The Solution Inside the Song

In the middle of the writing process, challenges always arise.  A melody won't sit right at first, or a rhyme won't seem to come.

When we remain attentive to whatever we've written so far--even if it's just a chord pattern or a few lines of lyric--we might discover that the solution is already there.  When the most natural or "right" note is played, we are surprised that it was right in front of us all along.

This is true in nature and in other challenges we face in life.  A solution is often readily available, easy to access and enjoyable to carry out.  Often the way to find it is simply to relax with whatever good things we already have, and listen for more of the same.    

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.

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!  

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.

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.

Piles of Leaves

This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds
- Buddha

Nothing is perfect, nothing is finished, and nothing lasts
- Japanese concept of wabi-sabi

I started this post on a beautiful fall day in Toronto, about a week ago. On that Friday, it was warm enough that weathercasters were using the phrase "unseasonably warm temperatures" a lot. Our happy enjoyment of the warm breeze had a shadow side to it: the thought that maybe climate change was responsible...that darker days are coming and that the beauty may not last. Meanwhile...

Over coffee, a friend confided that she does love the messed-up guy who can't be fully present for her...

A woman leaves her job in the midst of a conflict she is unable to resolve...

An artist recognizes that her career may never bear fruit the way she had hoped...

A caregiver comes to terms with her elderly friend's decline and acknowledges her own limitations.

Meanwhile leaves fall from the trees today: graceful golden pages against a blue sky, numerous and silent, falling without fanfare. No one loss more particularly sad than another, and piling up in crunchy ways that are strangely satisfying in their abundance. The losses add up to something both sad and reassuring, and we can't avoid walking through them.

Over coffee, my friend remarks that so many stories do not end neatly...perhaps are never really finished.

Another leaf gracefully falls through blue sky.

My song,  "Pile of Leaves"

An opening act stays open

This Saturday night, I will be opening for James Keelaghan in a concert for the Greenbank Folk Music Society in the small town of Greenbank, Ontario. (Avid readers will notice that, by coincidence, I recently mentioned James Keelaghan in this blog. Funny how the universe works!)

In their bios, many singer-songwriters include impressive lists of artists they've opened for. My list is pretty short: not because I've moved rapidly into headliner status, but because my artistic life hasn't been a straight line up any kind of ladder. So...let's see...I opened for Jesse Winchester at Hugh's Room once. I opened for Cheryl Wheeler once (but with a few other artists, and as the result of a songwriting workshop the same day). Once, thanks to a supportive sound man at a huge county fair, I played a solo set on a stage made out of a flatbed truck before Prairie Oyster came on...but I don't think that counts as "opening".

And this Saturday I'm opening for James Keelaghan! Yay!

Truly, I am very excited about this. I've always admired his songwriting and singing. He covers a song I love (that I sometimes sing too) called Mirabeau Bridge by Sam Larkin. When I say "it's an honour" to open for Keelaghan, I mean it. And in order to truly honour myself, the headliner and the audience, it helps to keep a few things in mind.

For me, the key to making the most of an opening spot is, first, to NOT see it as a stepping-stone to anywhere else. (Stay with me now...) I think this is easier if you notice that instead of "getting somewhere" more prestigious or special through music, you've gotten to exactly where you are now, and you're okay with that. In other words, this is not a stepping-stone...it's the whole stone! It's solid and perfect just as it is.

Another essential awareness is that, as the opener, you're not "lesser than" the more-famous headliner. You're you. He's him. That's it.

The "opener/headliner" story is an example of the kind of dualistic thinking that can really trip us up. Similar dichotomies are "on the way up/on the way down", "famous/obscure", "professional/amateur" and of course "success/failure".

We're so busy labelling ourselves and each other, we miss the realness of the situation and the fact that we're on common ground. On Saturday night James Keelaghan will be singing some beautiful songs he wrote, for an audience of 70 or so people in a church, as will I. For that matter, so will thousands of other musicians around the world. When you look at it, even the dividing line between performer and audience is a false one. We're all breathing the same air and hearing the same melodies...it's just that one of us happens to be playing them at this moment.

As the opening act, it's easy to fall into the trap of thinking "I'm not quite there yet" or I'm not as valuable as the headliner. Certainly, the entertainment industry itself (and the difference in our fees) seems to support that illusion. But if we're really tuned in to the moment, those judgments fall away, allowing us to remain truly open: responding in the moment to the music and the audience, offering our gifts in a spirit of enthusiasm and kindness, and supporting the headliner without feelings of jealousy or inferiority.

As the opening act, we have a wonderful opportunity to remain truly open...to the beauty of our creative lives, wherever they have led us.

These Friends, My Songs

Before most gigs, I write up a set list. Even though I inevitably rearrange the order of songs when I’m onstage, adding some and subtracting others, I find that the timely creation of a set list centers and calms me, giving me a sense of competence and purpose and soothing my pre-show nerves.

As I type up the lists of familiar song-titles, it occurs to me that I have come to think of these songs as friends, of a sort. Each song name carries with it a set of associations: experiences we have shared, places we have been.

Like human friends, each song has its own unique characteristics: things I love about it and traits that sometimes pose a challenge. As the years go by and I spend more time with each song in turn (each performance not unlike a shared cup of coffee) I get to know it better, and my appreciation and understanding of it deepens—unless, of course, we ultimately decide that we just don’t get along and we part ways.

These friends, my songs, hang around in groups. Certain ones stick together on set lists from year to year, complementing each other in particular ways. Sometimes one seems to introduce me to another, or to a whole new bunch. Other songs are loners. I might never write another one like it, and as a result it holds a special place in my life.

As a child, I liked to write lists: my favourite books, records, foods…lists of names for future children and pets…and lists of friends. I identified “best” friends, and as I look at my set lists now, certain ones do stand out as favourites. On the other hand, as an adult I now recognize that each friend plays a special and unique role in my life, so ranking them seem unnecessary. Anne helps me understand marriage and family. Rachel always makes me laugh. When I need peace and comfort, I turn to Mary.

I feel especially close to the songs I’ve known during the decade or so I’ve been singing professionally. Other songs existed before that, but they’re like childhood friends and I’m in touch with only a few of them now. Once in awhile, a forgotten song turns up unexpectedly. A page of lyric falls out of a file folder, like a grade school buddy saying hello on Facebook.

But new friends, they’re the most exciting. The heady rush of discovering a new song feels just like the jump-start of any new relationship. With a new song, you get the kind of excitement you’d get with a new love affair, but without all the messy complications. Plus, songs cannot get jealous of each other. In the set list of life, there’s always room for more.

As I try to balance the many responsibilities of my life, I often feel that I’m not attending adequately to all my human friends. I feel that way about songs at times too—that I'm neglecting them. I’m aware that my semi-regular performing schedule allows some of us to get together only a few times a year.

When I feel this way, the best antidote is a long, private music session in which I play all the songs I know…inviting in as many as I can think of. Reacquainting myself with each of them, I feel reconnected to myself—the stories, settings and observations that make life so rich.

So I gather these friends around me as often as I can, knowing that they won’t always be with me or (more accurately) me with them. They entertain me, give me courage, reflect my deepest feelings, lift me up when I’m down. I am grateful that at times they do the same things for other people. But even when I am the only person they keep company, these friends, my songs, serve me well.

Baffled Songwriters in Cyberspace

This article was first published on Roots Music Canada on January 3rd.


The word was “rhapsody”.

I was looking for a rhyme for it. Ever since I was twelve years old, I’ve puzzled over lyric lines, looking for the right word to fit into the right space.

When I get stuck, or I’m feeling lazy, sometimes I pick up a rhyming dictionary. I have a pocket-sized hardback Webster’s that I like. But on this particular day, it wasn’t on my desk.

So, in a move that reflects the Internet’s increasing influence, I idly typed “What rhymes with ‘rhapsody’?” into Google. To my horror, I discovered a website with hundreds of rhyming questions, posted by modern-day poets and songwriters hoping to be rescued by social networking.

We are entering a new age. Writers used to take long walks, fill blank notebooks, and mentally scroll through the alphabet letter by letter, searching for the best word to complete a verse. Today, aspiring poets and songwriters type in questions such as “What rhymes with trampled?”

Before I go on, I should tell you that according to the website I consulted , a good rhyme for “rhapsody” is “crap city” . Unfortunately that didn’t work very well in my song. But it didn’t matter, because, thus distracted, I suddenly found myself much more interested in the would-be verses of the online community than in my own ballad.

As I scanned the list of questions, I found myself feeling a deepening kinship with my fellow poets worldwide. "What rhymes with frankincense?" wrote one. (I typed in "common sense", trying to be helpful.) “What rhymes with urbanization?” wrote another. (Hmm…"colonization", "state of the nation", "rate of inflation”?)

Some writers seemed genuinely confused, such as the one who asked, "What is a word that rhymes with both big and wall?". Others were simply asking too much, such as the one who inquired, "What rhymes with the element ytterbium?”

Now, I admit, some words are very difficult to rhyme, and as a serious songwriter, I know how hard it can be to make them work. I honestly wish the best for the guy writing a song about rodeos, and I sympathize with the poet who's committed to 'audiovisual'. But sometimes you have to change course, let a beloved word go, try another idea. For the sake of the song, move on!

I think of the great lyricists of days gone by, people like Ira Gershwin and Cole Porter . Of course they got stuck on words, of course they struggled to find rhymes! They didn’t type them into the Internet, hoping to be bailed out. I doubt that Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan do today, either.

To be fair, it’s clear that many of these anonymous, online rhyme-seekers are children. In fact, they’re probably the same age I was when I started writing poetry and songs. As I look over their questions, I can’t help but think that our wired society is failing them. Wouldn’t it be best if the boy who typed “What is a magical person that rhymes with lizard?” came up with the answer on his own? Is there a sadder commentary on the current state of storytelling than the question “What rhymes with tuffet?”

One of my favourite baffled cyber-poets was the person writing about bonfire night. Over the course of an evening, he or she posted two specific questions: “What is a word that rhymes with rocket and is related to bonfire night?" followed, several hours later, by the equally vexing "What rhymes with colours that has to do with bonfire night”? (Mmm… crullers , anyone?)

O bonfire night writer, ye of little faith! If you are moved to write about that bonfire, you can stoke the sputtering embers of your imagination to come up with crackling words on your own! Instead of consulting Answers.com, invoke the spirits of every poet who’s ever moved you, whether it’s Joni Mitchell or Bob Marley , William Shakespeare or Fiona Apple . They would tell you: there are as many ways to write about bonfires as there are people in the world, but only you can write your poem. It is your own answers you are looking for, and they cannot be found on the Internet.

Finally, to the girl or boy who wrote “What golf words rhyme with Grandpa?” I would say: run away from the computer, pick up paper and pen and write down every “golf word” you know (ball, swing, hole, club, tee…) and every “Grandpa word” you know (tall, strong, old, loves…me!). Connect them up in a way that you like, and see what a wonderful poem you will have made.

Take your time, when you need a rhyme. Your brain is still the greatest search engine of all. It can help you find a rhyme for “rhapsody”…or maybe something even better (“rhapsody” reminding me too much of a Burton Cummings song anyway) as it finally did for me.