Being a true artist is far from easy. The stretch limo quickly becomes a fishbowl. The press. The pressures. Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll, right? “Time to go on stage.” You’re sitting in the green room backstage in some city. Thousands of fans waiting in front of the stage. You might’ve had too much of something. You go out there because you have to. It’s your job. Perform. “My fans are there to see me. I love them. Where’s the stage?” You go out there and sing. You stumble up to the microphone. Your mind is mushy; it’s like a dream. You know the song, but somehow it’s lost in translation. Your fans boo. You try another verse and they keep on booing.