wish on boys, because that won’t come true either.)

  Rule #17:

  No short skirts after forty. (Or before.)

  Rule #18:

  Never date a man who wears or has worn a jockstrap. (Trust us on this one.)

  Rule #19:

  Shave your legs once a week in the winter, once a day in the summer. (Or not at all.)

  And one last rule that we never threw out the window:

  Rule #20:

  Always stay in touch with your college roommates. Good friends are hard to come by. (And that’s the truth!)

  Denny’s across from our apartment, at 1:00 A.M. on a Wednesday.

  CHAPTER ON MY YOUNG

  AND CAREFREE DRUG/ALCOHOL ESCAPADES

  I have never done drugs or consumed alcohol, so this chapter is really short.

  DEVIN

  SUPERTRAMP

  Brooke and I tried making cookies from scratch once in college. I had a crush on a boy across the hall, and I planned on seducing him with my baking skills. Unfortunately, we added double the baking soda and none of the salt. Since seduction by baked goods was now out of the question, we offered the cookies to Mackenzie instead. She took a big bite and covered her mouth in disgust.

  “These are terrible,” she said. “I knew it was too good to be true. People don’t just give people cookies.”

  She brought up a good point, and it’s a philosophy that has stuck with me. Not long after, a cinematographer named Devin Graham contacted me through YouTube. He wanted to film a music video for me, for free. Naturally I was skeptical. Okay, what do you want from me, pal?

  He had come across my America’s Got Talent audition on YouTube, and he e-mailed me about doing a collaboration. As he put it, “I like showcasing interesting talents.” He sent me the links to a few of his YouTube videos, and I was blown away. His work was incredible. We continued to correspond, but it all sounded too good to be true—a free video and effortless exposure? What was the catch? He insisted that all he wanted was the rights to put the finished product on his YouTube channel. Devin’s equipment was obviously superior to my dad’s old camcorder on a tripod, so I accepted.

  Once I had a better understanding of how YouTube worked, I realized Devin wasn’t just handing out free cookies. As a cinematographer, he needed new material in order to propel his channel. As a hungry musician, I needed opportunities to share my music. We were exchanging cookies. I was definitely getting the better end of the bargain so I didn’t complain. He told me I could perform whatever I wanted, so I finished up an original recording. A few weeks later, he came to Utah and we spent two days filming my first real YouTube video, “Spontaneous Me.”

  When Devin picked me up for our first day of filming he arrived in a run-down Subaru. I think it was the first thing that attracted me to him—a successful man in a crappy car, how refreshing (I’m being totally serious). But I liked him for more than his outdated set of wheels. He was the most motivated person I had ever met, and after several hours of filming together, I was sure he was also one of the nicest. Dancing and playing in front of a stranger with a camera that would record my every mistake was intimidating, but Devin had a way of making everything seem easy.

  “Just do whatever you would do if I weren’t here.”

  Ignoring the cute guy with the camera in my face was easier said than done, but I trusted him. When we finished filming he invited me to a workshop he was teaching about YouTube.

  “I think you would do really well as a YouTuber,” he said.

  This sounded pretty strange to me. How do you do well on YouTube? I already had a few cover videos online with about 500,000 collective views. I knew these numbers were good, but they were still just numbers. So people were watching my videos . . . then what?

  I had plans for the weekend already but they fell through, and I found myself seated in the front row of Devin’s workshop. In the hour that followed he opened my eyes to a world I didn’t know existed. I thought YouTube was simply a place to share home videos and watch funny cats. According to Devin, it was also a free business space. He described it as a TV network, with specific content and—if used correctly—a steady group of viewers. I could create my own customized channel with my music on my terms. Then Devin taught us how to gain and maintain subscribers and how to use each view to our advantage. It all made so much sense; I couldn’t take notes fast enough.

  Devin left Utah the following day, but we stayed in touch over the next few months while I started up my own YouTube channel. I harassed him incessantly for pointers until he became one of my best friends and, eventually, my boyfriend.

  Dating Devin was a little bit like having a clone. With the exception of playing the violin, he was able to do just about everything I could do. He helped brainstorm ideas, find music video locations, film, and in a pinch he could even help me edit. All the while I did the same for him. We took turns helping each other with projects and then we spent hours sitting on his couch in silence, editing our individual work. It was the perfect system.

  At Devin’s suggestion, I started my channel by releasing one new video every month. As my popularity grew I started releasing videos more frequently. Since I was trying to work quickly and efficiently, I did a lot of covers, and one of the first covers that took off was the “Zelda Medley.”

  It was Devin’s idea, and since I had grown up playing a fair amount of video games, I jumped on the opportunity. Devin had done several projects with a composer named Stephen Anderson, so we took my violin solo to him and asked for a full score. At first Stephen thought it was a bad idea to have the violin as the lead, but he worked around my arrangement anyway because he was friends with Devin. Stephen later admitted he didn’t think my music would do well, but when it was released, the “Zelda Medley” was one of the most watched videos on YouTube for the week. Since then, Stephen and I have done countless projects together. But he was the first of many people who gave me a chance solely out of respect for Devin.

  Up until this point I had a steady four hundred new subscribers a day, but after “Zelda” was released, it went up to two thousand. I kept waiting for the numbers to go back down, but they never did. People were sharing my videos, and for the most part, they liked what they saw! After this boost in confidence I was eager to put out more original music.

  When I first started creating my own music I had to pay for all my tracks up front. Now I only pay for a song if I end up using it, but back then there was a lot more pressure to make every beat count. If I didn’t like the end result, it was a waste of precious resources. Working in the studio from start to finish usually cost me about two thousand dollars so I couldn’t afford to create mediocre tracks. Unfortunately, sometimes I worked on a beat and came home disappointed anyway—which was the case with one of my most popular songs.

  When I finished the backtrack for “Crystallize,” I hated it. It was overpowering. For months and months I tried to write a violin melody that could hold its own against the dominant backtrack, but they kept ending up in the trash. That’s where “Crystallize” was sitting when I found out about some ice castles at a resort in Colorado. They were absolutely stunning, and I was determined to use them in a music video. I got in contact with the creator, Brent Christensen, and offered to make a video to promote his castles if he would pay for my and Devin’s flight and hotel accomodations. I guaranteed him at least 400,000 views on my channel with the link back to his website, and he accepted. “Crystallize” was the only finished backtrack I had, so I pulled it out of the trash to give it one more shot. When I finalized the melody I started to like it, but it was unlike anything I had ever written. The dubstep community was either going to love it or tear it to shreds. I prepared a quick rendition of Canon in D (ew!) as a backup plan.

  From the second we arrived at the i
ce castles I knew the location was too special to waste on a cover, so I went with my original song. I released “Crystallize” on YouTube a few weeks later, and when it got over one million views in a day I thought the counter was broken. I couldn’t believe it. Jennifer had just started working for me, helping to fulfill online orders and sort through e-mails. To make sure I wasn’t seeing things, I called and made her double-check the number. She screamed into the receiver, and I screamed back. It was in the top one hundred downloads on iTunes for two days, and it stayed number one on the electronic charts for two months. Immediately, my original music started doing better than my cover videos on YouTube, and I knew this song had changed my life. I hadn’t “made it” yet by any means, but I was one step closer and more determined than ever.

  Down the road Devin and I went our separate ways. Our reasons for doing so were personal, but in the weeks following the breakup my entire social life crumbled. For eighteen months Devin and I had spent every waking moment chasing our dreams together, working so fast and so hard there was little room for anything, or anyone, else. I knew he was my best friend, but when he was gone, I realized he had become one of my only friends. At the time, I was preparing for my first tour and frantically trying to finish up my debut album before I left. There was so much to be done and so much at stake. Along with feeling lonely I also felt unbearably overwhelmed. Since I began my YouTube channel, Devin had been a part of every major decision I made—encouraging me, supporting me, and picking up the slack when I couldn’t do it alone. Suddenly, I had the biggest project of my life on the line, and I was completely beside myself.

  Heartache has a way of bringing out the crazy in people. Some wallow, others bury themselves in work, and I got the uncontrollable desire to move. I won’t say it was rational, but it was definitely urgent. Within hours of this decision, I had everything I owned packed up in boxes. The act of packing made me feel like I was moving forward with my life, even though I didn’t have anywhere to go. I wasn’t able to get out of my existing lease, so I lived out of boxes for months, surrounded by cardboard in a hopeless pit of despair. I had invested everything I owned into my tour, and if I didn’t produce an album, I knew I would never be able to make the money back. I had two months to write three more songs, design and photograph the album artwork, and make a music video to promote all of the above. The harder I tried to make things happen, the less I accomplished. I was collecting stress like pickles (this analogy would make a lot more sense if you could see my fridge). Then one day I gave up entirely and ate a half-gallon of ice cream, while crying into a pile of dirty clothes. This could have gone on for days had Devin not interrupted me. When I heard him knock on the door, I wiped my eyes and did my best to impersonate someone cheery. He took one look at my forced smile and said, “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

  “No, I’m great.”

  “What’s that in your hair?”

  That’s when I cracked. I looked at the ends of my hair and tears welled up in my eyes. “It’s ice cream,” I cried.

  Devin had been offering to help me for weeks, and after seeing this spectacle, he insisted. “I’m worried about you. Let me help, please.”

  “I’m fine, really. It’s just been a long day.”

  “Then do it for me,” he persisted. “I want to help.”

  After everything he had already done for me, asking anything of Devin was too much, but he wouldn’t let it go. Over the next few weeks he photographed my album artwork, filmed the “Elements” music video to promote my tour, and was a friend I desperately needed. I know you’re all thinking it: why did we ever break up?! I wish we could have stayed together, but some things are and some things aren’t, and our relationship fell into the “aren’t” category.

  Because I had spent every penny on my upcoming tour, his willingness to photograph and film for free is what made those final touches possible. If it’s not already clear, I will spell it out—there would have never been a Lindsey Stirling without a Devin Graham. I guess some people do just give people cookies.

  THE ITALIAN JOB:

  A MUSICAL

  The summer after I turned twenty-five, I spent a week performing at a Celtic festival in Courmayeur, Italy. When I was first contacted about participating in the festival I gaped at the e-mail in shock. Italy? Someone wants to hire me in Italy? I was still traveling to various college campuses so the thought of going to Europe had me in hysterics. As a kid, I watched the 1995 production of Riverdance at my grandmother’s house almost every weekend (Michael Flatley, what a babe). I felt as though it had prepared me for this moment in some small way. I pulled myself together long enough to type out a professional-ish response before watching hours of festival footage online.

  Prior to my departure, my mom gifted me an undercover security belt she had purchased for her trip to Russia several years earlier. “To carry any valuables,” she said, happy to pass along her international travel savvy. What she forgot to mention was how difficult it was to actually access the aforementioned valuables. Every time I had to pay for something, I felt like I was giving a striptease. You should be tipping me, buddy. If there’s one thing I’ve since learned from international travel, it’s not to draw attention to yourself. Wrestling a giant pouch of money from your bra practically screams, “TOURIST! COME AND GET ME!” I eventually ditched the pouch. After all, I wasn’t a tourist; I was a paid musician, a businesswoman, a professional.

  When I arrived in Italy, a burly man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses picked me up from the airport in a blacked-out sedan. He did so without speaking a word. His eyebrows resembled two hamsters, and he was wearing at least five pounds of gold jewelry. I was fairly certain he was a Mafioso, hired to murder little American girls. I was trying to devise a plan to retrieve the pocketknife from my secret pouch without being shot, when suddenly we turned a bend and I found myself in the midst of a breathtaking valley, filled with trees and bustling people. After opening the door, my driver reached into a black leather briefcase and pulled out a pair of dancing clogs. He slipped them on and gingerly jumped onto a nearby stage, joining a group of step dancers in rehearsal. Slowly, I retracted my hand from the secret pouch.

  “You must be Lin-sey! Welcome to Celtica!” said a voice from behind me.

  I turned to see a man in flashy plaid pants approaching.

  “My name is Alessandro. I will be your translator for the next few days. Come, you must meet the others!”

  Grabbing my violin, I followed him through a clearing toward a giant stage lined with posters—of my face!

  “Oh look!” I said. “It’s me! Do you have posters for all the acts?”

  “No, only the main event,” Alessandro said casually.

  I stopped in my tracks. “Wait, what?”

  He must have seen the shock on my face because he too stopped walking. “Didn’t you know?” he asked with a smile. “You are the main attrac-ti-on!” As he said the word attraction, he raised up his hands in excitement. “The entire festival was planned around your music.”

  My previous contact didn’t speak fluent English, and it became apparent that a few of the details had gotten lost in translation. I had been under the impression that I was a small act on the bill, but Alessandro and a number of posters now suggested otherwise. I had never headlined anywhere before, let alone a festival! I’m confident I would have fainted, had I not been clenching my butt cheeks together so hard. (I tend to do that when I get nervous; ask anyone who has ever stood behind me at the DMV.)

  The following day I got onstage with a dozen Celtic step dancers (including my former driver/hit man) and played in front of six thousand beautiful people. Following the performance I was assigned two security guards to accompany me around the forest grounds. I promptly dismissed them both.

  “Thank you, but I will be fine by myself.”

  No sooner had I left the tent than a group of excited teenagers ran up to meet me, screaming and rattling off in Italian. I smiled and slowly
backpedaled into the tent.

  “Oh, hey, so I changed my mind. Are those two big guys still here?”

  For the remainder of the night I was approached by people of all ages who wanted to shake my hand and take my picture. From every side, hands reached out, waving posters and scraps of the festival program in my face.

  “They want your autograph,” my security guard said.

  When I was in junior high, Miss Arizona spoke about inner beauty at a girls’ camp I was attending. Afterward, the other teenage girls and I rushed her for autographs. I didn’t know who she was prior to the event, and if you asked me her name today I wouldn’t be able to tell you. No matter, at that time, she was the closest thing to a celebrity I had ever encountered. We waited in line and giggled when it was our turn, but the thrill was of the moment. When it was over, I shoved her autographed headshot in my duffel bag, where it probably remains to this day.

  As people crowded me at the Festival, I assumed it was much the same. They had seen me perform on the big stage and wanted a memento of the event, not of me specifically. I was their Miss Arizona. But as the night went on I realized something was different. These people were familiar with my videos, they gave me more personalized fan art than I could carry, and many of them had traveled from France, Switzerland, and Poland specifically to see me. It sank in that there were real people behind every click and comment on my channel, and I was staring at some of them. It was one of the best days of my life. But after every high comes a crash.

  December 26 is the worst day of the year. The anticipation of Christmas is swept away, taking all the cheery music, colorful lights, and generous people with it. Headlining Celtica was my Christmas, and returning to regular life afterward was December 26. But unlike the holiday, there was no 364-day countdown to my next big opportunity. When I got home, I continued to take any gig I could get, and life returned to normal: working, going to school, and writing music.