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.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
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?
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?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
You Are Not The Song
When somebody says, "Good song!" do you unconsciously take that to mean "Good person"?
It's something we songwriters do sometimes. Without realizing it, we start identifying so strongly with our songs, that when we don't receive the affirmation we seek for them, we see it as a rejection of ourselves.
Writing a song is about framing your values, fears, hopes, loves and dreams in a three-minute microcosm. Like life, our songs include light and darkness, highs and lows, moving passages and boring ones. They're full of tension and resolution. And eventually every song ends.
When well-rendered, songs are such lovely mirrors of the whole of Creation, we might mistake them for more than they are.
But they are only pieces of the Whole.
A song--or even a group of songs, an album, a body of work--is only a small, imperfect representation of everything we are.
When we see that, we can start to offer our songs more freely...without so much weighty expectation.
Re-orienting ourselves to see our songs in proper perspective can seem, in a way, anti-climactic. After all, it's thrilling to write a "good song" (which is to say, a well-rendered and faithful rendering of the beauty of All of Life).
But it is the All of Life that truly matters.
It's something we songwriters do sometimes. Without realizing it, we start identifying so strongly with our songs, that when we don't receive the affirmation we seek for them, we see it as a rejection of ourselves.
Writing a song is about framing your values, fears, hopes, loves and dreams in a three-minute microcosm. Like life, our songs include light and darkness, highs and lows, moving passages and boring ones. They're full of tension and resolution. And eventually every song ends.
When well-rendered, songs are such lovely mirrors of the whole of Creation, we might mistake them for more than they are.
But they are only pieces of the Whole.
A song--or even a group of songs, an album, a body of work--is only a small, imperfect representation of everything we are.
When we see that, we can start to offer our songs more freely...without so much weighty expectation.
Re-orienting ourselves to see our songs in proper perspective can seem, in a way, anti-climactic. After all, it's thrilling to write a "good song" (which is to say, a well-rendered and faithful rendering of the beauty of All of Life).
But it is the All of Life that truly matters.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Private Playlist
I'm one of those people who always has a song playing in my head. Sometimes it's one of mine, sometimes it's somebody else's.
But either way, it tells me something about what's really going on with me...often something I'm not telling myself, or anybody else, any other way.
Songs show up in the mind without being invited. They're guests at the door...so, let them in.
What's going through your head right now? What does it tell you about what you need or where you're going? The songs on your "private playlist" offer clues to what your life is really about.
If you have a gig tonight, you might play a song from that playlist, not because it's your "best" song or "most popular song"--but because it's a song that comes from an authentic place. (No one else needs to know what the song "means" or symbolizes for you. The important thing is that you're giving voice to something deep within yourself.)
If you're not playing out somewhere, you can do this at home. While at work, jot down the song playing in your head...and play it later as a meditation. Or quickly, without thinking too hard, make a quick "set list" of songs you would play for yourself, right now.
Not because anybody else is listening. But because you are.
But either way, it tells me something about what's really going on with me...often something I'm not telling myself, or anybody else, any other way.
Songs show up in the mind without being invited. They're guests at the door...so, let them in.
What's going through your head right now? What does it tell you about what you need or where you're going? The songs on your "private playlist" offer clues to what your life is really about.
If you have a gig tonight, you might play a song from that playlist, not because it's your "best" song or "most popular song"--but because it's a song that comes from an authentic place. (No one else needs to know what the song "means" or symbolizes for you. The important thing is that you're giving voice to something deep within yourself.)
If you're not playing out somewhere, you can do this at home. While at work, jot down the song playing in your head...and play it later as a meditation. Or quickly, without thinking too hard, make a quick "set list" of songs you would play for yourself, right now.
Not because anybody else is listening. But because you are.
Monday, January 31, 2011
One Gift of Songwriting
Right in the middle of the process, all seems lost.
I have a chorus, but no verse. Or everything is done except for a few troublesome lines.
I know that everything might stop here. The song may go no further.
It is this point in the creative process which may be its greatest gift. I'm neither lost in the infatuated euphoria of my song's beginnings, nor happily satisfied with my catchy finished product.
I'm in the "neither here nor there", which can be a place of openness and wonder. What will happen next? What will rise up to fill the gap?
Something will. And before long, another song will be finished...neatly framed and solid.
I like to focus on that finished, definable thing.
But I am learning that the greater gift is the Mystery.
I have a chorus, but no verse. Or everything is done except for a few troublesome lines.
I know that everything might stop here. The song may go no further.
It is this point in the creative process which may be its greatest gift. I'm neither lost in the infatuated euphoria of my song's beginnings, nor happily satisfied with my catchy finished product.
I'm in the "neither here nor there", which can be a place of openness and wonder. What will happen next? What will rise up to fill the gap?
Something will. And before long, another song will be finished...neatly framed and solid.
I like to focus on that finished, definable thing.
But I am learning that the greater gift is the Mystery.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Fragments
People are always making things up and leaving them lying around.
Some of our made-up things get "finished": framed in neat packages that allow us to hand them off to others. Other artistic ideas are flung off in sparkling fragments, like oddly-shaped bits of sea-glass waiting to be found.
Here's one I found today, buried in a neglected corner of my 'documents' folder:
Some of our made-up things get "finished": framed in neat packages that allow us to hand them off to others. Other artistic ideas are flung off in sparkling fragments, like oddly-shaped bits of sea-glass waiting to be found.
Here's one I found today, buried in a neglected corner of my 'documents' folder:
I’d like to live alone
To do the things I like
___ unknown
Eat breakfast food at night
I’d like to live alone
To be all by myself
A solitary gnome
A cheerful woodland elf
Actually, today I'm very happy living with others. And yet I like this unfinished little poem.
I don't believe that anything else needs to be "done" with it. It doesn't need to be developed or turned into a larger work. In time (perhaps soon) the file will be deleted.
In the meantime, perhaps for only a short time and while I am completely alone, I can pick up a fragment and appreciate it.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Is every song a topical song?
As soon as the song is finished, the writer has grown and changed. (Remember the concept of wabi-sabi: nothing is perfect, nothing is finished, and nothing lasts!)
Ideally, we want to pay close enough attention to whatever's going on in our lives to we reflect on it accurately and with real depth of feeling. We can take that approach to any topic: whether it's feeding our two year-old or responding to coverage of a major international event.
The details will be different, but the task is still the same: to create something that honestly reflects one moving human experience, in a way that others find meaningful.
---
Last year I wrote the song "Prayer for Port au Prince" in response to the Jan. 12 2010 earthquake in Haiti. In it, I tried to make reference to the current events and historical facts, while wrestling with personal issues having to do with charity, religion and response to global suffering.
Here's video from a concert performance, with proceeds directed to Medicins sans Frontieres.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Songwriting as a Spiritual Practice: Rehearsal
As songwriters in today's culture, we're accustomed to thinking of our practice time in goal-oriented terms. We may focus only on the songs we think are likely to earn us the most recognition...only our "newest" or "best" songs...or only the songs we plan to play in an upcoming performance.
When we align our songwriting only with aspirations for acclaim, we overlook the rich possibilities it offers for spiritual deepening. Seen as a form of spiritual practice, our "practice" time can be a richly illuminating experience and one that informs every aspect of our lives.
To re-frame your rehearsal time as spiritual practice, it can be helpful to piggyback it onto an existing practice routine. Plan to play and sing for a set period of time (say, 15 minutes) immediately following your yoga, meditation, prayer or walking practice.
In doing so, you may find that you are more "present" and receptive to your instrument, your breathing, your mind and your voice. You may find yourself more attuned to unexpected inspiration: perhaps a song you haven't played for awhile that suddenly occurs to you.
This morning, I found myself playing a very old song. I didn't know why I was playing it! To my surprise, a lyric in the last verse shed new light on a current situation.
Because my rehearsal time was oriented as spiritual practice, my mind was calm, receptive and non-judging. I was able to allow my inner wisdom to bubble up. I played the song well too--despite it not being in my regular repertoire.
When practice time becomes part of our spiritual practice, it can become a joyful and freeing experience, opening up new possibilities for our lives as songwriters.
When we align our songwriting only with aspirations for acclaim, we overlook the rich possibilities it offers for spiritual deepening. Seen as a form of spiritual practice, our "practice" time can be a richly illuminating experience and one that informs every aspect of our lives.
To re-frame your rehearsal time as spiritual practice, it can be helpful to piggyback it onto an existing practice routine. Plan to play and sing for a set period of time (say, 15 minutes) immediately following your yoga, meditation, prayer or walking practice.
In doing so, you may find that you are more "present" and receptive to your instrument, your breathing, your mind and your voice. You may find yourself more attuned to unexpected inspiration: perhaps a song you haven't played for awhile that suddenly occurs to you.
This morning, I found myself playing a very old song. I didn't know why I was playing it! To my surprise, a lyric in the last verse shed new light on a current situation.
Because my rehearsal time was oriented as spiritual practice, my mind was calm, receptive and non-judging. I was able to allow my inner wisdom to bubble up. I played the song well too--despite it not being in my regular repertoire.
When practice time becomes part of our spiritual practice, it can become a joyful and freeing experience, opening up new possibilities for our lives as songwriters.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Facebook Scrabble Song for Alex
Back in September, 2008, I wrote a song inspired by "Scrabulous", the online word game that was threatened with extinction over copyright issues. The matter was resolved (the game is now called "Lexulous") and "The Facebook Scrabble Song" seemed destined for the scrap heap of topical songs that are no longer topical.
Then my talented songwriting friend Alex Hickey mentioned in my class for songwriters that she and her mom play scrabble on Facebook.
I said, "I have a song about that!" (It's one of those golden moments all songwriters hope for.)
Now Alex has announced that she's moving home to Nova Scotia. I think her mother may live there. If so, I hope they get to play lots of Scrabble in person--and Lexulous online, too.
P.S. I've written a couple of other songs that comment on our relationship with the Internet. "Twitter in my Heart" is one and "Embrace Me" is another. On the whole, I tend to favour face-to-face experiences over online ones...but here we are on the Internet! Paradox is beautiful.
Then my talented songwriting friend Alex Hickey mentioned in my class for songwriters that she and her mom play scrabble on Facebook.
I said, "I have a song about that!" (It's one of those golden moments all songwriters hope for.)
Now Alex has announced that she's moving home to Nova Scotia. I think her mother may live there. If so, I hope they get to play lots of Scrabble in person--and Lexulous online, too.
P.S. I've written a couple of other songs that comment on our relationship with the Internet. "Twitter in my Heart" is one and "Embrace Me" is another. On the whole, I tend to favour face-to-face experiences over online ones...but here we are on the Internet! Paradox is beautiful.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Piles of Leaves
- 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"
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Election Sign
It's been a few weeks since the Toronto municipal election when Rob Ford was elected mayor.
It's still a little bit of a shock to realize that he won: a man so evidently out of his depth, whose ideas reveal such lack of insight, sophistication and compassion. My teenage children were especially shocked and dismayed by the outcome. But we told them the sun would rise the next day...and it did. I remember my dad saying something like that to me when George W. Bush won...twice.
'How could this happen?' we wondered. It's an imperfect world.
The election signs are down now and we'll have to live with Ford for awhile. But at least we live in a democracy. At least we can talk openly about what we feel needs to change in our communities. At least we can still agree to disagree.
If the guy at the top ends up making a lot of mistakes, maybe it will mobilize the rest of us to keep talking to each other, keep working together, keep standing up for our beliefs.
Keep changing what we can, from our own little patch of green.
It's still a little bit of a shock to realize that he won: a man so evidently out of his depth, whose ideas reveal such lack of insight, sophistication and compassion. My teenage children were especially shocked and dismayed by the outcome. But we told them the sun would rise the next day...and it did. I remember my dad saying something like that to me when George W. Bush won...twice.
'How could this happen?' we wondered. It's an imperfect world.
The election signs are down now and we'll have to live with Ford for awhile. But at least we live in a democracy. At least we can talk openly about what we feel needs to change in our communities. At least we can still agree to disagree.
If the guy at the top ends up making a lot of mistakes, maybe it will mobilize the rest of us to keep talking to each other, keep working together, keep standing up for our beliefs.
Keep changing what we can, from our own little patch of green.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Writing with Presence
When we are open to Wisdom speaking through our songs, we start hearing Wisdom’s voice.
It’s like working with dreams. When you start noticing them, writing them down in a notebook perhaps, they become clearer and easier to remember—almost as if, when they know they’re going to be treated well, they show up. It’s the same with God, the Higher Power or Great Creator. When you invite Divine Presence to participate in your songwriting, suddenly you find you have a pretty effective co-writer.
Give it a try. Next time you’re writing a song, pause from time to time (maybe when your brain feels a little stuck) and invite in Divine Presence. This invitation can take the form of simply breathing in light or listening to silence. Or it can take the form of prayer to God or to the Ancestors (perhaps songwriters you admire or wise elders in any form). Above all, it’s an allowing, an invitation and a willingness to be participated with: to be shaped and moved by something more powerful than yourself.
From this receptive stance, you may find that lyrics mysteriously drop into place or strong ideas occur to you “out of the blue”. Coincidences may happen that serve your song. For example, when I was writing a song about my father who recently died, a close friend of his emailed me to reflect on something Dad used to say: a phrase that was exactly the line I needed for the verse I was working on.
It doesn’t matter whether you call it Divine Presence, God, the Unconscious, Inner Wisdom or the Great Songwriter in the Sky. That which joins everything together intelligently is just waiting to apply Its talents to your song. All we have to do is provide the invitation.
It’s like working with dreams. When you start noticing them, writing them down in a notebook perhaps, they become clearer and easier to remember—almost as if, when they know they’re going to be treated well, they show up. It’s the same with God, the Higher Power or Great Creator. When you invite Divine Presence to participate in your songwriting, suddenly you find you have a pretty effective co-writer.
Give it a try. Next time you’re writing a song, pause from time to time (maybe when your brain feels a little stuck) and invite in Divine Presence. This invitation can take the form of simply breathing in light or listening to silence. Or it can take the form of prayer to God or to the Ancestors (perhaps songwriters you admire or wise elders in any form). Above all, it’s an allowing, an invitation and a willingness to be participated with: to be shaped and moved by something more powerful than yourself.
From this receptive stance, you may find that lyrics mysteriously drop into place or strong ideas occur to you “out of the blue”. Coincidences may happen that serve your song. For example, when I was writing a song about my father who recently died, a close friend of his emailed me to reflect on something Dad used to say: a phrase that was exactly the line I needed for the verse I was working on.
It doesn’t matter whether you call it Divine Presence, God, the Unconscious, Inner Wisdom or the Great Songwriter in the Sky. That which joins everything together intelligently is just waiting to apply Its talents to your song. All we have to do is provide the invitation.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Choosing
Writing any song requires choice. Every choice defines and limits us, which makes it a significant thing.
A thousand choices face us as we begin to write. What is our subject? What is the form? The main idea? The melody? The chord progression? And these are only the broad strokes: beneath these come the more subtle choices of notes and words, and beyond that, instantaneous choices we make as we sing and play.
How many of our songwriting choices are truly conscious ones? What do they say about us: about who we are and what we believe?
Try this. When you first wake up in the morning or just before you go to sleep, write a simple song as quickly as possible. Don't worry about whether or not it will be performed for others. Just put it out there, to yourself and the Universe, without judgment and without agonizing over any choices at all. Write at least two or three verses, then stop and look at it.
What does it say? Does it reveal something about your life that you hadn't seen before?
By working this way, we allow our Song to choose what it wants to say, instead of letting our Ego do the talking all the time. Interestingly, the Song might be able to make choices freely (to improvise) more easily than we can, as it nimbly hops from one truth-full moment to another.
A thousand choices face us as we begin to write. What is our subject? What is the form? The main idea? The melody? The chord progression? And these are only the broad strokes: beneath these come the more subtle choices of notes and words, and beyond that, instantaneous choices we make as we sing and play.
How many of our songwriting choices are truly conscious ones? What do they say about us: about who we are and what we believe?
Try this. When you first wake up in the morning or just before you go to sleep, write a simple song as quickly as possible. Don't worry about whether or not it will be performed for others. Just put it out there, to yourself and the Universe, without judgment and without agonizing over any choices at all. Write at least two or three verses, then stop and look at it.
What does it say? Does it reveal something about your life that you hadn't seen before?
By working this way, we allow our Song to choose what it wants to say, instead of letting our Ego do the talking all the time. Interestingly, the Song might be able to make choices freely (to improvise) more easily than we can, as it nimbly hops from one truth-full moment to another.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Protest Songs (One Songwriter's Response to the Toronto G20)
Any event that triggers strong emotion is excellent material for songwriting.
When our heart is touched deeply by an event, either in our own relationships or the wider world, we can come to understand that experience more deeply through any form of artistic creativity.
Exploring a serious topical subject in a song can do several positive things.
Writing a song can help us tune into the emotional heart of the subject (which varies from person to person)...thus clarifying our own values and beliefs. This is a healthy thing to do, especially when the subject can seem overwhelming. (These two songs were inspired by events that took place at the recent G20 Summit in Toronto. For additional background on what happened and its implications, watch this video and read this op-ed piece written by a Conservative MPP.)
Writing a song can give us a sense of agency and self-determination, allowing us to "change the things we can" (in the words of the Serenity Prayer) when there are so many things we can't.
Finally, writing a song can allow us to share our deepest feelings with others in a way that promotes healing and community...and can educate others about subjects that might not be well-covered in traditional media. If a song influences even a few people, it can be a force of change.
(While I was writing this entry, I received an email update from David Rovics, who is a tireless writer of modern protest songs, chronicling many stories of human concern. Also, Greg Quill wrote an insightful column in the Toronto Star recently about the state of protest songs today.)
This Sufi wisdom sits above my desk: "You are sharing in the totality of [cosmic] pain. You are called upon to meet it in joy instead of self-pity. The secret is to offer your heart as a vehicle to transform cosmic suffering into joy."
Seen in this light, "topical" songs or even "protest" songs might more accurately be seen as "healing" songs: songs that arise as a result of pain, confusion, violence or fear...but that attempt to move people (starting with the songwriter) to greater peace, understanding, reconciliation or purpose.
The process of songwriting allows us to start with dissonance and create harmony...to experience tension but to move toward resolution.
Songs can teach us that such transformation is possible.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Song Listening
One way to think about songwriting is to turn it around and make it "song-listening".
We're often concerned about the technical parts of songwriting...the putting together of elements, the craftsmanship involved. But if we haven't listened well to begin with--to hear what our hearts are really saying--we might be writing the wrong song.
I've been re-reading a book called "A Path With Heart: A Guide Through the Perils and Promises of Spiritual Life" by Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield. In it, he quotes Joseph Campbell's observation that we can be "climbing the ladder only to realize it was against the wrong wall".
There are so many ladders to climb! And every song represents a pretty tall one. Which song do I embark on today? Where will it lead? To a place of greater self-awareness and peace of mind...or to a place of insecurity and competition?
Can I listen well enough to hear my true song?
We're often concerned about the technical parts of songwriting...the putting together of elements, the craftsmanship involved. But if we haven't listened well to begin with--to hear what our hearts are really saying--we might be writing the wrong song.
I've been re-reading a book called "A Path With Heart: A Guide Through the Perils and Promises of Spiritual Life" by Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield. In it, he quotes Joseph Campbell's observation that we can be "climbing the ladder only to realize it was against the wrong wall".
There are so many ladders to climb! And every song represents a pretty tall one. Which song do I embark on today? Where will it lead? To a place of greater self-awareness and peace of mind...or to a place of insecurity and competition?
Can I listen well enough to hear my true song?
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
What goes around comes around
On Sunday at our songwriting class, we talked about calling upon spiritual sources of support as we are writing. We mentioned prayer, meditation, connecting with nature, invoking the spirits of ancestors, seeing the work as already existing (much like the sculptor uncovering the figure inside the stone).
It was suggested that when we hit an impasse, the uncomfortable feeling of confusion or perplexedness might be reframed as Mystery (something we can curiously explore rather than be anxious about) and that by collaborating with a Higher Power we might take some of the pressure off ourselves.
Earlier in the class, I shared a song-beginning that had started out well but hit a snag. The song was based on last week's lesson, having to do with patterns in life and in music. It was called "What Goes Around Comes Around"...but it hadn't come around to being finished.
Yesterday, a day later, a strange and wonderful thing happened. As planned, a beautiful upright piano arrived at our home, a gift to our keyboard-playing children from a generous friend who is downsizing. It had been her childhood piano. She simply gave it away.
I was away at an appointment when the piano arrived. When I got back, Dave told me about the amazing thing that happened next. "Hank" arrived at the door. We hadn't seen him for years; he used to live in the basement apartment of the falling-down house across the street, which was subsequently bought, renovated and sold. A long time ago, Hank told me he had once played guitar...so I gave him an old 12-string I used to play that had been in storage for awhile. (I told him he could keep it, and it was free.)
Last night, he came to the door to thank me again. He said he'd become very attached to it, and wondered if he could pay something for it. (No.)
That all would have been miracle enough, but then as I was falling asleep last night, I remembered my unfinished song--the one I'd "asked" for spiritual assistance to complete, in the class.
"What goes around comes around".
It was suggested that when we hit an impasse, the uncomfortable feeling of confusion or perplexedness might be reframed as Mystery (something we can curiously explore rather than be anxious about) and that by collaborating with a Higher Power we might take some of the pressure off ourselves.
Earlier in the class, I shared a song-beginning that had started out well but hit a snag. The song was based on last week's lesson, having to do with patterns in life and in music. It was called "What Goes Around Comes Around"...but it hadn't come around to being finished.
Yesterday, a day later, a strange and wonderful thing happened. As planned, a beautiful upright piano arrived at our home, a gift to our keyboard-playing children from a generous friend who is downsizing. It had been her childhood piano. She simply gave it away.
I was away at an appointment when the piano arrived. When I got back, Dave told me about the amazing thing that happened next. "Hank" arrived at the door. We hadn't seen him for years; he used to live in the basement apartment of the falling-down house across the street, which was subsequently bought, renovated and sold. A long time ago, Hank told me he had once played guitar...so I gave him an old 12-string I used to play that had been in storage for awhile. (I told him he could keep it, and it was free.)
Last night, he came to the door to thank me again. He said he'd become very attached to it, and wondered if he could pay something for it. (No.)
That all would have been miracle enough, but then as I was falling asleep last night, I remembered my unfinished song--the one I'd "asked" for spiritual assistance to complete, in the class.
"What goes around comes around".
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Applause
In a songwriting class I'm teaching, we're experimenting with applause.
Every other week, we refrain from clapping after people play their songs around the circle. On the weeks in between, we applaud as usual.
I am curious to see how this changes both our playing and our listening.
So far, one student has told me that, when she knows there won't be an opportunity to politely show appreciation after a song (whether she likes it or not) she listens better and is more present.
Other songwriter/performers seem uncomfortable with the idea (as I myself have been at times) thinking that applause is a necessary expression of respect and appreciation. Without it, what's an audience to do? Why would a performer perform?
Our next class is an "applause" week.
Knowing that we can't always take applause for granted, I wonder whether we'll enjoy giving and receiving it more.
Every other week, we refrain from clapping after people play their songs around the circle. On the weeks in between, we applaud as usual.
I am curious to see how this changes both our playing and our listening.
So far, one student has told me that, when she knows there won't be an opportunity to politely show appreciation after a song (whether she likes it or not) she listens better and is more present.
Other songwriter/performers seem uncomfortable with the idea (as I myself have been at times) thinking that applause is a necessary expression of respect and appreciation. Without it, what's an audience to do? Why would a performer perform?
Our next class is an "applause" week.
Knowing that we can't always take applause for granted, I wonder whether we'll enjoy giving and receiving it more.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
For a Singer-Songwriter on the Verge of Quitting
Recently I was asked to tell a fellow singer-songwriter not to quit. This request came from one of the artist's fans...someone who was quite mystified as to why this musician would consider taking his music out of the public eye. Although the artist and I have never met, I understood why he might feel discouraged. Even though I'm not as passionate a fan as the man who asked for my help, I recognize the value of this artist's work and hope he will continue. Here's the advice I gave him, which is pretty much the same advice I give myself.
• Perform locally as much as possible. Create gigs if you have to, even in unusual venues such as community centres, bookstores, friend's homes, wherever. Publicize these gigs through local media (community papers, community radio etc.) and inexpensive mailing lists, blogging etc. Connect your songs to a real-life community.
• Travel to play outside your local market as your schedule, inclination and budget allows.
• Become the best songwriter you can. (Which is to say, write a LOT of songs, over a LONG time.) But do so because you love to write songs and because it helps you make sense of your life and become a better person--not because you want to become better-known.
• Serve, serve, serve, serve, serve. Sing at church...community soup kitchens...schools. Become known as the songwriter who sings about... [whatever you know about and love].
• Record affordably, while showcasing your work appropriately. Develop an ability to see the work itself (the songs) outside the expensive frame.
• Listen to your own recordings and play your songs for your own enrichment and enjoyment.
• Keep your day job. It can provide a reliable source of income and validation.
• Keep your website...and any other online presence that is easy and cheap to maintain (ie MySpace, Facebook). Maintain a balance between online and offline life.
• If you want to, do one big concert once a year or so, by renting a venue, setting a ticket price and inviting people. Have somebody take great pictures. Write it up online and/or have someone interview you for the local paper etc. & spread the word about that.
• Connect your music to your spiritual life. Develop a spiritual practice, ie. meditation, yoga, prayer. See your personal musical expression as part of something much larger than yourself.
• Work out of a sense of love, joy, gratitude and generosity. But when you're angry and afraid, explore that too. Do your best to reflect what it is to be human (which is, all too often, to experience failure).
• Never compare yourself to others and resist the temptation to feel as if you’re in competition with other artists.
• Recognize that there are more artists creating today than there are money-making opportunities to support all of them (…a result of the “perfect storm” of inexpensive recording technology, the Internet, and popular movements toward creativity and purposeful living a la The Artist’s Way).
• Recognize that there is no system for success in the arts (particularly music) and that the ladders we sometimes seem to climb are largely illusory (ie. you may win a song contest, but find that your life and career stay virtually the same).
• Appreciate your fans, wherever you find them. Hear them when they tell you that you have changed their life. Do not measure the worth of your art by the size of your audience, but rather by the quality of connection you create with the people you serve.
• Perform locally as much as possible. Create gigs if you have to, even in unusual venues such as community centres, bookstores, friend's homes, wherever. Publicize these gigs through local media (community papers, community radio etc.) and inexpensive mailing lists, blogging etc. Connect your songs to a real-life community.
• Travel to play outside your local market as your schedule, inclination and budget allows.
• Become the best songwriter you can. (Which is to say, write a LOT of songs, over a LONG time.) But do so because you love to write songs and because it helps you make sense of your life and become a better person--not because you want to become better-known.
• Serve, serve, serve, serve, serve. Sing at church...community soup kitchens...schools. Become known as the songwriter who sings about... [whatever you know about and love].
• Record affordably, while showcasing your work appropriately. Develop an ability to see the work itself (the songs) outside the expensive frame.
• Listen to your own recordings and play your songs for your own enrichment and enjoyment.
• Keep your day job. It can provide a reliable source of income and validation.
• Keep your website...and any other online presence that is easy and cheap to maintain (ie MySpace, Facebook). Maintain a balance between online and offline life.
• If you want to, do one big concert once a year or so, by renting a venue, setting a ticket price and inviting people. Have somebody take great pictures. Write it up online and/or have someone interview you for the local paper etc. & spread the word about that.
• Connect your music to your spiritual life. Develop a spiritual practice, ie. meditation, yoga, prayer. See your personal musical expression as part of something much larger than yourself.
• Work out of a sense of love, joy, gratitude and generosity. But when you're angry and afraid, explore that too. Do your best to reflect what it is to be human (which is, all too often, to experience failure).
• Never compare yourself to others and resist the temptation to feel as if you’re in competition with other artists.
• Recognize that there are more artists creating today than there are money-making opportunities to support all of them (…a result of the “perfect storm” of inexpensive recording technology, the Internet, and popular movements toward creativity and purposeful living a la The Artist’s Way).
• Recognize that there is no system for success in the arts (particularly music) and that the ladders we sometimes seem to climb are largely illusory (ie. you may win a song contest, but find that your life and career stay virtually the same).
• Appreciate your fans, wherever you find them. Hear them when they tell you that you have changed their life. Do not measure the worth of your art by the size of your audience, but rather by the quality of connection you create with the people you serve.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)