Past Life: Clinically, Scientifically Naked

See the man with the stage fright, Just standing up there to give it all his might - The Band

Past Life:

I've never been scared to be in front of an audience with the band. But that doesn't mean I've never felt the chest-thumping, quick breath fear that can overpower any performance. I've just learned to live in it.


Once I had an assignment for a high school speech class...

I hated that class, not my teacher she was great as were the other kids, but I was just out of place. Having been lifted up two years I was 14 taking a summer class with 17-year-olds giving speeches about my life, politics, and drama readings. As you can imagine it was awkward. I wasn't living their life, I didn't know their music, their movies, their parties... to all my classmates I was still a kid. It's amazing the social gap between high school-ers.

...  Anyway, every time I stood in front of the class seeing, what then looked like men and women, adult faces wearing too much make-up and the beginnings of very bad mustaches, I wanted to disappear. To run out the door. To hide underneath my hoodie and stay in the back of the class reading. But you can't do that in high school, because for some reason, the more you hide the more teachers try to get you out of your shell. So instead I had to stand at the podium with the feeling of my lunch crawling higher and higher up my throat, with my hands shaking holding my note-cards, and the words failing to come. Receiving a flood of rolled eyes, smirks, and sarcasm. But this assignment was different.

We had to record ourselves as a Radio DJ, making a commercial segment between songs. So I grabbed a portable tape recorder, sat in my favorite spot: my bedroom had a window on the opposite side of my bed, I could sit look at the sky and no one could see me from the hallway, and I drained myself out in to the microphone. Recording songs off the radio, writing my skit, complete with a commercial break for Fizz Bang Cola. 

I got wild, gave my best Wolfman Jack impression:
Heeeeellllloooooooo, San Antooonne! So happy to be in the land of a thousand dances, a thousand chances, and the thousand lovers making gooood romances... hawr hawr...

There was no one watching. No faces to look at. Just me, the recorder, and my imagination. I wasn't thinking about what everyone else would think when I had to play the tape on Monday. I wasn't thinking about the grade. I wasn't really thinking about the assignment, cause I kinda went overboard making twice as long as needed. I was only thinking about the performance. I don't know why this project, why this time I decided to really try, but it felt different. It felt real. It felt comfortable.


There is a moment when a song finishes, no matter how quick the response is, there is a moment while waiting for the audience reaction that can be nerve racking. While the note is ringing out, and the heart beat raises a little. Waiting to see if you get applause or the silent death stare - I don't think people boo anymore. It's not that the audience controls me, I've played plenty of shows when the crowd and I just don't connect, and it doesn't mean we were good or bad, we just either connect or not. Still, in a performance something is given away and it feels so good when people receive it openly. I think that's where the tension comes from. Wanting to be understood. And the moment of uncertainty, that place can be scarier than first stepping out on the stage in the first place.

I was in that moment when my tape stopped. And I, the over-achieving 14-year-old watching the faces of the apathetic summer school 17-ishes and my teacher, waited for the verdict. 

Then the teacher laughed, the students laughed, I laughed, some of the kids paying attention even applauded, of course there were others who didn't really care. I was happy with that little bit of respect. But I gained something more than just my highest grade of the class.

I'd put myself out there and earned the response I wanted. They laughed at the jokes, they heard the words, it sounded like a radio program - poorly recorded - but legitimately like a radio program. It was a creative expression fully realized... Ah what a moment... And it was armor. And it was strong.

Making something without purpose and conviction will leave you feeling naked. You are exposed to every flaw of your humanity. Clinically, scientifically naked.

I go on stage believing in every song, in every note. That gives me strength to go into uncertainty.  To stand in front of people and sing myself. To write these words and give them to you. I have faith in my creation. In my ideas. I don't get my confidence from some in-born ability -  maybe others have that but I do not. I have honesty, and hard work. I have conviction. Living in the fear, is to free yourself from it.

-rene

Mother. At Mass

All of the wraps and knots a riddle.

This is the moment. She kept her fingers twisting threads

turning gold, her silken mind. Each thought golden

and each look... as the wick burned down.

What was it to know like she knew?

What was it like to turn a key?

All the answers I could never give.

The skill to unravel.

Understanding when we unravel, we go.

The Living Text pt. 3 And What I Heard

How do you become a band?
How do you become a writer?

The tough questions I've been asked. And my answer, not just mine but many others agree, is easy: bands make music, and writers write. That simple.
* You want to be a band: grab some friends and bash away until it works. You want to write: all you need is pen and paper. So what stops us (even me sometimes)? I guess the half-asked question wasn't really honest... what we really want to know is:

How do we become a money-making band? How do we make money as a writer?

That answer is hazier. I'm still not sure, though I'm looking - Maybe I'll write the answer in a post if I ever find out, let you guys know. 

Most writers and musicians who are successful have a unique voice, perspective, to set themselves apart. Being, or doing something new can you get buzz. I think that's a great, but the flip-side is that all the buzz building won't do any good if the substance is weak. You can get everybody's attention: perfect. Now what are you going to do with it? You have to have meaning. Something to give to your audience. I find that heavy buzzed often comes with light substance. Maybe that's what some people feel is lacking from big selling music.


A prospective, a plot, an opinion, anything, but it has to be something you believe in. Conviction is real inspiration. To feel something deeply. Maybe that's what tragedy gives. It's a fire. A burning understanding. The work burns away pain. The more you give to it, the more the fire will take. Let the flame take it all away. Give to it completely, be completely transformed, and it will give back something new.

The questions of success may never be answered. There is only you and the words. The thoughts you have incubated. The life you carry waiting to be heard, to be read, to escape.

I have grieved. Am grieving. And with every song try to burn more of that away. I sing about the places I knew, and my trying to re-build. That was Shakedown. The match being lit.  That is writing. Audiences are fickle, fame and money are a delusion. Writing can be real if you let it.

It took me a long time to be comfortable with being a writer. Saying it. I always wanted to see one of my poems in print, but I've learned that being printed doesn't make writer. Being recognized doesn't either, by news or people.

The words, the work, that gives me the title. It gives me everything I need. No one else can. No record deal. No publishing company. Let everything else burn away. Sure, I take the opportunities that come, work them hard. Unafraid to chase, to game, put myself on the line, but never need it. Never depend on it. Never make it the purpose, or else substance will fail. And empty words, quick words, never last.



-rene


PS. this is a special post. the reason: 11/13/13 Ulysses R. Villanueva


For you are all-things

All around the fire light, the feel pound

giving us freak ambition, feverish pulse.

All around, in every body, hidden sounds

flash morning. Your little light. Your lighting form. 

Do you know what's waiting? 

Who made you your crucible?

Can you see the hammer dreams the anvil?

The time of fire is gone, let the bell ring all

bouncing against my own forgotten tones. 

The signal, the warning, a beautiful song.

* Image: http://houselist.bowerypresents.com/files/2010/08/hacienda-25-495x330.jpg

The Living Text Pt. 2, What Banksy is Telling Me

There's no right or wrong in making, but music is more than just making, music is connecting. With that thought, from my home in Texas, I've been keeping a half-eye on the October Banksy art attack. And though I'm not so much a visual artist,  as a writer I was drawn to something in his work.

Words.

A lot, not all, but a lot of his work involves writing. At the very least the titles, but some works actually incorporate text. He lifted words off the page and put them in a new context, and by doing so has given new life to their meaning. This is not so different as trying to put elements of artful writing into song.

His writing is not poetic. There's nothing drastically interesting in the words, or arrangements. Simple clear statements accompany the meaning of the graphic, but the text is critical to the understanding of the piece, and the work as a whole is saying more. And that's poetic. 


Writers, even the most fore-thinking, are traditionalists. Why else use such an ancient form of communication for your craft? And by being traditionalistic, it becomes hard to adapt. There are many of the global literati, who oppose eBooks as a form of distribution. Who prefer the printed text - Or like me, the handwritten document - Who shy away from changes in dialect, or the improper jumble of texting language. Who see language as right and wrong. There's nothing bad about being so stern, but without change, without adaptation, we risk losing relevance and falling into extinction.

So there's a need to be adventurous with our work. We could start by thinking about writing in different ways. Transmitting in different forms. Don't start to graffiti on my account, but that is one idea. Banksy reached a whole new level of cultural acceptance and notoriety by moving beyond the canvas and onto the streets. More people are seeing his art, not because of content but because of presentation. Because of style. Because of context.

Achieving the sort of immediate viatality most artists crave but will never have. His work isn't in a museum. Not relegated to a small genre trade zine or blog. He is in the news, he is vital. That is not to say good or bad, but alive. It is a great achievement.

As a poet, I chose to move to music to spread my writing. I felt as a songwriter, my writing had a wider audience reach than I ever could as simply a page writer. 

Now I'm thinking about what it means to be a songwriter... How can a band reach a wider audience, in a climate where the doors are closing? Opportunities narrowing. The internet is quickly becoming more and more selective. As does media in general. And audiences too.

I'm not a bandwagoner, don't expect a rap album from us, but it's hard not to ignore what's happening. Are rock bands necessary? How do you compete with DJ's, million dollar pop stars, and a unstable shapless industry?

Banksy might not have an answer specifically useful for musicians or poets, but he does give some inspiring presentation. Proving the world is hungry for creative output. For unique perspectives from artists with the guts to try.

-rene

The street in roar by foot, fire, mesquite
Her tongue jumps from tooth
to sweet tastes sunk in bone.
Bells, un-even hoofs fall, a wooden moan
Head down in the black iron café. Sheathed
No words drawn.
                            Something's are not to-be.

















*Image Source: http://assets.nydailynews.com/polopoly_fs/1.1484934!/img/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/landscape_635/banksy15q-3-web.jpg

The Living Text pt 1.

INTERVIEWER

What would you say makes the writer different from other people?

HUXLEY

Well, one has the urge, first of all, to order the facts one observes and to give meaning to life; and along with that goes the love of words for their own sake and a desire to manipulate them. It’s not a matter of intelligence; some very intelligent and original people don’t have the love of words or the knack to use them effectively. On the verbal level they express themselves very badly.

I've always loved hand-writing. Completely beautiful. The preservation of thought. The symbol scratched into existence, an idea wholly represented to the world. I once felt the written word, carefully chosen, was our best means of communication.

Spoken language is easy and quick, needing little effort, and often produced carelessly; however, a handwritten expression carries more thought. Artful at every level. The more meticulously attended, the greater density of information. Giving life. Words become action, sentences become experience, and pages become memories.

I love that.

The same person writing in haste, or anger, or love, can write the same line several different ways. Everything about the way we write. From the words we choose, to the medium- letter, note, pen, or ink- can give deeper information to our meaning. *2




I used to think the job of a writer was to be as clear as possible. Consciously controlling every detail.

My quest for perfect writing was a great ambition. But the hunt was all wrong. Impossible. Especially for lyrics. The mind is too tricky, even for written words. They will fail, be misunderstood. Translations muddied. Intentions subverted. And I have found more often, especially in songwriting, preciseness is less important than the feeling behind the words.

Some audiences care more for the sound of a word than its meaning. They look for NEW with a heavy thirst for style, not clarity. Especially in rock. I try to fight this... I prefer clarity. Many songs do not make any sense when read out loud, but they can still convey a semblance of meaning in the mood of the music (i.e. glam rock, grunge). 

Fads will always be coming in and out and I won't advocate trend following. But learning from the purposeful invention of these new ideas. We can learn a lot from unrelated genres- I'll get back to this later.  Directness is too boring, but know that a good story will never lose its value no matter what style it is wrapped in.

Maybe that's why I'm attracted to handwriting. The human element, the penmanship is itself a beautiful natural intensifying effect. Style, a facet of overall technique, can give an edge in the short run but the advantage fades quickly without substance to back it.

                                                   Nothing ages as well as substance.

But like I said, substance isn't the lone ingredient. Every writer has a complete love of words. Not just the ideas they give the mind but the full audio/visual spectrum of a well arranged piece. The sounds and rhythms of words entrance our spirit. As writers we need to know the impact style has on the audience's understanding and appreciation of a text. But we should apply style, without letting the technique-love get in the way of story. The effects should enhance the message, not blur it.

This is like having too many effect pedals on an instrument. Our instrument's sound should fill the melody, not replace it. If done right, our writing style will resonate with purpose of message. Everything balanced. Using and not being used. Controlling and not being controlled.

It would be no good to read an instruction manual for a blender written with the mad freedom of Burroughs, though it would be a fun read, nothing would ever get blended. Just like it would be a bore to read a novel with the straight-clear formalism of an instruction booklet. There is art in purpose. 

I love to write lyrics by hand. On the move. Whenever an idea hits me. I like to look back and see when I was writing furiously, or when I was taking my time. I like to be able to see where I paused to think of the next word, and when I was thinking so fast the words attached together in a long chain. But my handwritten notes have no purpose for anyone else. I always retype for others to read my ideas. That doesn't mean I should write on a computer to begin with, just that writing is not a one step procedure.

Writing, though it seems stationed, is a living art. Free of change. Free from the limitations of its own form. Read a passage out loud vs. quietly and see how much the same words can change. Write a line by hand, and then type it and see how the look changes the feel. There are limitless potentials to writing and its impact....

t.b.c.

-rene

On a ledge
her bronzed hand silks the banister
like her descent against the fullest night
could raise the sun right there. A push, a tilt.

        I believe I had a premonition
            and talking. decided.
            taking her by candle-lit smoke, and tea.
            My finger ripped against white stones
            rocking the gums. Then I,
            before I was through with my glass,
            spit on the table stone white words.
            Growing the timpanic change
            rolling in the yaw of my stomach
            I watched her come in.
           
Her heel clapped the tile. Poised beautifully.
Momentum arrested. I swear she was
the fiery sword itself, cutting away hands.
'Nothing is still,' she said
'but you will remember me like that.'
And never did her lips move
I swear










*1: Quote Source: Aldous Huxley, The Art of Fiction No. 24 By Raymond Fraser, George Wickes
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4698/the-art-of-fiction-no-24-aldous-Huxley

*2:  Image Source: http://collecting.wdfiles.com/local--files/image:handwritten-john-keats-poem/keats.jpg

The Next Song, Sense and Nonsense

Now it's time for some new writing, new songs, new statements, new questions. It's been a long time since I've had a clear direction where I want my songwriting to go. It feels good to have prospective, like I have a map in front of me, leading off to unknown regions, leading to an uncharted area, I only have to begin.

There are a lot of ideas about what I think the next songs will sound like floating around, but I won't give that away simply because it can all change in a moment. Once the three of us start working together, plans will shift and change, and the map of uncharted imagination will become clearer and clearer, and very different from what I could predict. Filling the landscape in ways unimaginable to one person alone. If I knew exactly what I wanted and only recorded those thoughts, than the process would be far less exciting.

I can say this next album will be an attempt to culminate all the ideas we have learned so far as a band. All the experiences we've been through will be absorbed in. Up to and including the last shows we have played, and this blog.

The best knowledge starts by knowing yourself. And this blog has allowed me to do that. I've seen how much I've changed as a writer, and how much is the same. Looking critically at yourself, maybe the hardest part of being an artist. At every point, I have questioned myself and I think it has made me stronger for it.

Words are my medium, my art. I don't think I'm the best, but my desire to be better has given me some great moments. I'm proud of all the songs we have released so far, and I hope to only do better as we go. Reading someone else's words is a very personal experience, and should be treated that way. The words we choose, the words we give, are very powerful, and should be handled with more caution than what we normally do. I'm guilty of that too in casual conversation. When it comes to writing of any kind, careful attention should be given to diction. The right word at the right time can mean the difference between good and great, or even more importantly, sense and nonsense. I've heard a lot of songs, too many actually, with careless words tossed around. So I will promise to do my best, in hopes others will also be mindful.


I'm thankful to all the people who've helped bring these songs to life: Dan, the band, alive records, collective sounds, my parents, and my wife. And thankful to the people in my life who have been teachers to me.

When this blog started I had no idea how it would progress. I really hoped I wouldn't just abandon it after two weeks, and I'm glad I forced myself to stick through it. I feel I have accomplished what I wanted  to with The Word Is A Bell. There's something very powerful about assessing and looking back on the past. This blog gave me new prospective, and new confidence as a writer, so thank you for joining with me and participating too.

The Beating Drum

of Existence, bashes on

an infernal beat.

Hellish snare of angels

snap two and four.

Infinite kick

pulses a moment,

alive then lost,

like solitude in failed words.

She played

ecstasy in unknowing

She played

reason in brevity

She played

the end no.13

to demons

and starry-eyed shadows

spilling drinks on the dance floor sky

I passed myself leaving

but unrecognizable to me 

 I let him go on

things like that shouldn't be touched

Now I feel ready for the next song
much love,

-rene





image source: http://www.history-map.com/picture/003/pictures/America-North-Old-001.jpg

Angela, Partners With The Dead

She held to her heart
the image of man
some wicked as you
might reach for her hand,
she ran to the door
past the pistol he held
fell to the floor
as the smoke would dispel

Angela is about the power of collaboration. I remember Abe brought me some chords and a melody he had written. I put words to it. I was wanting for a story and found inspiration in a Keats poem -The Eve. Of St. Agnes, which I highly recommend reading. It's a strange and creepy poem and ever since I first read it, it's stuck with me.

O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom
Which none but secret sisterhood may see,
"When they St Agnes' wool are weaving piously."

    St Agnes! Ah! it is St Agnes' Eve---
Yet men will murder upon holy days:

Apart from giving me the title character name, it also gave me the idea for a mystery plot line. The song is sung from the prospective of a detective. Except for the beginning of the second verse -It is impossible to know that unless you are me, but that was always my little joke to myself- Then returns to the detective in order to finish out the unanswered but fatal question.

- good Angela,
believe not my tears
just trust my smile
I'll keep young your years -
good Angela,
why did he laugh?
to understand this
to figure out that...


Keats has always been a big inspiration for me. I've always had a huge romantic streak in me and he is probably the reason. It doesn't make sense why a kid from Texas born in the late 1980's would be so interested in his work, or Chaucer's for that matter, but some things just click.

In the same way music from the 60's spoke to me. If you ever wondered why we are so into 60's music. It's not from nostalgia, I never experienced it and from what I can imagine I don't think I would want. It's not from my parents, who really grew up more in the 70's and who always liked country-western a little bit better.

The music just hooked me somehow. My mind synchronized to that sound, that style, and those words. It's as if I found or discover something that I knew to exist all along but never saw, heard, or read before till that moment.

The background vocals are pure Dr. Dog. Thanks Frank and Scott for all the hard work you gave to four kids you barely knew, you guys are awesome. Also of note, Jaime is a great guitar player in his own right. I should've mentioned this on other songs, Officer and Little Girl for instance, where Jaime wrote the Harrison-esque solos, but he is just a madman with inventive melody. This is another one of his solos, though I think Dante added some country flourish to it. In the original demo we made, there is the sound of a gun going off right after the first verse and before the solo. We had recorded it using a cap gun, which sounds really funny when you first record it, blew up the sound and ran it through reverbs turning it from a pop to a BOOM! Unfortunately we weren't able to recreate this, time and such, at Dan's place.

The music is the way I write, because it's the only way I know how to write. The way I choose words is because of the way I think. I'm not sure if I could change it if I wanted to, or if I would ever want to change. Though I am always trying to evolve. Every record we make is part of a living evolution. And now, as I try to write new material, I can feel us evolving even further. Just yesterday I feel we took a big leap.

Any artist should not dwell in past works, but stand on them, and see the world a little clearer from it. If you must, tear it down first -refer to Savage, but never try to just recreate what's already done. There are new places to go. New ways to work. Imagination feels in-exhaustive right now.

Writing gives me a true freedom unlike any other. It is a strength, but it doesn't have to stand alone. There is inspiration from the people around, and the past. Make the greats your co-conspirators. Make partners of the dead and long lasting. Be a thought collector, and a trap for times of love and pain.

To ever end days

in quiet hours, typing

the measures of thoughts,

My heart's last dream.

Finished symphonies

brass words and wind stories

unforgotten.

-rene



image source: http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WK_PvmlBAP8/T4Rh9oDI0tI/AAAAAAAAAIE/0P2qElLkArc/s400/StAgnes-ArthurHughes.jpg

The Modern Savage, All Songs are Windows

I've got no thought for building
it's always much to dull
each window i look thru wanna tear down to clear blue
I want to get back
How she passed and made me
with her perfume charms
I finally woke up past neckties and hair cuts
I want to get back


This song is about two faces: violence and its mirror, creativity. That is to say, we have the ability to create, and by Law (Cosmic and Newtonian) we have the ability to destroy. Every structure made, including art and song, can eventually be a form for imprisonment. That is why I try to reinvent myself, to escape. To put on war paint, and hide in the fringes. Sometimes I ambush myself, drag me to a dark corner of thinking, and make myself see the fire.

my heart is racing to what we are

It's a scary idea in the human world. Violence is an unwanted appendage of our animal-ness, no longer needed by an evolved humanity. Some look at it with the modern curiosity of a wisdom tooth or appendix, but it still turns up in every newborn. I have no answers or excuses about it. I make no statement on its value in excess, only to say that it is. Lately, when I watch the news it devastates me to see one ugly half of a beautiful balance repeated over and over. And it wrenches at me. I have to remind myself it is only half, and perhaps most importantly I have to turn off the news.

There are varying degrees and definitions of violence, and I wanted to explore writing about its musical sense as an expression of my own work. Savage is a song about writing. Some music builds on the past, and some is born reactionary and battling against it. I feel as a writer, I have to fight against my past work, my laziness. I have a tendency to repeat, so I make an active effort to revolt -make it new. But even trying to change is a pattern I don't want to fall into, which is why I'm always second guessing myself. Any construct is a window of how the maker views the world, and all songs are windows.

*

Fortunately there is a way to overcome the urge of destruction. The other face, creativity. Making something. Committing. Building. For this song, the turning point is Love, a woman, but it can be anything. Nature, Emotion, Etc... The Muses. Something strong enough to wake up our thoughts. Something to make us see the world in a clear way, even momentarily, and suddenly every action is in alignment. This is the attractive part of our instinct, but they are the same. They are natural. Somehow in that alignment we realize all the things we used to hold on to (neckties/haircuts) were the very things strangling our creativity- I would really like to know if anyone else has felt this- and for that moment of inspiration I can commit to a prospective of my world, and from that joy, make something.

The moment, for this song, came to me from the title word, and as soon as I had it, I knew where I wanted the song to go lyrically. Savage is a wonderfully loaded word with so many images conjured, but to me it reflects the uncivilized. What Joseph Campbell described as those things outside the circle of our campfire. The fear created by seeing ourselves as an other. The scariest thing about witnessing horrors and violence on the news...for me, is recognizing that horrible acts are created by people, people like me. It would be more tolerable to see devils, shadows and monsters, but I see people, foolish people, and I can try to distance myself by giving them labels, giving them reasons and excuses, statistics and categories, but we are all only people acting out, the way people do. I realized the connection of the two, and that the very impulse that gave us Bach and Liszt, is twin to the impulse that gave us every horror- I don't need/want to list them.

let's be Savage, gonna sing our song
let's be Savage till the feeling's gone

I don't like to make many stands on current issues in my music. I like pop songs, not lectures. Savage comes from the feeling of participating as a citizen in our times, not as a direction. Which might be contradictory sounding, cause I do sing Let's be Savage, but I meant the phrase to be a guide into the self, not out to others. I have enough trouble working on myself to worry about trying to change others.

If I could make a statement, I would like people to turn against their own ideas before pointing fingers and getting on the various soap-boxes. It would be beautiful to see people turn inward and question where our impulses, both creative/destructive, come from. To find our Self, to peel back the layers of civilization and experience, and rediscover what it means to be a person, is what I meant about being Savage; however, this is the view from my current window.


there is a sound so desperate to exist
it plagues inside every crack and twist
soaks in the brain and turns around
to find itself, solemnly sitting down.
to understand something so unsure
accept you are as raw and impure
live or break at anyones command
it is in you as in the sound

well, is there ever really change? I can't tell
a different face to occupy
a different place to dwell



-rene

Listen to Savage

p.s.: congratulations on The Black Keys and Dan for their recent Grammys


*War dance in the interior of a Konza lodge photo from: http://blogs.spencerart.ku.edu/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/kansas-indians-dog-dance-18221.jpg