I've stopped and started this entry two or three times today, and I've finally figured out why.
It has to do with an intense discussion I've been reading on a folk music e-list. The topic (in a nutshell) is self-absorption in songwriting. Specifically, one contributor (a concert presenter and independent radio host) wrote, smugly, that in order to decide if a songwriter is any good or not, he simply scans the lyrics to see if they include "I", "me" or "mine" too often. His view is that too many singer-songwriters have nothing of interest to say to anyone other than themselves and that they should shut up.
The same could be said of bloggers. Or watercolourists or haiku poets or photographers or stand-up comics.
Not surprisingly, many artists took this guy to task, citing examples of many fine songs that are written in the first person (and noting that many awful songs have been written in the third).
Other people clarified his argument, pointing out that in order to succeed, any song (in whatever voice), needs to make a universal statement in addition to a personal one; that is, it will start with the individual artist's perspective but it must transcend it. The artist's level of skill or craftsmanship plays a huge role in this; the lyrics (both what is said and how it's written), the melody (both memorable and original) and presentation all have to be at a sufficiently high level to move an audience.
And how do we know when we've succeeded?
Well, that's where the audience comes in, including (unfortunately) the smugly critical concert presenter on the list, who is so inundated with mediocre CDs and promo packages that he's become contemptuous of the whole singer-songwriter genre. Today I found myself thinking about him, somehow imagining him reading this, and I wanted to write something particularly noteworthy.
And I stopped writing.
(On the other hand, I am writing a handful of new songs. Perhaps it's no coincidence that for now they won't be public songs...as the set list for my upcoming concert is already in place and the new CD is already 13 songs long.)
Knowing that the critics are out there, that somebody somewhere might say "ahah, she's going on about herself again", how do we continue our artistic work? How do we risk sharing it with others to find a supportive audience (one which, in my experience, far outnumbers the critics)?
Even high-profile, celebrated artists struggle with this one. I'm currently reading Julia Cameron, who has a very good new book out called "The Sound of Paper". Best known for The Artist's Way , Cameron writes beautifully about artistic challenge, fear and insecurity. I figured she'd have something to say about the guy on the list (who is, though sporting a different identity, essentially the same person who malignantly contributed to this blog several weeks ago and caused me to question my work in similar ways.)
Julia calls her imaginary, inner critic "Nigel".
"Nigel is the one who snorts in derision when I think about starting a new play. Nigel is the one who is afraid to send finished work out--and is afraid, for that matter, to finish work because then it can be judged and people like him to the judging... Nigel. I would like to lock you out... No Nigel sinks his pointed fangs into the jugular of my work in a next lifetime."
+++
Back to the subway briefly.
Last night I saw experienced subway busker Roger Ellis at an open mic performance, and explained somewhat apologetically that I hadn't been busking this week because of March Break.
He was very kind and reassuring, telling me that it's been a slow time anyway for donations, that his wife is also looking after children this week, and that next week the weather will be great.
No comments:
Post a Comment