One Body

We've all heard that everything is one...that everything is connected.  But do we truly believe it?

Consider your body.  How strange it would be if one part of it were celebrated above all others.  The elbow that is superior to the other one....the celebrity eyelash...the one toe that is especially worthy of praise.

We understand that every part of our bodies is important.  When we're wise, we see our physical health as an interconnected whole and we care for each part of ourselves with that in mind. 

But looking at the whole body of humankind and life itself, we sometimes raise certain parts up and keep other parts down.  One way we do this, in our culture, is through celebrity worship.  Many songwriters aspire to join the elite group of people who are famous.  In truth, that's as silly as one of your fingernails wanting to be special.  

The fact is, every human being is a worthy part of the larger Whole, as is every song each person may sing.

When we meditate on this great truth, we remain humble and grateful for the part we play. We do not seek to elevate ourselves, but rather to contribute to the health of the Whole.

That reminds me of...

Sometimes, about midway through writing a song, I notice that something about it reminds me of something I've heard before.  It could be a general mood or a similar riff or an approach or a chord pattern. If it's too close to the original, I change it.  But often I notice that I've built in a little nod, an unconscious tip-of-the-hat, to an artist I admire.

As human beings, we're continually reminded of people we know, places we've been, songs we've loved.  By noticing and appreciating them, we integrate all of our experiences into a uniquely meaningful life.  We do this all the time, simply by being aware of what we value: what we love. When we "create something", we just arrange some of that good stuff and put it in a frame. 

So, next time you pick up your instrument and think...hmm, that reminds me a little of [insert song here], play with it until you make something new...but celebrate the fact that your song is connected to every song you've ever loved.

Open Mic, Open Heart

If it weren't for community open stages, I'd probably still be singing alone in my house.

But I notice, sometimes, that open mics can bring out my "shadow" side.  (Something to do with the lighting in those venues?)

Carl Jung first conceived of the idea of the shadow: the part of yourself you hide from the rest of the world--and even yourself.  The shameful stuff we don't like to see.

When we start noticing our shadow, we can start working with it more consciously.  That self-awareness is bound to help our songs.

Many features of open mics can challenge the ego and bring the shadow "into the light", so to speak. Here are a few:

• Do we feel superior to this singer or inferior to that one?  Compassionately noticing our competitiveness can help us develop humility and self-confidence. 

• Are we impatient, waiting for our turn to play?  When we notice this, we can practice being grateful for the present moment. 

• No time to warm up or adjust the sound system?  People talking over your set?  A golden opportunity for intolerant perfectionists. 

• Your performance isn't as good as hoped?  Are you beating yourself up?  Notice that...and practice being kind to yourself. 

The funny thing is, those shadowy aspects of ourselves may be exactly the thing we hope not to show from the stage.

But even if (maybe especially if) our songs are all about peace and love, we've got to wrestle in the dark with the shadow (anxiety, intolerance).     

Only by opening up to every part of our experience--both the light and the dark--will we truly grow.  

Is Your Song Stable?

If your song were a person, would you consider it stable?

Or is it unbalanced...a little off-kilter...troubled somehow?

One characteristic of a strong song is its sense of balance and stability.  It's self-supporting.  For example, the ideas in the verses tend to support the main idea of the chorus...and every verse supports every other one.

The mood and feel of the song will likely be congruent with the song's message.  The melody will likely "match" the words.  Perhaps most important, the message of the song will be congruent with your own unique personhood: your true values and dreams.

Of course, no song or person is "stable" all the time.  We often feel out-of-whack for one reason or another and our songs often reflect that.  In fact, a song is a very appropriate place to express feelings of confusion and anxiety.

At the same time, simply in the act of writing a song, we draw ourselves a roadmap for emotional stability.

It takes effort to consciously choose the right word to complete a rhyme (for example), just as it takes effort to make conscious choices that support our physical, emotional and spiritual health.

But it's worth it!

When the process is complete, we have a strong, stable, true song.  A mirror of our best selves.

Question and Answer (Songwriting as Magic 8 Ball)

When I was growing up, a friend had a Magic 8 Ball that offered answers to the perplexing questions of adolescence. It was fun to consult the mysterious oracle and see what it said.  (I just looked it up on Wikipedia, and was reminded of some of the answers: "It is decidedly so" and "reply hazy, try again". I think I got that "hazy" one a lot.)  

I think that our songs act as oracles sometimes.

When we pick up our instrument during a time of questioning, interesting answers will come out.  

They may not be the ones we're expecting. They may not give us step-by-step instructions on how to proceed. But they can help us understand what our intuitive wisdom is trying to tell us. 

We need our "left-brain", logical sides to make decisions...but we also need our dreamy, "right-brain" sides.  Artistic activity kick-starts both sides at once.  This is great news for complicated lives like ours!  

I just realized that over the last few days, I've been using my songwriting as a kind of oracle.  Two different songs emerged in answer to the same question.

The interesting thing is, one song is "better" than the other.  It's much easier to remember and sing.  It's catchier...more likely to stick.  

Ask your songs to answer your questions.  Then listen to what they say.  

Why bother?

A talented songwriting friend, who has been having trouble writing, asked me why he should bother writing another song.  "Who cares?" he asked.

I knew what he meant.  Any song we write today will become part of an infinitely large collection of songs (poems, paintings...) that human beings have created since the beginning of time.  In a way, any song (no matter how "good") is insignificant.

What isn't insignificant, though, are the insights that arise when we write a meaningful song...and the way we grow when we engage in the creative process. 

When we make meaningful connections in music and words...when we share a song that moves another person...we affirm the recreating Whole that is sacred and holy. 

Sure, it takes effort. (My friend said, "But it's so hard!") But the rewards are immense.

Tonight a no-longer-blocked songwriter called me, ecstatic over the new recording she had just made, and the new possibilities that are emerging--all because she began to write from her soul.

That's why we do this.

Our best and our worst

Songwriting (and activities related to it, such as performance) can bring out our best and our worst qualities.  It's worthwhile to take a closer look at them, to understand how they affect our relationships and our lives. 

Here are some of the great qualities that songwriters often have. (Cue the applause!)

- Emotional sensitivity.
- Insight into human behavior (which leads to empathy and compassion).
- Orientation toward beauty, balance and harmony.
- Observation and awareness of the world.  Consciousness.

On the other hand, you might have noticed these qualities. (Hiss, boo!)

- Self-centeredness.  Over-attentiveness to ourselves and our feelings.
- Demand for approval and attention.
- Judgment of others' work; competitiveness.
- Cynicism and disappointment.

These shadow aspects of our creative lives hold very real risks for us. 

It's not that we "shouldn't" have these feelings (I believe they're something of an occupational hazard) but we do need to be conscious of them and choose how to work with them. 

Sometimes those feelings can become the material for songs. Anger and resentment, for example, offer fantastic energy that can fuel the creative process. The song you write is likely to offer healing harmony just when you need it.  

At other times, it's important to simply notice what's going on and find a way to regain equilibrium...perhaps by being in nature, reading an inspirational book or talking with a supportive friend.

We don't want to give up our sensitivity and "shut down"...but we perhaps can learn to "tune" our sensitivity.   

As T.S. Eliot once wrote, "Teach me to care, and not to care.  Teach me to sit still." 

Blessing Songs

John O'Donohue (1956-2008) wrote that "a blessing is a circle of light drawn around a person to protect, heal and strengthen."

O'Donohue was a poet, philosopher, theologian and Catholic priest.  In his last book, "To Bless the Space Between Us" (a beautiful, kind and inspiring work) he wrote that everyone is capable of blessing others, and that "when you bless another, you...reach below your surface mind and personality, down to the deeper source within you, namely, the soul".

It seems to me that when we write songs that come from our soul, we bless the world they came from.  That is, the Sacred Wholeness that is bigger than ourselves. Perhaps we also bless the people or things or events that inspired the song.

I also wonder...could we bless our songs (or the music we make...or our instrument...) for healing, in the same way that a priest blesses water or bread? 

Could we draw a "circle of light" around a musical phrase, an affirmation of love, a rhyme or a chord?  In doing so, could we strengthen our songs and guide them toward the fulfillment of their purpose?

When we approach our songs this way, perhaps we treat them with the care and reverence they deserve. 

Perhaps we honour them and seek their highest calling, for the blessing of the world.

Our Best Songs

Frederick Buechner once wrote that one's true vocation is found in "the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

I believe that our best songs are found there, too. 

Our best songs are the ones that delight us fully while also nourishing others. 

If a song entertains only us, it may not represent our highest calling. But likewise, if it is only written to please others (or to gain recognition or fame), it misses the mark too.

Our songs must speak to our own deepest values first.  Then they can move, in their own way and in their own time, beyond our personal sphere...to that place of divine connection with others.

We seldom know exactly how that will be accomplished, or when, but that's okay.

It's enough to start with the deep gladness, and the deep hunger we all know, and begin to sing. 
 

Old Song Stuff (or "'Auld Lang Song")

This Christmas, my son gave me a wonderful homemade gift: a bottle of "Stuff Be Gone".

He put a hand-drawn label on a spray bottle, filled it with green-tinted water  and warned me not to spray anything I genuinely love.

He knows me really well.  He knows that "stuff" has always been a challenge for me. (I've written several songs about it, too.)  Sometimes I'm afraid to let go of what I don't love--even if it causes actual problems for me. Gradually I am getting better at making choices, letting go, appreciating more and accumulating less. 

As songwriters, sometimes we notice an accumulation of "song stuff": lyric fragments, half-finished songs, musical motifs and titles. Meanwhile, we might wonder why we haven't been able to finish many songs. We might feel simultaneously overwhelmed and empty...and troubled by feelings of guilt because we haven't "done anything" with our song stuff.

If this rings true for you, this is a great time to start anew. 

Rip an ancient notebook into tiny shreds. Throw away CDs or cassette tapes (yes, some of us still have those lying around!) with unfinished musical work on them.  Better yet, have an old fashioned bonfire fueled by unfinished songs.

After you've burned those old almost-lyrics, sit in front of a blank white sheet of paper for several minutes.  Don't write anything.

Just appreciate the peace--and the promise--of that blank page.

Happy New Year!  

Songwriting is painful

One of the great misconceptions of artistic creativity is that it should be an effortless, gentle and fun process.

In my experience, birth is accompanied by a fair bit of pain. 

Imagine the birth of a song like the beginning of labour.  You know the song is coming...you can sense its shape and energy and movement.  You know it already, and yet you don't.  You haven't seen what it looks like in the light of the world. 

In the final stages of labour (and at the beginning too, if memory serves) feelings of anxiety and even panic may come.  Can I do this?  Am I up to it?  How much more pain and time and stretching must occur before the birth takes place? 

I find that at both the early stages of a song's existence, and right at the end, I often feel deeply unsettled and jumpy.  Sometimes it's hard to eat or sleep. 

Not coincidentally, those are the same feelings that can arise when one is falling in love, working out a conflict, interviewing for a job, organizing a group project, or preparing to walk onstage. Something anticipated is coming, and it's exciting and scary, and it requires my full presence and commitment in order to come out okay.

For all the joy and excitement of bringing new life into the world, it's hard work.  It's often slow and painful and inevitably messy.  That's exactly as it should be.

If you feel uncomfortable when you're writing a song, it's a good sign.

Suspending Judgment

Yesterday I wrote a new song, during (and in response to) a day when I felt tired and slightly depressed.  By the time the first-draft stage was complete (the essential structure and melody in place, the chorus and most of the verses written, fine-tuning to come) it was the end of the day and I was tired.

Last night, when I went out to play, I told a songwriter friend about my new song.  I added casually "but I think it might be crappy".

My friend told me to shape up.  He reminded me how damaging it can be to say negative things about myself or my work, especially at the fragile early stage.  He said it's not for me to judge, and that for my own sake and the well-being of those around me, I needed to stay open and positive.

The truth was, at that moment I had no idea whether the song was "good" or not.  And yet, I felt compelled to to make a  pronouncement.  I have a tendency to judge.  Is it "good" or "bad"..."right" or "wrong"..."this" kind of song or "that" one?

My friend reminded me that judging isn't always necessary. 

Yesterday afternoon, I felt tired and over-saturated.  My state-of-mind coloured my perception of my work. 

This morning, I played the song again...and loved it.

Follow that song!

Recently I've come to the irritating recognition that my best songs are "better" than me.

They tend to affirm a higher calling or value (faith, love, forgiveness, generosity, hope...) that I want to live up to, but can't all the time.

A good song, though, lives up to a higher calling quite nicely.  It expresses its main idea consistently and clearly, and doesn't mess up.  Songs say something like "I believe in you" and leave out the real-life verse that goes, "even though I didn't act like that yesterday morning at breakfast".

Both parts of life's song are true...both the "good" and admirable part and the "ugh, I don't want anybody to know that" part.

Sometimes a little of that embarrassing stuff finds its way into a song and gives it depth and authenticity.  Other times, the ungraceful, messy and unfinished parts are for our ears only.  (And I think that's a good thing. The whole extended play version.) 

When a song lives up to our highest callings, reflecting our deepest values in a clear and resonant way, we must continue to sing it--both for others and in our hearts--especially at the times when we lose confidence in ourselves.  When we forget what we know. 

In those confusing times, we can let our best songs lead us.  They know the way.

"Liking" vs Loving

Recently I heard a friend express dismay that he hadn't attracted enough "likes" for his band on Facebook.  He felt that he wasn't making enough progress with his music, despite the fact that he'd been working hard.  He sounded angry.

I have to confess, I hadn't "liked" the band myself, even though I do genuinely like him as a person.  I notice that that phrase "like him as a person" sounds like romantic rejection--which offers a clue as to what's going on here. "She's just not that into your song" closely resembles "she's just not that into you". They both hurt. 

But which matters more?  Hundreds of "likes"--which may be superficial or (worse) insincere--or a few genuine "loves"?

In life, we actually only need a few people who genuinely love, understand and support us.  Chances are those few people will love, understand and support our creative lives too. 

Sure, there will be variations along the way.  Nobody can connect with every song.  And listeners will be influenced by the musician's skill (which can change)--and by the listener's beliefs about artistic expression, financial security and their own creative work. 
 
And yet, there's often a correlation between the people who truly "get" us and the people who "get" our songs. When love is present, a deeper support for the whole person (including his or her songs) is felt and expressed.  It's not a question of being "liked" but about being loved--and about loving. 

When we love others, we offer our songs to them--but more importantly, we offer our whole, authentic selves.  When we are at our best, we offer our whole and authentic selves through our songs and through everything else we do. 

As we give of our wholeness, we may find that popularity becomes less important to us, but that serving an actual community (of any size) becomes more crucial.  The more we love, the more superficial "likes" seem irrelevant.  

We may find, then, that our songs deepen and mature...to the benefit of all.   

Songs and Survival

The other day, at an open mic, a friend asked a question:

Would you be alive without music?

Some of us answered "no", some said "maybe"...but we all understood the point.  For many of us, music (or songwriting, or whatever creative activity lights us up) is a sustaining necessity.

It keeps us alive: connected to life, connected to others.

This is easy to forget sometimes, especially if we confuse "keeps us alive" with "earns us a living".  They're not the same thing.

When we affirm that music (Creativity) provides essential nourishment, we can enjoy it like food.  We can play (eat) everyday...savour every note...let it quench our thirst.

Music is surely not the only food we need.  And yet, it might be our favourite food.  Our comfort food.

So let us bless this food, that keeps us alive... the songs that sustain us on the journey. 

Practice Anytime

Songwriting as a spiritual practice can take place anytime.  We don't have to have our instrument with us, nor do we have to be sitting down in a quiet place with pen and paper.

In fact, when you're in the middle of "something else", your songwriting practice may be precisely the centering tool you need.

Some ways to do this:

- Notice your present experience so that it sounds like a lyric.  "One more day"..."if I only understood"..."peaceful street at night"--whatever arises.  As you notice that aspects of your life could be part of new songs (and you might write them!), you may also start to see a larger "song of life" surrounding all of your life experience. 

- Notice the song going through your head.  It will very likely contain a clue as to how to handle your current situation.

- Imagine elements of your life as part of a song.  For instance, how is your family like a chord? (Which one?)  How is your relationship like a melody (what kind?)  What tempo is your life moving at (and would you like to change it?)  

If these reflections turn into new songs...great!  If they don't, that's fine too.

Either way, you'll start to see your life in songwriting language...and use your life story in creative ways that make for meaningful songs.

A love song to life

Make every song a love song.

It need not be about a romantic relationship.  But it needs to be built on loving connection.

Your song needs to be intimately connected to something (or someone) you care about--something to which you belong.

Your song must be in love with itself.  Each line needs to love the one next to it.  Each chord must love the note it underscores.

The rhythm and style of your song must be devoted to your song's subject--must support it and care for it.

Your song must love its hearer. It must be written in such a way as to honour and bless its audience.

You need to love your song, and your song needs to love you.  Write the song that will care for you when you are sick, be present to you when you are lonely, delight you every day of your life.

Write the song you can commit to, that will commit itself to you.

Write the song that you love singing, that proclaims your love for the guitar, that speaks to your love of language. Write the song that testifies to the rhythm of life.

If your song is not a love song, it will not find its way into anyone's heart.  But if it is, it will live with you forever.

Even if your song is about loss, or longing, if it is written with love and reverence, it will reveal the underlying beauty of the world. 

Make every song a love song to life.

Write the Song You Need

I remember talking to another songwriter who said, "I don't want to write songs that will only be played in my bedroom!"

I know what she meant.  She wanted to write songs that were high-quality enough, other people would benefit from them, too.   We all want to do that.

But we have to meet our own needs first.  (It's like donning your own mask first when the aircraft suddenly depressurizes.)

Taking this approach can have big benefits down the road. 

This morning, as I started a new job, I had a few minutes to spare.  What to do?  Pray?  Meditate?  Fuss with my hair?

Suddenly I knew that the best thing I could do was to play one particular song.  It was the song I needed when I wrote it...and I needed it now.  I'm sure that in the years to come, I'll need it again.    (As it happens, it's also one of my most "commercially successful" songs...which is to say it's made some money and has been appreciated by many people.)

The point is: you matter.

When you open yourself up to the song you need (as opposed to the song you want or the song you think will impress others) the Creative Power is invited in.

Your own needs get met...and sometimes your song meets the needs of others, too.

Even if it doesn't, you will be strengthened by your song, so that you can serve the world in ways you may never have imagined.

Making Life Sacred with Song

When you take any part of life—a relationship, a life experience, an emotion—and frame it in a song, you treat it as a sacred thing.

By framing your experience in chords and melody, by writing about it in words gracefully arranged in rhyming patterns, you connect that experience to the divine process of creation.  

Whatever it is—something pleasurable such as falling in love, or an unexpected challenge such as losing a job—writing a song about it will allow you to be present to that experience in a way that allows for harmony and integration. 

Whether your song turns out to be "popular" doesn't matter. 

Simply by paying enough attention to your experience to respond to it authentically in song--by taking the time to try to write the song well--you will be paying attention to yourself in a new way: through a process that invites growth and transformation.

William Blake wrote “Everything that lives is holy”.  The experiences of your life are holy. 

When we see them as sacred, and use them to inspire our songs, we bring out a beauty in our lives we may never have seen before. 

Why Music Works

This morning I was talking with some friends about why music works.  I haven't studied a lot of musical theory, so my thoughts on the subject are intuitive and not based on a formal understanding.  But here are a few ideas:

1)  Music brings together differing voices (tones, sounds) that complement or harmonize with each other.  We need to do that in life, too, and it's difficult.  Music shows us it's possible.

2)  Music places moments in sequence in a way that is meaningful and interesting. Our lives, also, are moments in sequence and we want them to be meaningful.  Music demonstrates that they can be.

3)  Music incorporates surprise.  In a song, we're delighted by the new and previously unforeseen thing that arises after other things have led up to it.  In life, we need to handle surprises all the time. Music shows us how we can handle surprises gracefully. 

4) Music is ordered.  It's organized and patterned.  As the the poet Wendell Berry* and others have pointed out, order offers the possibility of rest.  Music makes a convincing case for order, inspiring us to heal chaos. 

5)  Music is balanced.  Music shows us how to balance the lows and highs, the lights and the darks, the points of tension and of release.  We all have both in our personalities and our life stories.  Music shows us the importance of both sides of the spectrum, while revealing the potential for equilibrium. 

6)  Music calls and responds.  There's an ongoing conversation taking place between every song ever written and every previous one, every note that calls to the next, and every singer and every listener.  Music calls us to respond, and we do.  Music teaches us how.

7)  Music brings people together.  Across a room, across time, across cultures.  When our senses are collectively captivated by a song, we feel held within something larger than ourselves. Music surrounds groups of people--not unlike houses, schools and churches--and, in doing so, music helps create community.

8) Music reminds us of our natural, physical rhythms.  Our heartbeats, footfalls and breathing...the regular patterns of night and day, tides, turning seasons, life and death.   Music helps us connect with the elemental facts of human life.

9)  Music moves in a circle.  It takes us somewhere but also leads us back to the starting point.    Though it wanders far from home (say, the starting chord) music tends to come back home in some way.  Much of life is like that.  Music helps us remember. 

10) Music is a gift.  Like the beauty of nature (of which music is a part), human beings did not "make" music, even though, with skill, we can cultivate it for our personal and collective well-being.  In its pure form, music can never be limited or sold.  Music lives wherever there is life.

*The poem "Healing" in What Are People For?