Today I went out for a long walk to write a song.
Walking is a very effective technique for songwriting, or for that matter, any kind of problem solving. There's something about a walk that puts the mind into a state of heightened conscious alertness and unconscious automatic pilot at the same time. When you're writing a song or solving any other kind of creative problem, you need both parts of your mind to be in tune.
Walks help.
So I took a very long walk to write a song about bicycles.
I was headed to the bank. On the way there, I came up with a pretty good lyric for my chorus. When it came to me I felt very pleased, and I sat down on a bench to write it down. Then I continued my walk, getting to the bank and making a side-trip along the way for some very good Italian cookies.
But on the way home, I was feeling unsettled. During all the walking in the meantime, I had repeated that chorus in my mind. To my disappointment, I realized (when I was standing in the bank lineup) that it didn't work. I needed a rhyme in the middle of the phrase as well as the end. The line I had written didn't have one.
So, on the way home, I made up probably 10 or 12 different lyric lines. I felt irritated because they were all pretty bad: the phrasing was awkward or the meaning weird. I wondered if I'd have to take the whole song apart and start again.
Then about 3/4 of the way home, I finally thought of a good line. A simple, clear one. Ahah!
And just then, I turned a corner and looked at a license plate: AHAH 642.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Showing Up on Stage
It’s been said that 90% of success is just showing up.
As a performing songwriter, I find the “needing-to-show-up” a very challenging part of the experience.
Like other introverted performers, I often experience anxiety before the show, thinking at times that the feelings of discomfort are so intense, they outweigh my love of songs. If nobody was expecting me at the venue, I might just not show up, choosing instead to remain comfortably cocooned at home.
But people are expecting me at the venue. The show must go on, so I do.
During the concert, and afterwards, I usually feel so energized and positive, I wonder what all the fuss was about. Why was I so nervous beforehand?
Actually, I think there are good reasons to feel that way. Showing up on stage requires openness, vulnerability and an extending of myself. When I present my songs (my self, really) to others, I’m inviting acceptance and rejection, praise and criticism. I’m sticking my neck out. Everyone who shares her deepest self, expressed in any form, does so. It’s a necessary thing to do, and it’s risky.
Once I’m up on stage, I’m required to present my songs confidently, with energy and verve. Sometimes it’s an act. But “acting as if” is a powerful technique in many situations, and it usually contributes to successful stage performances.
I have to play the songs to the best of my ability and carry on to the end of the song, whether I’m completely happy with my performance or not. I have to show up fully, and at whatever “stage” I happen to be at, right now.
In life, I have to show up as well, whether I feel like it or not. I have to sing my song, play my part, to the best of my ability. I have to keep it up for the duration of the song, without quitting in the middle of the verse.
When I’m feeling tired or anxious, when I don’t really want to show up at the next challenge life is handing to me, I can do the same thing I’ve done at performance after performance: I can listen for my cue, step up onto the stage, and give each song everything I’ve got.
As a performing songwriter, I find the “needing-to-show-up” a very challenging part of the experience.
Like other introverted performers, I often experience anxiety before the show, thinking at times that the feelings of discomfort are so intense, they outweigh my love of songs. If nobody was expecting me at the venue, I might just not show up, choosing instead to remain comfortably cocooned at home.
But people are expecting me at the venue. The show must go on, so I do.
During the concert, and afterwards, I usually feel so energized and positive, I wonder what all the fuss was about. Why was I so nervous beforehand?
Actually, I think there are good reasons to feel that way. Showing up on stage requires openness, vulnerability and an extending of myself. When I present my songs (my self, really) to others, I’m inviting acceptance and rejection, praise and criticism. I’m sticking my neck out. Everyone who shares her deepest self, expressed in any form, does so. It’s a necessary thing to do, and it’s risky.
Once I’m up on stage, I’m required to present my songs confidently, with energy and verve. Sometimes it’s an act. But “acting as if” is a powerful technique in many situations, and it usually contributes to successful stage performances.
I have to play the songs to the best of my ability and carry on to the end of the song, whether I’m completely happy with my performance or not. I have to show up fully, and at whatever “stage” I happen to be at, right now.
In life, I have to show up as well, whether I feel like it or not. I have to sing my song, play my part, to the best of my ability. I have to keep it up for the duration of the song, without quitting in the middle of the verse.
When I’m feeling tired or anxious, when I don’t really want to show up at the next challenge life is handing to me, I can do the same thing I’ve done at performance after performance: I can listen for my cue, step up onto the stage, and give each song everything I’ve got.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Life is a Song: The Main Idea
Songwriters know how important the “title line” or “hook line” of a song is. It’s the thing people remember. The thing a song is “about”.
What am I “about”? What do I believe?
If you don’t know what your song’s about, it’s not going to make sense, to you or anybody else. You keep jumping from one topic to the next in verse to verse, often changing point-of-view, telling several stories at once. Many sections will seem vague and unfocused. It’s not clear what the title is. The song is therefore not memorable. It meanders along for a period of time, somewhat purposelessly, until it comes to an unsatisfying stop.
Do I want my life to be like that?
Or do I want my life to have shape, structure, meaning? A prevailing belief system?
Beginning songwriters generally write songs that go in many directions at once or have no clear direction—just as young people often lack clear direction at an early point in life. Eventually, through trial and error and exploration, a direction emerges and many successful projects, such as a career or an education, can get underway.
Because I write songs all the time, and I know how important it is to have one clear idea to guide my song, I can look at my life and ask myself what the main idea might be at this time in my life. Is my main idea: “I put my family first”? Or is it “I follow my heart”? Or, “I can change the world?”
I know that great songs can be written based on each of those ideas. But, they have to be separate songs. Those major themes can’t all be mushed in together without some separation, which is easy to do when you’re writing new songs, each of which is just four minutes long.
Life often seems not quite so clear…and yet, if we view it in a multi-dimensional way, perhaps it’s possible to “hear” more than one song playing concurrently in a life, or discern several main themes that are distinct and come and go within the framework of a symphony.
For example, it’s not that I have to choose between my work and my family, but that I have to see them as distinct songs, and attend to them separately.
I often work on several songs at once. I’m sure many painters and writers work on their creative works concurrently too. I find that when I do, the songs sometimes inform each other, or are so different that they create a complementary pair, like a yin and yang. I need to attend to each one of them individually to make them each come to fruition. I don’t have to drop one or the other, and they don’t need to compete.
What am I “about”? What do I believe?
If you don’t know what your song’s about, it’s not going to make sense, to you or anybody else. You keep jumping from one topic to the next in verse to verse, often changing point-of-view, telling several stories at once. Many sections will seem vague and unfocused. It’s not clear what the title is. The song is therefore not memorable. It meanders along for a period of time, somewhat purposelessly, until it comes to an unsatisfying stop.
Do I want my life to be like that?
Or do I want my life to have shape, structure, meaning? A prevailing belief system?
Beginning songwriters generally write songs that go in many directions at once or have no clear direction—just as young people often lack clear direction at an early point in life. Eventually, through trial and error and exploration, a direction emerges and many successful projects, such as a career or an education, can get underway.
Because I write songs all the time, and I know how important it is to have one clear idea to guide my song, I can look at my life and ask myself what the main idea might be at this time in my life. Is my main idea: “I put my family first”? Or is it “I follow my heart”? Or, “I can change the world?”
I know that great songs can be written based on each of those ideas. But, they have to be separate songs. Those major themes can’t all be mushed in together without some separation, which is easy to do when you’re writing new songs, each of which is just four minutes long.
Life often seems not quite so clear…and yet, if we view it in a multi-dimensional way, perhaps it’s possible to “hear” more than one song playing concurrently in a life, or discern several main themes that are distinct and come and go within the framework of a symphony.
For example, it’s not that I have to choose between my work and my family, but that I have to see them as distinct songs, and attend to them separately.
I often work on several songs at once. I’m sure many painters and writers work on their creative works concurrently too. I find that when I do, the songs sometimes inform each other, or are so different that they create a complementary pair, like a yin and yang. I need to attend to each one of them individually to make them each come to fruition. I don’t have to drop one or the other, and they don’t need to compete.
Monday, May 14, 2007
The Introverted Singer-Songwriter
I'm reading a book right now called The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World by Marti Olsen Laney.
It's shedding some light on not only my personality, but the traits of my parents, brother, husband and children. It's also making me notice some interesting things about my singer-songwriter life.
Laney explains that many introverts think there's something "wrong" with them, when they're simply exhibiting normal traits of introverted people--needing to take time away from a party to recharge, for example. (Has anybody hidden out in the bathroom? I have.)
I scored quite high on Laney's introversion scale (23 out of 30). As I've been reading, I've been noticing how my introversion doesn't fit well with parts of my songwriting life.
Here's one example that really stands out. I remember telling a publicist (who was considering working with me) that I am uncomfortable with publicity. I can still hear the baffled silence on the other end of the phone! As the conversation ended awkwardly, I worried (and wondered if she then thought) that perhaps I didn't want to be successful after all.
Indie musicians are supposed to love MySpace. I don't. And I feel pretty uncomfortable on most discussion forums. I prefer the solitude of a blog.
Music conferences? A special kind of hell for the introverted singer-songwriter.
When I was researching this subject just now, I discovered an interview with Ray Davies from The Kinks, who said he believed virtually all performers are introverts. That makes sense to me, because as a performer (who chooses if not writes all of her material) I have a lot of control over how I express myself. A performance is scripted; life is not.
In regular life, people I know have been surprised to learn I'm a singer-songwriter, because I come across as quiet and reserved in many social situations. They're often surprised to see me confident and self-assured on stage (but they may be hesitant to come see me, thinking that I'll be awful!)
Of course, I'm probably a good songwriter because I AM an introvert. Some of my best reviews describe how I "focus on the small details of life". One of the introverted traits Laney identifies is "I tend to notice details many people don't see".
How to get the songs themselves noticed, now, that's a challenge for the introvert.
I'll keep reading.
It's shedding some light on not only my personality, but the traits of my parents, brother, husband and children. It's also making me notice some interesting things about my singer-songwriter life.
Laney explains that many introverts think there's something "wrong" with them, when they're simply exhibiting normal traits of introverted people--needing to take time away from a party to recharge, for example. (Has anybody hidden out in the bathroom? I have.)
I scored quite high on Laney's introversion scale (23 out of 30). As I've been reading, I've been noticing how my introversion doesn't fit well with parts of my songwriting life.
Here's one example that really stands out. I remember telling a publicist (who was considering working with me) that I am uncomfortable with publicity. I can still hear the baffled silence on the other end of the phone! As the conversation ended awkwardly, I worried (and wondered if she then thought) that perhaps I didn't want to be successful after all.
Indie musicians are supposed to love MySpace. I don't. And I feel pretty uncomfortable on most discussion forums. I prefer the solitude of a blog.
Music conferences? A special kind of hell for the introverted singer-songwriter.
When I was researching this subject just now, I discovered an interview with Ray Davies from The Kinks, who said he believed virtually all performers are introverts. That makes sense to me, because as a performer (who chooses if not writes all of her material) I have a lot of control over how I express myself. A performance is scripted; life is not.
In regular life, people I know have been surprised to learn I'm a singer-songwriter, because I come across as quiet and reserved in many social situations. They're often surprised to see me confident and self-assured on stage (but they may be hesitant to come see me, thinking that I'll be awful!)
Of course, I'm probably a good songwriter because I AM an introvert. Some of my best reviews describe how I "focus on the small details of life". One of the introverted traits Laney identifies is "I tend to notice details many people don't see".
How to get the songs themselves noticed, now, that's a challenge for the introvert.
I'll keep reading.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Life is a Song: Melody
(Recently I've been writing a series of essays exploring the ways that life might follow the principles of songwriting. Here's a sample! Let me know what you think.)
How can life be seen as a melody?
Well, to start with, melodies repeat.
In particular, the pleasing parts of melodies in songs repeat themselves. I tell beginning songwriters that if they find a melodic phrase they like, they should repeat it to satisfying effect. Sometimes they're reluctant to do this, thinking that they should always be novel, constantly reinventing their tune.
Not so. Once a pleasing melody is discovered, it's almost always a good idea to repeat it. Not over and over until it becomes boring, but often enough that it keeps someone (the songwriter at least) engaged and listening.
Melodies are made up of repeating patterns of notes. Their symmetry is pleasing to the ear and the emotions. They create a mood and shape when put together.
What are some of the repeating notes in my life?
Daily walks to and from school with my daughter...
Waking up and going to sleep in the same room...
Using a special greeting to say hello to my husband...
These are a few.
There are meals, habits, daily routines, family holiday traditions, birthdays, seasonal observances, weekly work schedules, the Monday morning meeting.
All of these form combinations, and they have additional repeating notes attached to them: the daily hello to the crossing guard on the morning walk, for example.
The melodies may be played a little differently each time, depending on the timing or emphasis of particular events for particular reasons. But they form specific melodies that belong to each of us.
By choosing those activities (notes) that are meaningful and pleasurable, and repeating them at regular intervals of days and weeks, we create balanced and interesting lives that have the same inspiring, engaging and sustaining qualities of musical melodies.
Sometimes, though, we do not choose the notes that make up the melody of life. Sudden unpleasant events strike a jarring note, sending the melody off into a different direction.
(...more on that later!)
How can life be seen as a melody?
Well, to start with, melodies repeat.
In particular, the pleasing parts of melodies in songs repeat themselves. I tell beginning songwriters that if they find a melodic phrase they like, they should repeat it to satisfying effect. Sometimes they're reluctant to do this, thinking that they should always be novel, constantly reinventing their tune.
Not so. Once a pleasing melody is discovered, it's almost always a good idea to repeat it. Not over and over until it becomes boring, but often enough that it keeps someone (the songwriter at least) engaged and listening.
Melodies are made up of repeating patterns of notes. Their symmetry is pleasing to the ear and the emotions. They create a mood and shape when put together.
What are some of the repeating notes in my life?
Daily walks to and from school with my daughter...
Waking up and going to sleep in the same room...
Using a special greeting to say hello to my husband...
These are a few.
There are meals, habits, daily routines, family holiday traditions, birthdays, seasonal observances, weekly work schedules, the Monday morning meeting.
All of these form combinations, and they have additional repeating notes attached to them: the daily hello to the crossing guard on the morning walk, for example.
The melodies may be played a little differently each time, depending on the timing or emphasis of particular events for particular reasons. But they form specific melodies that belong to each of us.
By choosing those activities (notes) that are meaningful and pleasurable, and repeating them at regular intervals of days and weeks, we create balanced and interesting lives that have the same inspiring, engaging and sustaining qualities of musical melodies.
Sometimes, though, we do not choose the notes that make up the melody of life. Sudden unpleasant events strike a jarring note, sending the melody off into a different direction.
(...more on that later!)
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