Manifest Focus, I Dont Throw Lightning

I've spent a good amount of time (year and a half maybe?) at home songwriting/recording our next project. And if that sounds like a long time... it is... especially for us. This is actually the longest time we've had to work on writing music since we started the band. After the release of our first record, we've been running non-stop touring, writing, recording, touring, and so on. We wrote the next two albums each with about three months prep, and under one week to record everything. ONE WEEK EACH. *

Usually tracking two songs a day, for four days, and two more to do all the vocals. Usually leaving the studio straight to the stage to perform the tracks before they were even mixed. That is incredibly fast. It's 1964 fast. 

When you have a great producer and engineer, like we did, and a tight band, great things happen with a little time. Most of our songs were recorded in one, maybe two takes. A very exciting and creatively volatile atmosphere. There's a lot to be said for this sort of pressure cooker creativity: plenty of spontaneous bursts of ideas but overall it's not a lot of time to dig in and create.

While we were in the studio for a song that eventually became Don't Turn Out The Lights, our producer Dan Auerbach was unhappy with the working chorus. We played the demo. He made some notes on the groove. Did a practice run then went back to Dan to get his thoughts.


Dan leaned back in his chair, and with a sigh and a look of tiredness worn like a comfortable shirt, Dan announced he was going to take a coffee break,  'I want a great chorus by the time I get back.'  He is a man of few words, but he means every word.

Dan has always pushed our band. I don't know how he works with other artists, but for us he always asks for more than I thought we could do. Can you do it all live? With Vocals? Can you sing it better? Write it better? Play it better? And I'm grateful. His drive has taught me a lot about myself and what I'm capable of, so when he asked me to write a better chorus and walked out of the studio without a single word of direction, I knew he was testing me, and I knew I could succeed.

I sat down on the floor of the studio live room armed with an 60's flat-top Gibson and a legal pad, and started running through the song's chords. Repeating them. Listening to the notes. Playing variations on tempos and octaves, listening for a melody hidden inside. Feeling the clock and trying not to worry, I focused on the music. Strumming. The vibrations. Visualizing the notes, the waves bouncing against themselves in the air. Strumming. The subtleties, the patterns.


Then the melody came in focus like a distant image on the horizon. Closer and clearer. Walking to me. In no hurry. Just traveling at its own pace.


I leaned in closer to hear. Pressed my jaw into the shoulder of the wood and felt the chords ringing through my head. I shut my eyes. Closer the details formed. The shape, the feel, the words...

It was about ten minutes when Dan came back with a half emptied mug and sat back in his chair. He was perked up. Everything was done. I gave him the legal pad to read along as I sat on the couch playing the newly written idea to everyone.


Halfway through my performance, Dan put done his mug, whispered to the engineer and when I was done, he clapped loudly and we were ready to get back to work, "Yeah Son, that's right!"


That chorus was born out of a time crunch. I needed a chorus at that moment. And with focus, it manifested, it came to me. So I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining when I talk about now and the amount of time we are taking. I want to try working a record with a different feel and pace. I wanted to know what we could do with a little more. 

A little more time to write. More time to practice. More time to do takes, and mix, and sing. And it all adds up to a lot more time in the long run but that was the plan.

We could've easily retread the same musical territory we've run before. Could've put out another album like Shakedown, our last, but that's not what we're about. Since then I've learned a lot about writing and playing where I feel we can improve technically, but I've also changed emotionally. But most importantly I want to be a man in the present, not history.


This has been a crazy year for me and the band. Our family has grown and shrank. On the industry side, we've had so many highs and lows, from the top of the world to the lowest slugged out tracks of the gutter, that it makes my head spin just thinking about it.


All of that gets filtered into newer and newer songs. It was almost too much to keep up with, leaving me with used notebooks, forgotten computer files and recordings, filled with songs, ideas, and fragments at every level of completion.

Those albums are past. Artifacts. Preserved moments of time. A memory, and I'm not yet at a place to be nostalgic for our own work. I like to build off of the past, not recreate it.

Anyways I've been enjoying my own bed. My own city. My own life. And on my own time. These precious things pass by quickly, but they are the riches of life. So I have no guilt about seizing the chance to wake up to the sounds of my neighbors riding their lawnmowers, my son babbling, or my wife heading to work; not highway truck stop engine revving, hotel cleaners, lobby check-out calls, or a tour manager nervous about the next gig.


I love walking Boerne streets, looking at the changes in my city. Business come and go while I'm gone. I recently came back to find one of my favorite restaurants gone forever... oh well. I love being home for the longer days of summer staying up watching movies, reading books, and playing a violin concert in the afternoon to myself. I like becoming a better person and musician, not just a more popular band. I love writing and writing and throwing it all away and starting again. I love working a song and trying it with just a shade of difference. And those things can't be done while touring.

So day after day I drive a short road between my house and our studio, lock up with my brothers, and think of words/melodies, approach/delivery, style/substance, all in an attempt to move our band forward.


As I'm writing this to you, I'm a few feet from our speakers, listening to songs come together in the final stages (We've been mixing all day which means generally balancing the track. This is close to composition/color/balance in photography) and I've got this feeling... somewhere between anticipation, nerves and ecstatic craziness.

Anticipation because I've been bouncing these ideas in my head for a so long and this'll be the first time I get to hear a result in full. The culmination of hard work. A birth. Finding out if the songs were as good as they were conceived to be. That brings me to Nervousness: working so long on an idea puts the creator so close to it, they are never able to see the faults. But creation isn't easy. It comes with a lot of hurt. I'm not too worried though, I've got much more of the Ecstatic Craziness burning in me and I'm really digging what I hear: the best test for a song. This last feeling comes directly from my state of trying to do something I haven't done before. Challenging myself to go further, the way Dan always has; Challenging myself to dig deeper into myself, be more vulnerable than I've ever let myself; but mostly because I feel like we are pulling it off.


These songs will be of home. Of love. Of this moment. Of loss and change and growth. My reality. The life that grows outside my window. I'm happy to be out of the past, and more than willing to take as much time as I need to get there.

I don't throw lighting

I make no thunder

no way to transcend bone

No ambitious dagger

poison truth, no
shimmering hell for home

Devils play for bigger
game, starry seas

tomorrow and her works

Leaving me stolen strings
breath of body and
all good places of earth

-rené





*photo source: http://i.ytimg.com/vi/nB0-1IjSlxY/maxresdefault.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

Let Me Go, The Insatiable Machine

morning paper, filled with nothing to say
silent paper or anything to look away
are you happy? if you are tell me so... or let me go
you're not silver, your tongue must be lead
it's not slipping, must be sleeping instead
are you happy, could you even begin? to let me in, let me go
Roaring quiet, so loud the neighbors can hear
Smoke intentions, so thick that nothing is clear,
are you happy? if you are tell me so, and let me go

A big part of being in a band is letting go. Above, I wrote the complete lyrics to illustrate what I let go for this song. The final version came from a change suggested by Dan, cutting down the words in order to fit the new vibe, and one I carried out. It wasn't easy to edit out half the story, but with the new tempo and feel of the song, it really was necessary.

Though the story suffers, the stomp is stronger for it, a balance I was more than willing to maintain. Of course I am happy with the way it came out, the feel is heavy, and moves like a well oiled machine tearing up the road underneath. But a part of me will always miss the fullness of the story, not that the meaning can't be felt in the final version, and in fact, in its edited disjointed version- the feeling of poor communication is perhaps even better understood.

Let Me Go is about communication. A narrator who can't tell his own story clearly, would definitely have a hard time communicating. To me, it's interesting how other people can influence what we produce. I can't help but wonder what the Wasteland would be like without Pound's input? - more importantly does it matter?

The final statement is the released one, I have a demo with the original lyrics, but that is only an artifact of the process not the result.

*

I've always felt that honest collaboration makes the best music, and a band, any band, should be a mixture of the people, not the ideals of one. A lot of times I have to put myself aside and let others do what they do.  

Sometimes it's a difficult dance, because there are somethings worth fighting for, artistic touches that should be expressed- but honestly most things aren't.

I don't know if science or psychology can back me up on this: I feel like the creative process is a machine. Like any machine it requires fuel. I prefer to run off of life-experience, and study...books, movies, music.. but it can be fed by anything or anyone. It is an insatiable machine, always thirsty for any bit of life it can suck down. 

The brain collects, I have felt drained/empty but never full, which tells me that more is never enough. It even collects subconsciously. Everything and everyone we encounter is up for grabs- be careful of who and what you surround yourself with because your creativity will be affected. 

Having extra people to springboard off of, to work with, seems to be some of the most potent fuel available. Even if it is an unused idea, different opinions help rapidly evolve a project in ways unimaginable to only one creator. We start off heading in one direction and before I know it the wheel is out of my hands, we are miles off the beaten path and I'm trying to look out a window and find out if this is a good place to be or not.

It's a frightening feeling, one some people can't handle. That is part of what makes songwriting in a group setting so explosive and powerful. And maybe why a lot of our favorite songwriters are actually teams of songwriters - examples are everywhere.

As scary as it is though, I will keep putting my words in the hands of my collaborators, walking a line of individual pride and group identity.

Sometimes it feels like giving away children, though only in my imagination...I have no children as of yet. It all comes down to trust. Do I trust my own opinion? Do I trust my friends? My band mates? My ego will continue to scream from every inch, "it's wrong, it's all wrong!" and "No!" but after a bit, it will quiet down its tantrum and go back to it usual nonsense. Letting me hear what is really happening and make a good decision on whether or not I actually liked my own idea to begin with.


listen to Let Me Go

Nothing needs explaining; to slave my words is vain
with each thought straining to what eyes take plain.
Then what do I have to add, that hasn't yet been told
in every showing inch clad, by passions now embold'?
What texts could I fashion, to accent the clever look-
every intent compassion, Nature carefully put?
You too know me by cloth,
Truth is not easily disguised,
betrayed & caught in suit where I hide

-rene


* image from: http://electricliterature.com/blog/2011/06/28/those-are-pearls-that-were-his-ipad-review-of-the-waste-land-app/

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

Degree of Murder, Nothing Known, Nothing Certain

Woman don'tcha know what you do?
you just sold me out, left there no doubt
of what I should do.



A plaintive cry. The weight of injustice in the greyness of Truth. Degree of Murder is a heavy song. Though not one that draws a lot of attention to itself. It is like the quiet kid in the back of the class with a dark story. Avoiding the spotlight. Keeping to itself. While others talk and make themselves known trying to interesting, this one easily is the most interesting.

Woman wicked and cruel
your kind evil lips, strange words you do hiss
in the ears of a fool

Pistol, sticks to my hand
a deafening cry, your tears shine delight
cause they can't prove it's you
 
Sometimes Truth seems so concrete. So certain. He is there. Pistol in hand. Smoke rising from the barrel. The body beneath him, still warm. Truth is clear. The hand that pulls the trigger is guilty. But it seems that the moment the event happens. Everything becomes much more convoluted. The solidness of the past on which we have built ourselves with certainty becomes flimsy. Becomes hazy.  I'm not sure if I remember last week clearly.  Is he working alone? What were the motivations? The intentions? What was the victim doing there? Is it murder? Self-defense?

Degree of Murder has a slowness. The story is reveals , with no sense of urgency. The droning church organ. The watery guitar. The country bass line, all moving together in pace. The song is played very tightly, I'm proud of that. I remember approaching Dan with the idea for the harmonica solo. He asked me to play it for him first. I did. I think he laughed at me, cause without the music the solo sounds like random chaos. But he indulged us, and I recorded it. Afterwards I think it fit in really nicely.

That is why I chose to write about a murder. By now you might see why this appeals to me. Not for the murder itself. - Which I find detestable. I feel regret even when I step on a bug. - But for the questions that inherently live around it. It's probably also why I am so drawn to a good crime drama.

Woman what have I done
I took with my hand the life of your man
for a moment with you


Explanations. Theories. Reasons. Of all kinds and types can explain what we do. It was a past trauma. It was genetics. It was evil. It was justified. They can all be thrown in. They all separate the act from the actor. They create a boundary of what we perceive happens, from what happens.

Often we hear of two-sides to every story. But as I have been writing I've learned that is not accurate. There are as many sides to a story as there are minds to view it. Every person takes in the event, experiences it in their own way. Some of them do overlap, and would seem to be one consistent perspective, but each truth is tinted with its own personalities and histories. Every character, every person has a unique understanding of what the truth is. And as it grows, and as more people try to understand, the truth becomes less and less clear. And what is a simple act becomes much and more.

If one thing has kept me sane through this path of being a musician, Which is filled with a lot of craziness - fair warning if ever any of you decide to try, It has been my understanding of this: Nothing is known. Nothing is certain. My Truth is for me alone, and others may never completely understand it. Words try to help us convey what we know. But words will fail us. And most of the time they do. So I try to chose mine carefully.

the black moth bore no ire

belonged to none but fire

follow me, follow me in
the fire, the moth, the touch,  a twin



-rene

image source: http://www.doctormacro.com/Images/Film%20Noir%20Posters/Film%20Noir%20Poster%20-%20Apology%20for%20Murder_01.jpg

Another Day, The Lull Of Having

Another day, another night
The moon's clear but too high to reach
As I lay in the dark
I wonder where it is you are
 Another day, another night

I've always been a fan of taking the mundane and trying to make it more. On first glance it seems there is not much to Another Day. An honest criticism, but it's hard to fault a piece for it's subject. Like disliking someone for simply being a person. I wanted to use an average day, maybe that is a boring idea to some. To me it was an opportunity to express something different. Something honest.

Another night, one more day
She'll be home to stay
But for now, just for now
It's seems too far from me
Another night, another day

Pop music lives in a hyper reality. Flushing out the real drama in life. That is why it is so easy to write about falling in and out of love, losing relationships, death, social issue. High drama is blood for inspiration.

This was my first bass-solo. I remember how exciting it was to be able to take the lead of the song. It's a different feeling to be standing out. When you are in the rhythm there is a lot to blend into. It's easy to hide in the background. But the solo stands on top. It demands the spotlight. I used a vintage Fender Bass VI with flat wound strings, and came up with the lick. The song is about space, and tension. I tried to push that in the solo. Also another great background arrangement.

I remember when the idea came. A lazy weekend. Cleared cause I was expecting my girl back home from a semester abroad. It had been so long since we had seen each other. I was supposed to go over during a holiday break, but I wasn't able to raise the money. And skype/camera phones weren't what they are. So many blurry shots, and dropped calls later, we had finally made it through.



 And I was waiting, with nothing to do. I cleaned. I watched the walls. I walked. Then I got an email: Her home coming was even further delayed by weather. It was going to be another day or two before she came home.

Sweep the floor of gathered leaves
And things that I once believed
Wave goodbye with the sigh
As they float away from me
 Another night, another day

I spent the rest of the weekend waiting. I read. I was into  -and still am- haikus. There is an ingenious spark I found there. What makes them easily dismissible is also their strongest attribute. The simplicity. The boldness of being direct. It is the poetry of life. The simpler it is written. The more the reader can project into it. The trouble is giving them enough to want to project into the lines. And though I didn't use the 5-7-5, I did find inspiration in the brevity.

So I wrote a story, not about the details of the relationship- but the pain of the in-between. The pause. The rest. The lull of having and not being able to have. There is importance and symbolism in our daily rituals. Cleaning. Cooking. Working. We only have to flush it out.

a light pluck,

luminous dissonance. I

hear it all again 

-rene

image source: http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3529/3241450258_0521cdaa4e.jpg?v=0

Mamas Cooking, See The Flow.

Mama's cooking on the big piano
Been cooking on the big piano
Come back home and that's where I found her
She's knows I should be sleeping but to stop she'd need a better reason
Mama's cooking on the big piano
Ny mama she's a lovely teaser, way she's banging I'd love to please her

Live vs Record. Everything changes. Writing for either takes a different approaches. Mama's Cooking was originally written for Loud Is The Night. There is a version recorded from that session, different from the one on Big Red and Barbacoa.

It was a mistake to leave it off the first record. If I could go back that might be one change I would make. Live, this song was already a staple of our show, often working as the closer on the set. Getting bigger and louder the more we played. Becoming a sweat soaked rampage capable of blowing down the garage rock door. It didn't start that way.

It was written as an acoustic song. I wanted to be sort of a weird White Album earthy drone. When I was first working it out, we weren't playing a lot of shows so I was more focused on sounds. But as time between writing the song and recording increased, and more shows were played, the sound evolved.

Three in the morning and the neighbor's calling
Ain't no peace when we start balling
Dogs all bay and the dead start waking, she's got soul that can't be faking
Three in the morning and the neighbor's calling
Better stop before the cops come over, but me and my baby gonna play it all night

There are some bands with live shows sounding exactly like their records. Some completely different. Sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. Great records can sound like they were recorded live. I've only rarely been a fan of live records though.

I've always liked treating them as different but maybe that's changing. I love the sound of a band planning together, but not listening to uncontrolled jams. As a musician I love to jam, but as a record listener I don't have the patience for it. It's not that I think songs need to be short. I just like the song to be thoughtful in it's progression.

The wildness of experimentation easily wears thin on me. My patience can be extended for a live show. The experience, the energy, the visuals all permit the song to travel, to breath, and to live beyond the length and precision of the record. I can watch that journey. It is a story. To see the faces...Is it fluid? Is it a fight? Are they worried about where to go? Are they happy when they got there? It's all over their bodies.

When you are that involved in music, you can't hide frustration, joy, or terror. It just broadcasts. Seeing that keeps the jam interesting for me. On record everything seems purposeful. It's too easy to say -I meant to do that. Making it less of a trip.

The second version of Mama's Cooking was done all live in one room including vocals. Probably not too different from an early Little Richard, or Elvis track. The first version we did featured Dan on Background vocals singing harmony with me, how cool is that... I love hearing the double kick stomp to kick it off. The bass line is furious. I always play it hard, like I'm attacking the strings. I know I've had strong performance when my right hand bleeds a little bit, usually from the index.

In a live show, I look for moments where we can reach out beyond the song. To interact with the audience. To say- this is happening only tonight. That type of playing and arranging can sound flat on record, without a good audience to interact with. So it becomes about building flow. It's hard to say if what you are recording will work at all. There is not that initial reaction from the audience. Just like the faces of the musicians give away how they feel about a song, so does the face of the crowd.

Keys are flying, and the walls are shaking
ain't gonna stop till the whole place breaking
doors are banging and the phone keeps ringing
Keys are flying and walls are shaking
Me and my baby go for bacon fat, don't you know we're always down for that

 Recently we've been narrowing our sound. For the first time we have a sound that is cohesive. More focused. We are going to keep the sound of playing together in the studio. Drums and bass have to be locked in. No other way about it.

The best way for me to lock in with kick is to track my bass while watching the drummer. I keep my eye on the movements. Watch the energy. See the flow. It's not anticipation, but co-operation.That is enough to give a track life. I don't know if we will record another song all live with vocals. But never say never, right?

Mama's Cooking sounds live, because it is. It also makes it stand alone a bit. It's also the only song written from Loud Is The Night onto a later album. Anyway you cut it, it is one of my proudest songs. It is rock and roll thru and thru.

The old star-eaten sky

sends no safety

means no harm.

Night waits,

wanting to be used.

His eagerness

persists in the air

like breathing late-Saturday

atmosphere. Not to offend

the next, once her edge drops a bit.

-The night'll go where you go.

-rene

Sun, Intention and Result

Sun shining, radiate your own mind
Choose right you might find another life
you might find another
woman don't you know me
woman don't forget your mine

What is a song without a chorus or hook? It is often considered the most important part of a song. The part everyone wants to sing with. The identifiable. Usually names the piece. The face of the song that should dictate the mood and production. Everything hinges on the chorus or hook, so what is left if you take it away?

That is the question Loud Is The Night is built around. Sun is completely devoid of a chorus or proper hook, but not of form. There are a lot of examples of this form in the folk-blues world. Though the more popular songs will repeat one singular unchanging phrase at the end of each verse. But what makes it unique and oddly beautiful is its brevity. It is an idea broken into two thoughts. One to the other, one to the self. Sun is a musical statement. The words could easily be a conversation more than something to be sung. That is why there is no chorus. And why there is no hook. I wanted to make something that was less of a production and more physical.

In the evolution of our three albums, and my songwriting, it is probably the biggest change linking them together. The first, I avoided choruses. Feeling them to be the most contrived and boring parts. The second album grew from the experience of the first. I learned that no matter how good the song is, without a strong chorus, people have far less to hold on to. To identify with. They are less likely to pay attention. I felt like we were tipping the balance. The third was a complete focus on the chorus. Moving the song around it. Really trying to find those moments and flush them out as best we could. 

It was different for me. A new way to approach the craft. I think for the future we will continue in this direction. I don't want to lock us down into anything but I don't know if I'm ready to try that idea again yet. The band is alive and life means change. I don't have a definitive destination, but I know I don't want to be stagnant. Each album. Each song, a stop on our way to the next one. 

Bird calling, makes you wonder why you can not fly
Home told me, you can fly if you want to hide
you can fly if you want to
woman don't you need me
woman don't forget your boy

*
The solo for Sun is one of my favorites. The whole song sways beautifully and the solo with it. It was recorded on an old tack piano Dan had in his basement during the first album. I think he still has it but the tacks might have been removed. At the end of the song, after the final vocal refrain, there is a subtle change in the bass that just adds a huge relief to the groove. I always enjoy listening for it.

So again: What is a song without a chorus or hook? Some might say it is wrong, or incomplete.  I would argue against that and I believe Sun to be good evidence. It is wonderful to have songs of all varieties and forms. There is no right or wrong in music. Only intention and result.

A purple morning, for a few minutes the birds bleet

and two dogs, gruff and snort across the street

and leave all dreamers' stories incomplete

from the kiss that never again will be, 

or the crash of a flighted-girl beneath

some truth she always wished to see.

No, this cant be the same room, 

the same bed, that last took me to sleep

-rene



*image from: http://www.nasa.gov/images/content/706436main_20121114-304-193Blend_M6-orig_full.jpg

Hear Me Crying, Soul-Speak

The older I get, the less that I know
The closer I move, the further it goes. 
I guess I'll just stay in bed.
Dark is the path. Light is a room.
If you hold it back,
It isn't too soon to tell me to think it again
Loud is the night. Quiet the dock.
The harder I think, the more that I stop.
I guess I'll just stay in bed
Hear Me Crying

Few people can really Moan. I'm not talking moan with a stomach ache, any physical pain really, or moan in ecstasy. I mean Moan with a: "M." The type of moan where everyone in ear shot says, I know what that means. Where, with a sound, you prove, not just explain, what you feel and make others empathize. 

It's more than vocal acrobatics. Most vocalists, even great ones, over-do it to the point it becomes ridiculous and the message of the song is lost. A Moan isn't about proving the talent of the singer, probably doesn't have much to do with singing at all. It is more like acting. The performer is telling  the story. That is the division between a good moan and a moan that sets the listeners nerves on fire. There are many great moans in music, that you might think it's easier than it sounds. Try it and hear that it is not. 

I always tried, every night
to be in your arms
holding you tight loving you right
Darling you wouldn't be true

Fear makes it difficult to Moan. At some point you have to let go completely, there is no performance, no audience, no hang-ups, no song, only living. A moment of life where your body, your voice is being used to explain something beyond words. The soul speaks. It is overwhelming. The frailty of self-awareness disappearing. The inability for words to mean enough. It all comes out in the Moan.

*

I wanted to write a song with the capacity to house a Moan. I would love to hear Dan try it. The man has a voice that commands. Who knows maybe I will get there, I am a much improved singer from the time we recorded the first album. One the coolest thing I have the privilege to experience is to hear Dan sing songs I have written. It has happened only a few times but I remember each one. When I wrote Hear Me Crying I was working as a tutor in a writing lab at a San Antonio Community. And one thing it gave me, besides a lot of time to write, was a chance to listen to full albums on 45+ min commute. For some reason for about an entire month I listened only to Etta James' At Last. By the end of the month I had the idea to write a song around the Moan. The words draw a lot of influence from my study of Zen, with a little nod to Chuck Berry.

Not all moans are vocal. Instrumentals can have the same effect. A well crafted chord structure can create the landscape for a solo to express itself. It is all about speaking beyond the parameters of words. Like a painting, or photograph, a moan is worth more than a verse.

She set the kettle when he came in

He hasn't lifted his head since
Always going to the same seat

  Her stronger punches
She's put away to sit with him
Looking at the stove

Afraid it will boil soon

-rene



*image from: http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02115/james_2115502b.jpg

She's Got A Hold On Me, Watching the Emptiness

Laying covered by a sea of spring
Drowning in the light
She moved like the dream I was inside
To my singing came a harmony
I never heard so right
She moved like the dream I was inside
She's gotta hold on me

Every song arrives at its own pace. Some flow in, running almost. I have to fight to keep all the words in memory until I can find paper. I've lost more than a few songs because I didn't make it in time. Quick songs make me feel powerful, like I can conquer anything. But others are slower, more difficult, and much more humbling. 

She's Got A Hold On Me, was one of the most humbling ones I have worked on. The closest analogy I can make is throwing a bucket into a well, and pulling up nothing every time. Every time disappointed. I think that is called insanity...

Sunshine rising, laughter starts to ring
A face that's just as bright
She never shown so right
She moved like a dream I was inside


When a song gets particularly hard for me, I stretch myself out on the floor. To an outsider, it's easy to mistake this for napping. My eyes closed, my hands behind my head in classic napper's pose. I may stay like this for long periods of time, possibly hours. But this is a deep meditation, and far from relaxing. I don't know if it is a good practice, but I have solved a lot of my most puzzling, frustrating moments this way. When I do finally get the answer I was looking for, I feel exhausted...how is that possible? Not to be too self-pitying, I know there are harder jobs out there than writing, namely all of them. And I have respect for everyone of them, but this is honestly how it goes.



She's Got A On Me was so tough to figure out that it took me a second to realize how special it is. Maybe because we felt it was a special song that we were so focused on getting it right.  The hook is fun to sing, the groove is heavy. The whole song is a delicious fuzzy bass-solo which makes it amazingly fun to play. Dan used a sans-amp to get the sound. I had never seen that before, but it sounded tremendous. The man has many tricks up his sleeves. The video was great too, a special thanks to everyone who made that shoot so much fun.


For the better part of the week, I found myself on the floor of my apartment, humming the melody. Repeating the lines. Playing the chords over and over in my head. Turning phrases, re-arranging them. Throwing away verses and choruses, and starting over. Like I was in a coma. The quiet. The isolation, because it doesn't matter what happens around me I am only in my head. Focusing to the dark of my eyelids like the ocean surface at night, waiting for a sign to surface.

*

writing on a noisy machine is actually really soothing for my brain

It isn't like traditional writer's block I've known, I've had that too,-- Which is best remedied by going out and participating in the world. Living fuels creativity-- because the words are there. Just not the right ones. I don't know what it is about a particular phrase that jumps out at me to say I've got it! Sometimes I'm lost among words. Never sure what I'm looking for. I am uneasy until things feel good. Like the puzzle is unfinished. There is more to discover. And diction is the key. 

I don't know if I've had a song as tough as this one since. I'm not really looking forward to it happening again. Here's hoping it won't... Maybe I have gotten better, maybe I need to be more critical... But I still work out tough spots with my laying meditation. Watching the emptiness for the right words to come along.

The flower that splits

I have a need to kick.

To clear my path

 of stones and empty cans.

What does the cat know about yarn

to make him claw it?
What does the mutt know about strangers
to make her bark when I pass?
And what does the rock know about 
the flower that splits?

-rene

* image from: http://oztypewriter.blogspot.com/2011/05/how-many-typewriters-will-it-take-till.html

Younger Days, Surfaced Trapped

In my younger days
I just don't know now
what I might learn later
that's what they say anyhow
I got tired of walking
before the race even begun
I'd be moving up the ladder
but I fell off the bottom rung


I have started cleaning a pool recently, skimming the surface from leaves, little clusters of Oak pollen, and a variety of bugs that find themselves surface trapped... I can never tell if they want to be there or not but I remove them anyway. I have found a lot of metaphors can be drawn from this. The task gives me a lot of time to think about nothing.  One that comes to mind with Younger Days is the persistence of trying to perfect the imperfect, this is sometimes called art.

Constantly, vigilantly, removing mistakes however impossible it is for any thing to be completely perfected, or if you managed to get the pool clean, it only lasts until the next breeze shakes the trees again. And one, of numerous, imperfections that appear in all creative writing is the cliche.

We all know to avoid cliches, but sometimes it is hard to tell what is cliche, what is derivative, and what is re-imagined. It is no secret artists use other works as inspiration, sometimes drawing directly from those sources. In literature this is called Allusion when done well, and Plagiarism/Stealing when not, the difference occurs when the source and the new material created appears as new and exciting. If the artists takes from general convention and uses common source material, we can further degrade it by calling the work cliche. Though it is interesting that what was once new and inspired can become cliche through cultural overuse. Even to the point that the distinction becomes less about the work itself and more about what seems trendy. Some of the biggest cliches we have are overused because they are so understandable. They say exactly what we mean and the metaphor works well so it is repeated naturally. Granted they aren't very creative to use, but they can be effective. There are too many examples in pop music to even begin to cite.

Anyway, for the most part it was drilled into my head to scan my writing for cliches and try to think of new or different ways of saying what I wanted to say. By the way I don't think my writing is free from cliches. One way I try to do this is by trying to write cliches in new contexts. Younger Days was written like this. I was thinking of the line from Willie Dixon:

                           In my younger days, I wish I knew then what I know now.

But that whole subject is cliche. There are so many songs that use every part of that phrase so I didn't want to simply write another song about that. I am also certain Willie Dixon, or whomever wrote the line, got the idea from somewhere else. It is a common enough phrase. Plus I am not that old so there is no need for me to worry about the past so much. What I liked was the idea of writing from now. These are my younger days.


Thought of just working
get myself a job
maybe I'd get myself together
a little more than what I got
I tried standing
couldn't even get up on my feet
some say I'm fit for losing
but I, I just really like my seat

I hadn't written the song with that beat, Jaime had evolved it through playing as a group. It is a really fun song to groove to. A machine of rhythm. Every part dances with each other. It might be hard to hear but the piano is the heart of the beat. I like the progression deviating from I/IV/V at the end of each phrase. I don't think Dixon did it like that. And the bass tone is awesome thumpy on record. Sounds like a razor live. One of the songs that really pushed my experimenting with bass fuzz.

So back to the pool and writing. It's not so important to have the pool perfectly clean, or my writing impeccable, but only clean enough to enjoy a swim without dirt interfering with the experience. No one wants to swim in a cluttered unkempt pool, but a leaf or two won't stop anyone either. At some point I need to put down the skimmer and jump in, let things happen. There is always something to pick apart. Always a phrase to revise. It's hard to listen back and not think, if I had only changed this...I would love to clean up that bit. I'd rather enjoy the result, imperfections and all.

Maybe someone out there has perfect diction, perfect phrasing, and never has to worry, but I haven't seen it yet. Everyone has mistakes, cliches, and other solecisms fluttering in, either on the surface or hidden underneath, making it easier to be less self-conscious about my own writing.

It is no use,

mama the days are ending faster

than I can keep with.

I have no one to blame

kind as she is

taking flowers from the hillside,

giving ground in tangles of auburn roots.

she almost kills me

with understanding

-rene

Doomsday, Echoing on

How I waited so long for this
melt into eternal bliss
steal me, break me down
while we are burning out
If it's a dream please don't say
I need to know you, doomsday


Imagine a moment when reality becomes so clear everything clouded and murky is wholly removed leaving only a feeling of completeness. In a beautifully violent moment, like seeing the black expanses of space after the world rips away from underneath. So unreal it might only seem like a dream, but my wait for this experience is the root of Doomsday.

Doomsday isn't a song about the literal end of the world, but the end of a thought. A spiritual moment when I lost an idea of myself. It is not a negative moment, though the song plays dark, but it is a jarring one. The unexpectedness of a realization can be frightening and tinted with sadness but it is also soothing. The change itself is beautiful.

Nothing ever so loud
than the silence after a cloud
darkness ain't never so black
to look inside all we lack
if it's a dream, please don't say
I need to know you, doomsday

Everyone has lost, and will continue to lose, but that doesn't make an interesting story. But what if I'd needed the loss? Waited for it. Anticipating. That was more unexpected to me. That was the part of the story that drew me. Wanting change. Loving it, because when life is altered so drastically, more of our self emerges. And that revelation can be devastating and blissful. Every moment that has brought what initially felt like an ending into my life: graduations, birthdays, relationships, deaths, has been an opportunity to learn change.

Doomsday wasn't originally as modern or synth-y as it came out, but I love the vibe. Dan really pushed the direction and he was right. The soundscape is beautiful. The song structure is folk-blues, with a warped solo for a bridge. Recently we have reworked the song for a three-piece and I have gotten to take over the solo duties, which is a lot of fun. The solo is brutal and destructive: mountains falling, volcanoes erupting and all the bombast. The falling chord progression underneath really carries emotion. The beat and the main riff are almost studio one-style, it is a bit of a mind trip to play and sing, but really fun once I start feeling and stop thinking about it.

*

How do you know when it's done? When is anything over? Events rarely erupt in one catalyzing moment that defines the future. Life moves slower. Dies slower. And also continues on, echoing on into the future. Giving another frame after the one before. The moment a relationship ends is usually not when we try to name or define it, but long before. In some unassuming look, or a careless word. A seed of doubt. A drop of poison. Growing. Quietly building strength, 'til the moment there is more doubt than trust. That tipping point, the closest thing we can call an end, is always unknown, but is the moment I was looking for. I don't think it is ever discoverable.

How I waited so long for you
faith, my soul, kept me true
even here, at times end,
it's true some faith must bend
if it's a dream please don't say
I need to know you, doomsday

The When... Now I'm sure that when is unimportant. Change is inevitable. I have to accept impermanence rather than resist it. It comes to my door like a stranger, on a day like any other. I don't need to worry about when or how, that is exhausting. The value in anticipating change comes from having an open heart. Not trying to shut it out, but welcoming it in. The character is ready, maybe a bit obsessively, but completely open.

As one moment ends, another comes in to take its place. And so moves on, being moved.

Do you know how many times we've cut out this weed?

Wrapping a hard fist over root...how many times it came back again?

I heard- less than you the have strength to pull it,

More than the hands to wrap around it again

-rene


*Image from: http://what-buddha-said.net/Pics/impermanence.of.body.jpg

Where The Waters Roam, Be A Prophet Of Time Square

In the dark I know
It's the way I go
where the gales blow
where the waters roam

You might think I knew what I wanted out of life early on. That there was a five-year-old me somewhere in San Antonio playing air guitar and jumping off the bed, stage diving in pajamas, always knowing that I was meant for performance. But that's not the case, well not entirely.

I found my calling in high school while taking a correspondence course in American Lit. I fell in love with the Short Story, and pretty much all written word. Fitzgerald first, followed by Hemingway, Twain too, I jumped a bunch from then and just started reading everything I could. I was captivated, obsessed. I needed to write. A few great teachers led me on. Introducing me to the Beats, Hunter S. Thompson, Vonnegut. It was all I thought about.

I knew I was going to be a writer and fantasized all the cliches: University! Better: Ivy League. no run away...a vagrant poet... go to Europe, ride the trains, or ride the American trains, build a lake front cabin, be a prophet of Time Square... I wanted to do it all. Often dreaming in classes that had lost my interest. For me there was only the word: write. There was only one problem. The writing didn't come, or at least not the way I hoped it would.

I tried short stories, which were my favorites, but I had no idea where to begin. It seems easy enough: tell a story. It is much harder once you get the pen in your hand. Staring at a blank page of infinite possibilities. Stories can go anywhere, but the longer the page lay blank, the more I felt the possibilities narrowing. The more I felt I was going nowhere. The short story gave me and my dreams a beating just shy of dead.


Had he been awake,
then he might have heard,
in the breathless wind
the tillers start to turn.
With a careful hand
'ssured he'd never rise
till she pulled him back into her arms
Then she whispered soft
of her lonely song
needing his warm embrace
wanting his gentle charms
of her crying nights
till he's by her side
till she pulled him back into her arms

I needed to start smaller. By then I had been to a couple creative writing classes, read some books, made some bad attempts at a lot of writing, and found that my best bits came in short phrases. Not whole stories, not whole chapters, or pages. Not even paragraphs or sentences. But fragments. Little groups of words that moved right. That sung. Flashes of ideas that sparked success.

I started to collect them. Re-arrange them. Re-work them. It was tough, but I eventually made them look like poems. Not great poems. Nothing I felt I should start submitting, I wasn't that naive. The really good thing about them was, they looked and sounded like poems. Which was good enough for a start.

As he held the shroud
looked into her eyes
his fingers lost their grip
and began to slide
till she had him back into her arms

But when it comes to writing a story, novel, poem, or song: I still need a story. Something I can give. Something to anchor to. Writing visually focused helps solidify the idea. This is still the hardest part for me, and it seems for other writers too. Whatever you think of Kerouac, his Rules For Spontaneous Prose have some good advice:

25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it 

26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form

As goofy as it sounds Bookmovie is the modern American form. That is why I feel the books that attract the widest audience, get made into movies so consistently. The story in exact pictures. So I was really excited when a full story came to me.  Even if a simple one. A sailor, a boater, drifting in a small vessel at night. Falling asleep, letting the currents take him. A living ocean, pulling him into the unknown, like a ghostly calling to the water, to death. I saw every frame of it. From beginning to end and tried to put what I saw to music.

Earlier I wrote how Loud Is The Night was composed of vignettes, little stories, an album of fiction. This one was a visual story I'd been wanting to tell for a while. It might have started as a dream, a daydream probably while I wasn't paying attention in school. Falling into the water, an abyss, giving away control like I had nothing to lose. School gave me that feeling sometimes.

My favorite part of Where The Waters Roam comes at the breakdown. When the words actually fall away. The drum beat rumbles a steady wave with the bass. The organ swells like desire and the guitar slides an ethereal melody like a distant siren. I love that the music sounds like the dream felt. The other great part of that song is the chorus was unexpectedly enhanced by two members of Dr. Dog. They helped us so generously with a lot of the vocals on Loud Is The Night. I want to say thanks again to Frank and Scott for being so kind.

It took me some time to get the story to fit the melody. The chords and melody of the song were written by Abe and Jaime. I had to write the story into it. I don't know if the song came off as lyrically strong as I had hoped it would... the music and melodies are still amazing...but I am proud of it.  Some kind of hybrid between The Supremes and Pound, I tried to write with his grumbling deep voice reading the words in my head. It is something I'm always trying to improve on. Making Songmovies.

Where The Waters Roam has a unique feel. Other songs were snapshots of stories. Chapters. This one felt like a beginning and an end. A complete idea. Songwriting has become my medium. I still write a lot of poetry, and have recently begun a new attempt at short stories, also a blog, but songs are where I feel I found myself. Part of the purpose of this blog was for me to work through where I have come from as a writer, to look back and see how much has changed for me. How much I have changed. But now I also see that it is about defining myself. And where I will go. Into the dark. Where the waters roam.

My fingertip held against my lip as the camera,

I wasn't even aware it was stuck, slowly closed in on her face.

Like a train rolling in she wore no surprise just soft anticipation.

Even softer than missed popcorn in the falling dark.

How many times will she live this? How many times will she wait?

Longer than celluloid, a digital eternity.

It is heaven. It is hell. Waiting for a kiss.

-rene