I just did a 2.5-day touchdown in LA, my first visit to what Bertolucci called "The Big Nipple." I'm an East Coaster from way back and I don't know that I could ever quite settle in to the lifestyle there. It's several cities in one, and each mini-city has its own secrets; I can't imagine ever really feeling that I was home enough there to learn what the city is *really* about.
What struck me most is that there are hidden worlds in LA, things aren't marked by signs. The best parties are behind unmarked doors, the hottest clubs are discreetly located, the best houses are in the enclaves on the hills. You can't go looking for things, you need to know someone who knows where to look. There's as much, if not more, going on in LA as there is in a city like New York, but you can't see it driving up and down the miles-long avenues. LA, in it's street-to-street driving experience, does not offer terribly interesting scenery, it's a lot of shopping strips and storefronts. Yes, you can see the La Brea tar pits, the exceptional Disney performance hall and some vestiges of old Hollywood, or stumble into the manicured streets of Beverly Hills.
But you will spend most of your time in a car. It's like being in a province of Spain, not a walking city.
When I am in a city for a couple of days I find a station on the radio and leave it there. In Nashville, I hit a country station and let it play, getting the sound of the town. In LA, I surprised myself by hitting a "soft rap" station, and enjoying it. Not my style and not music I'd be listening to otherwise, but it felt like the right place to be, on my long, long drives.
The sound was friendly, a perpetual party. Songs about drinking, flirting, bars, getting busy and getting funky. It didn't have a 'hard' sound, as I might expect, but an inviting sound with a good beat. At one point, I heard "Da Butt" --- which is a song I was surprised to recognize. It's from Spike Lee's early film SCHOOL DAZE, and I had a cassette tape of the music. This was over 20 years ago (it might very well have been a cover).
It will probably wind up as my default station if and when I need to go back in future years. Part of "My LA".....
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The SongDoor is Closed
Another contest heard from.
Songdoor.com has posted Finalists and while I didn’t make the top five in any category, I did rate three Honorable Mentions.
In Pop, Jordan Peterson and I were recognized for “Atlantic City”
In Alt, Jim Chapman and I got noted for “Alice’s Locket” (which really pleases me as it was the first song I collaborated on at the Muses’ Muse)
And in Singer/Songwriter, Ian Ferrin and I were tapped for “Vespers”
I was told that “Vespers” came within a whisker of making the finals, but the judging was blind and we just missed.
Congratulations are due, I think, to Anthony Snape, who has a number of songs in the Finals and more as Honorable Mentions. I sent him a note on MySpace and good luck to him when they announce the winners later this month.
Songdoor.com has posted Finalists and while I didn’t make the top five in any category, I did rate three Honorable Mentions.
In Pop, Jordan Peterson and I were recognized for “Atlantic City”
In Alt, Jim Chapman and I got noted for “Alice’s Locket” (which really pleases me as it was the first song I collaborated on at the Muses’ Muse)
And in Singer/Songwriter, Ian Ferrin and I were tapped for “Vespers”
I was told that “Vespers” came within a whisker of making the finals, but the judging was blind and we just missed.
Congratulations are due, I think, to Anthony Snape, who has a number of songs in the Finals and more as Honorable Mentions. I sent him a note on MySpace and good luck to him when they announce the winners later this month.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Peach, Plum, Pear
I was reading a blog written by a young, literate and outspoken Philadelphian last night, and discovered a fascinating writer/performer, Joanna Newsom, and her song, "Peach, Plum, Pear." (For those who take pains to avoid clicking links containing strong language, here is a direct link to the YouTube video). "lef"'s blog is, as most compelling blogs are, a bright and wide window into another person's world, and she doesn't pull her punches expressing herself).
At first I wasn’t sure if it might be a joke video. She’s pixie-ish, earnest and playing the harp, with let’s just say an unusual singing voice. But within 30 seconds I got that she was for real, and had something compelling going on. She does things with that harp I didn’t think were possible, the words were striking and she was deeply committed to her performance and her music.
I looked up the lyrics on songmeanings.net to get a better sense of them, and they were intriguing, the sort of collage lyric that fascinates me when it’s done right. There were all sorts of interpretations going on, but I noticed that most people tried to “figure it out” from the beginning of the song, in a linear way.
But it struck me that the title was barely used in the song. There’s no chorus, no refrain, there’s just a continuous stream of thought, culminating in the title. And that is never an accident. The title is the conclusion, the meaning and saving it until the very end is a tell that it is the keystone to the song.
It’s obvious the song is about shyness, and self-doubt, some relationship gone wrong or questioned, and some of the songmeanings posters circled around the fruits as metaphors for a woman’s self-image. And I think that’s exactly right, though it’s the declension itself that the song is about. A young woman is often described as a “peach,” new and bright, with smatterings of “peach fuzz” designating youth; a “plum” is a great prize, something special, a woman in the full, ripe bloom; and as women age, and gravity takes over, the phrase “pear-shaped” comes into play.
So those three little words, all fruits, all beginning with ‘p,’ are a concise progression. Soft and downy youth, ripe and mature womanhood, body-changing age. Or “golden turned to gray” as the song says. Peach, plum, pear.
And from that idea the rest of the song unravels (or ravels). It ties into the grocery store at the beginning, and brings together all the insecurities spoken of, in many ways, during the song. The song “makes sense” – the best of these songs, impenetrable at first, becomes wonderful to walk in after a little reflection. And I’m in love with the worlds of meaning distilled in those three fruits.
As a writer, I try to intuit another writer’s process, how s/he got from one thought to another. I can almost imagine her in the fruit section of a grocery store having this ‘pear-shaped’ thought, making the connection in her mind, calculating the phrase and reflecting on her life, her changing body, and imagining the start of a relationship, right there, where she was standing. It’s the sort of crystallized thought we try to put in our notebooks when it happens, the thought that becomes the greater song, and the thought that a day later, hours later, you won’t remember if it’s not written.
I’m going to look up more of Joanna Newsom's work, and see what else she’s written for me.
At first I wasn’t sure if it might be a joke video. She’s pixie-ish, earnest and playing the harp, with let’s just say an unusual singing voice. But within 30 seconds I got that she was for real, and had something compelling going on. She does things with that harp I didn’t think were possible, the words were striking and she was deeply committed to her performance and her music.
I looked up the lyrics on songmeanings.net to get a better sense of them, and they were intriguing, the sort of collage lyric that fascinates me when it’s done right. There were all sorts of interpretations going on, but I noticed that most people tried to “figure it out” from the beginning of the song, in a linear way.
But it struck me that the title was barely used in the song. There’s no chorus, no refrain, there’s just a continuous stream of thought, culminating in the title. And that is never an accident. The title is the conclusion, the meaning and saving it until the very end is a tell that it is the keystone to the song.
It’s obvious the song is about shyness, and self-doubt, some relationship gone wrong or questioned, and some of the songmeanings posters circled around the fruits as metaphors for a woman’s self-image. And I think that’s exactly right, though it’s the declension itself that the song is about. A young woman is often described as a “peach,” new and bright, with smatterings of “peach fuzz” designating youth; a “plum” is a great prize, something special, a woman in the full, ripe bloom; and as women age, and gravity takes over, the phrase “pear-shaped” comes into play.
So those three little words, all fruits, all beginning with ‘p,’ are a concise progression. Soft and downy youth, ripe and mature womanhood, body-changing age. Or “golden turned to gray” as the song says. Peach, plum, pear.
And from that idea the rest of the song unravels (or ravels). It ties into the grocery store at the beginning, and brings together all the insecurities spoken of, in many ways, during the song. The song “makes sense” – the best of these songs, impenetrable at first, becomes wonderful to walk in after a little reflection. And I’m in love with the worlds of meaning distilled in those three fruits.
As a writer, I try to intuit another writer’s process, how s/he got from one thought to another. I can almost imagine her in the fruit section of a grocery store having this ‘pear-shaped’ thought, making the connection in her mind, calculating the phrase and reflecting on her life, her changing body, and imagining the start of a relationship, right there, where she was standing. It’s the sort of crystallized thought we try to put in our notebooks when it happens, the thought that becomes the greater song, and the thought that a day later, hours later, you won’t remember if it’s not written.
I’m going to look up more of Joanna Newsom's work, and see what else she’s written for me.
Monday, December 15, 2008
One dead Frenchman can't be wrong
During my first ever trip to Paris, I took a quiet solo hour to walk through the Pantheon near where we were staying. It was a little breathtaking to be close enough to Emile Zola’s tomb to tap it.
Zola was the flavor of the month, with a series of retrospective displays about his life and career. I knew about the Dreyfus case, and his heroic stand in public, but only a little about his writing. He was a naturalist, and made it his mission to advocate for art that showed life as it was, not enobled or impressionistic, but flat out telling the straight truth. I didn’t realize he had written a 20-novel “series” that followed one family. I figured I owed him something and bought “The Masterpiece” to read.
This is his novel about art, and the artistic impulse. Zola was friends with Cezanne and many other artists. All the characters in the book are based in part on real people (though many are amalgams of several people). It is the familiar and gritty story of a starving artist and friends, living in garrets and attics, creating art and arguing about its meaning, trying to get their pictures recognized by the establishment, and setting up their own salons in revolt. (Cezanne read the book, returned it without comment, and never spoke to Zola again)
All the characters compromise over time, selling themselves out, selling themselves short, selling their souls in the pursuits we all follow as we age, fame, money, security. Only Claude, the main character, remains obsessed with pure art, and it destroys him. The writer, Sandoz (based on Zola) finds the balance between writing what he believes in and making a living.
I should say that The Masterpiece is not a terribly fun read, but it’s rich in detail about Paris life of all sorts, and has a realistic view of human nature – which isn’t always pleasant. And the sex scenes were pretty frank for a pre-1900 book (tastefully described, but no panning to the curtains blowing, or dissolving into points of ellipses).
The passage that struck me the most was an older artist, once successful, telling Claude and a friend how awful it was to achieve success. That the real joy was the striving, the climbing, the rising – and while success gave one satisfaction for a while, it gave way to doubt and anxiety. Staying on top was so much harder, so much worse, then getting there. Would he ever again produce a work like the one that made his reputation? Was it a fluke? He couldn’t experiment now, too much was expected of him, he couldn’t paint just *anything*
I’ve been going through a dry spell in my own writing, spending time putting together words that have been requested, or trying to write what might ‘sell’ to another artist or composer. And I’ve been concentrating this year to learning the lay of the land, music business-wise, and have not been playing as much as working. I’ve looked over some of the really good lyrics I’ve written before, and wondered whether I need to drop back and just write things I like, not because I think they’ll be successful, but because I like them – and not care whether anyone else does.
I did have a good helping of success this year, but I’m afraid it’s frozen me for a bit. I don’t want to wind up like the artists in The Masterpiece. Here’s to some more inventive writing in 2009…..
Zola was the flavor of the month, with a series of retrospective displays about his life and career. I knew about the Dreyfus case, and his heroic stand in public, but only a little about his writing. He was a naturalist, and made it his mission to advocate for art that showed life as it was, not enobled or impressionistic, but flat out telling the straight truth. I didn’t realize he had written a 20-novel “series” that followed one family. I figured I owed him something and bought “The Masterpiece” to read.
This is his novel about art, and the artistic impulse. Zola was friends with Cezanne and many other artists. All the characters in the book are based in part on real people (though many are amalgams of several people). It is the familiar and gritty story of a starving artist and friends, living in garrets and attics, creating art and arguing about its meaning, trying to get their pictures recognized by the establishment, and setting up their own salons in revolt. (Cezanne read the book, returned it without comment, and never spoke to Zola again)
All the characters compromise over time, selling themselves out, selling themselves short, selling their souls in the pursuits we all follow as we age, fame, money, security. Only Claude, the main character, remains obsessed with pure art, and it destroys him. The writer, Sandoz (based on Zola) finds the balance between writing what he believes in and making a living.
I should say that The Masterpiece is not a terribly fun read, but it’s rich in detail about Paris life of all sorts, and has a realistic view of human nature – which isn’t always pleasant. And the sex scenes were pretty frank for a pre-1900 book (tastefully described, but no panning to the curtains blowing, or dissolving into points of ellipses).
The passage that struck me the most was an older artist, once successful, telling Claude and a friend how awful it was to achieve success. That the real joy was the striving, the climbing, the rising – and while success gave one satisfaction for a while, it gave way to doubt and anxiety. Staying on top was so much harder, so much worse, then getting there. Would he ever again produce a work like the one that made his reputation? Was it a fluke? He couldn’t experiment now, too much was expected of him, he couldn’t paint just *anything*
I’ve been going through a dry spell in my own writing, spending time putting together words that have been requested, or trying to write what might ‘sell’ to another artist or composer. And I’ve been concentrating this year to learning the lay of the land, music business-wise, and have not been playing as much as working. I’ve looked over some of the really good lyrics I’ve written before, and wondered whether I need to drop back and just write things I like, not because I think they’ll be successful, but because I like them – and not care whether anyone else does.
I did have a good helping of success this year, but I’m afraid it’s frozen me for a bit. I don’t want to wind up like the artists in The Masterpiece. Here’s to some more inventive writing in 2009…..
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Little Things You Do Together
I’ve been browsing several of the “songwriting” forums and looking at the songs and lyrics that are being posted. What I see is a lot of people reaching for the big things, the big events, and trying to hang a lyric on them.
It is easy to make yourself, or someone else, cry, when imagining (or unfortunately, reliving) the death of a loved one. We all fear death, our own, our family, and the emotion that a ‘death song’ taps is a primal one, an inescapable one. A wedding song, about the joy and hope of a life together, brings to mind one’s own wedding and we shed tears of joy (or bitterness, as the case may be).
But that’s easy. When one writes about death or love, or birth, one can mistake the sincerity – and depth – of the emotion for the quality of the writing. A song describing the death of a parent will almost certainly make me cry – whether or not there is any skill in the writing. And if there is no craft, no skill in the writing, I feel cheated and used.
The hard thing is to write about something small, and find worlds in it. I ran across a group called “The Mountain Goats” and was struck by the minimalism of the writing. The first song on “The Sunset Tree” album is “You or Your Memory.” All that happens in this lyric is a guy checks into a cheap motel, goes down to the store to buy aspirin and wine coolers and goes back to the room. But it’s incredibly evocative. You can feel the room, feel the singer’s desperation and loss, with the simplest possible arrangement of music and words.
I admire that. It’s something to aspire to. (My own stab at writing in the style of this group is called “Hesitant Elegy”
When I can write about something small, and normal, and everyday, yet describe a person’s entire worldview in that moment, I know I’ve done something difficult.
It is easy to make yourself, or someone else, cry, when imagining (or unfortunately, reliving) the death of a loved one. We all fear death, our own, our family, and the emotion that a ‘death song’ taps is a primal one, an inescapable one. A wedding song, about the joy and hope of a life together, brings to mind one’s own wedding and we shed tears of joy (or bitterness, as the case may be).
But that’s easy. When one writes about death or love, or birth, one can mistake the sincerity – and depth – of the emotion for the quality of the writing. A song describing the death of a parent will almost certainly make me cry – whether or not there is any skill in the writing. And if there is no craft, no skill in the writing, I feel cheated and used.
The hard thing is to write about something small, and find worlds in it. I ran across a group called “The Mountain Goats” and was struck by the minimalism of the writing. The first song on “The Sunset Tree” album is “You or Your Memory.” All that happens in this lyric is a guy checks into a cheap motel, goes down to the store to buy aspirin and wine coolers and goes back to the room. But it’s incredibly evocative. You can feel the room, feel the singer’s desperation and loss, with the simplest possible arrangement of music and words.
I admire that. It’s something to aspire to. (My own stab at writing in the style of this group is called “Hesitant Elegy”
When I can write about something small, and normal, and everyday, yet describe a person’s entire worldview in that moment, I know I’ve done something difficult.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Vantage Point
It's been a while since I posted a new song. Ian Ferrin (a frequent collaborator) was looking for something to work on, and I had a couple of lyrics hidden behind the scenes.
This one I had written on spec for an artist that was looking for material, and it wasn't used. The image was a couple at an art gallery, him unable to figure her out. There are plenty of ways to talk about a couple where one can't fathom the mind of the other (or maybe I just write about that a lot), and this was a good way in. Talking about trying to make sense of modern art, and modern relationships from different Vantage Points.
Ian stepped out of his comfort zone into a very cool pop setting, I think. Hope you enjoy "Vantage Point."
As usual, I found an appropriate picture from my photographic muse's Flickr page. This was a fitting off-kilter, oddly angled self-portrait, and the fact she's all dressed up worked with the lyric as well.
This one I had written on spec for an artist that was looking for material, and it wasn't used. The image was a couple at an art gallery, him unable to figure her out. There are plenty of ways to talk about a couple where one can't fathom the mind of the other (or maybe I just write about that a lot), and this was a good way in. Talking about trying to make sense of modern art, and modern relationships from different Vantage Points.
Ian stepped out of his comfort zone into a very cool pop setting, I think. Hope you enjoy "Vantage Point."
As usual, I found an appropriate picture from my photographic muse's Flickr page. This was a fitting off-kilter, oddly angled self-portrait, and the fact she's all dressed up worked with the lyric as well.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
In (someone's) zone
I usually approach writing like advanced carpentry. I picture myself at a work bench, patiently whittling and carving, going very slowly and laboring over a difficult point.
Much of my collaboration has been done over the Internet, asynchronously. I give a lyric to someone, and get back some musical ideas – I can think about them, and give considered feedback, or can do some rewriting.
Lately I’ve been “in the room” with another person, and you have to be “on” – you have to be in the zone, at the same time as other people are in the zone, and hopefully you’re in the *same* zone. Most of these times have started with a “finished” lyric – and working from there, making changes to it.
Last week I went to my first group songwriting session, where four people tried to write a song from scratch. You have to think fast and think out loud, and rush your thinking processes. It’s different, it’s instructive, but it’s not my favorite way to write. We did come up with something but I doubt it’s good as any one of us might have written on our own. It’s true, many people can have those eureka moments “in the room” but it may not be the best environment for my own set of muses…
Much of my collaboration has been done over the Internet, asynchronously. I give a lyric to someone, and get back some musical ideas – I can think about them, and give considered feedback, or can do some rewriting.
Lately I’ve been “in the room” with another person, and you have to be “on” – you have to be in the zone, at the same time as other people are in the zone, and hopefully you’re in the *same* zone. Most of these times have started with a “finished” lyric – and working from there, making changes to it.
Last week I went to my first group songwriting session, where four people tried to write a song from scratch. You have to think fast and think out loud, and rush your thinking processes. It’s different, it’s instructive, but it’s not my favorite way to write. We did come up with something but I doubt it’s good as any one of us might have written on our own. It’s true, many people can have those eureka moments “in the room” but it may not be the best environment for my own set of muses…
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