Lonesome Cowboy

I’ve always had this image of the lone songwriter and his guitar. As if creating music is purely a solitary activity. Maybe it’s the mythic image of the Texan bard as a lonesome cowboy? In any case, band practice last night was a breakthrough experience.

We were all just going through our respective parts before starting to play a song together. Then, H just played a chord progression on the piano that I didn’t recognize but liked quite well. “What’s that?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know…something I came up with just now.”

And we were off! Melodies just started coming to me, some lyrics, too. H came up with a slightly different progression for a chorus. B started messing with some possible riffs. We recorded the parts as fast as we could. We were all swept up in the whirlwind of spontaneous musical collaboration. It was beautiful and exhilarating.

Yes, I know that this was just the natural progression of playing music together. It’s the whole springboard effect and is normal songwriting procedure for many bands. But it was the first time for me. And it takes off a lot of the pressure and fear of songwriting for me. Suddenly, I’m no longer responsible for creating an entire song. All I have to do is my little part and that counts as songwriting. J

The positive glass

I wrote the lyrics for an entire song last night. They’re kind of rough because at 1 am, I was too exhausted to try to refine them. But I can’t wait to get home and work on them again this evening!

I was in the shower, thinking and trying to deal with some pretty strong emotions. And I was struggling. And then it occurred to me: I’ve got a new tool to digest the difficult moments in life. Let’s try to apply those songwriting techniques I’ve just learned.

And so, I did: First person narrative for the point of view, past and present for the time frame, each verse changed the context of the chorus a bit, etc. And it even came out in French as I had a French song going through my head at the time. I was surprised to be able to rhyme so easily in my second language. But I guess if the inspiration is there and you flow with it, anything is possible.

Of course, the lyrics are the easy part for me. Putting all that to music remains to be seen. But it felt so positive to create something artistic out of my emotions. It makes the situation less depressing. But those difficult feelings are still there, pushing me to continue developing the song. I hope I can empty the negative glass of pain into the positive glass of song. That’s the whole idea behind trying to become a songwriter for me, in any case.

This is Serious

A few days ago, I finally started watching the videos that I downloaded for the songwriting class. My plan is to go through all the class material once before the real class starts in 6 weeks. The idea of putting my song ideas up for peer review is so stressful for me, that I don’t think I’d be capable of absorbing any of the lecture concepts during that period. So, I’ll learn it now. J

What struck me the most about the lecture was how seriously and academically the subject was treated. The tone was similar to any engineering or technical writing class I’ve ever taken. It seemed odd that music should be taken so seriously…Ah, but there’s the core of all my barriers with music.

According to my upbringing, music is a very admirable leisure activity but completely unacceptable as a career choice. Even my grandmother, who was a piano teacher, bought into this idea. My mother has often told me the story about how her parents sold the piano when they saw she was spending more time playing than doing her school work. The sad part is that my mother has perfect musical memory: she only has to listen to a melody once to be able to reproduce it. Had she been allowed to master a musical instrument, who knows where she would have gone? But no, her musical gift was considered a nuisance.

I was raised with this same idea. Any tendency I have ever had to take music more seriously than a hobby has been frowned upon. But I’m a bit less docile than my mother and have managed to develop my musical skills more than her. However, I’m still very much an amateur.

Even though I have always dreamed of being a professional musician, my own (pre-programmed) disdain for the profession has prevented me from investing the necessary time and effort to reach that level. These days, I no longer imagine making a living playing music. I would just like to be skilled enough to do so, if the opportunity came knocking. But to do that, I need to end the internal struggle.

Music may not be a stable, high-paying career. But earning money should not be the sole measure of respectability. Yes, feeding and housing yourself should be the first priority. But self-fulfillment and happiness are actually more important than a fat paycheck. Even though we’ve all heard these ideas, I’d be hard pressed to point to someone I know who actually lives by that principle. Myself included. I’ve never had the guts to put happiness over comfort. I’m not sure I ever will. But my inability to obtain a high-level of musical skill is definitely connected to this personal conflict.

So when I watch the videos of the songwriting lectures, it’s refreshing. This professor is someone who takes music very seriously. And no one is telling him he’s wasting his time. I want to live in his world, where music is valued enough to be a full-time endeavor.

The Muse

I took a tiny step in the songwriting direction this week. During that precious hour between when my husband goes to sleep and my own bedtime, the Muse made a brief appearance.

I was in the shower (where the world’s most brilliant ideas are born), and a Jimmy Hendrix style riff came to me. The riff itself is rather unremarkable. What was interesting was the source of it. The inspiration came from the rhythm of a particular expression that I like to use to describe myself. And I had this epiphany. I always expected the Muse to bring me melodies. But my forte is language, so it doesn’t make any sense for me to approach songwriting from a musical direction. I should use a lyrical tactic and let the music follow from there. I remember hearing an interview with Stevie Ray Vaughan where he talked about how the original bluesmen came up with their riffs. They were inspired by everyday sounds in their environments: cars driving over a manhole cover, people walking down the street, etc. As a technical writer, the sounds of my environment are linguistic. I am constantly tuned into word choice, phrasing, nuance, and the like. So the most obvious source for me to draw from is language. It so terribly obvious, but somehow it never occurred to me until now.

When I got out of the shower, I took my cell phone and whispered my little composition into the memo application. The last time I had done something like that, cassette tape recorders were still a viable media format. Yes, it’s been that long. Just recording was an enormous achievement for me. But then, I took it a little further.

During band practice two nights ago, B left the room for a few minutes. For some reason, I felt the urge to share with H, our songwriter, my little ditty. He’s my friend and I know he wouldn’t cut me down. So, I let him listen to it. He didn’t say if he liked it or not. He just told me that I needed to at least develop it into a verse.

I wasn’t at all discouraged by his reaction. Motivated, actually. But alas, the Muse has not yet returned with the rest of the song. I will be waiting every evening during my quiet hour.

March to the beat of your own drum

I’ve always wanted to be a musician. Not just someone who tries to make music, but a bona fide, professional musician. I’ve always wanted to be able to express myself through music. No other art form supplies the same level of emotional release.

But alas, this dream has always been thwarted. When I was a teenager, my idea to become an opera singer was very quickly chopped down by my family. In my twenties, my own realization that I didn’t have the technical level to hang with the professionals lead me to give up music altogether -- for 10 years. I’ve tried to replace the need with other things: an engineering career, journalism, linguistics, marriage and family, etc. But nothing has ever worked. I’ve always come back to music.

The birth of my son pulled me out of my long moratorium. In the last year, I have gotten my guitar playing back in shape and started collaborating with a couple of colleagues who have since become great friends of mine. Already, this project is a dream come true as I had never before found people that I was comfortable making music with. But still, I don’t feel like I’m expressing myself artistically.

H is a decent songwriter and during our weekly band practices, the three of us try to put together something that resembles his vision. I’m a little jealous of his ability. For me, the ultimate artistic self-expression is creating new music. And I’ve never felt comfortable doing it. I’ve always found my compositions lame and contrived. I’ve never had the guts to write soul-bearing lyrics.

I thought about getting back into music journalism. Writing is the only art that I’m talented enough at to do professionally. But after a few steps in that direction, I’m beginning to think that I’m once more cutting down my own dream. I want to be a songwriter, so I need to do whatever it takes to become one.

All this stems from an encounter 14 years ago when I met my favorite songwriter, Z. Ever since, he’s been my idol. He’s no virtuoso, but his music is catchy and his lyrics are genuine. His personality comes through, unfiltered. And I’m fascinated by the person I see there. He is uncompromising in marching to the beat of his own drum. I admire his courage and aspire to be more like that. He’s the whole reason I want to be a songwriter.

Just by chance, I discovered that Z is taking an online course in improvisation. So I looked into it and found that the same website offers a class in songwriting for beginners. It really piqued my interest. After perusing the site, I realized that songwriting still scares me. But this is also the perfect opportunity to overcome that fear. Because this time, I’m not going to let anyone convince me that I’m incapable of being a true musician; especially not myself.