Learning To Read. Pt 1

You probably know by now that I love to read poetry. It's the reason I got into writing in the first place. 


And in the short time I've been reading publicly, I've been lucky enough to find so much encouragement (btw thank you for all the kind words. they mean a lot to me). It's become such a big part of my life, that I decided to talk about how I learned to read and hopefully get more people to try.

Quiet a few years ago, a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company visited my school and read On The Eve of St. Agnes.To tell you that it was an important moment for me would be an understatement. It changed how I wrote, how I read, how I understood poetry. 

And while I am nowhere near on that level, I am better for what I learned from that experience. More about that specific reading later but here are some things that have stuck with me since then.

⸓

Part 1

Poetry People and Poetry Is The Message

Let's start with an uninspired, blanket observation: poetry isn't for everyone. And while that's true for almost anything, I have found such a hot or cold reaction to Poetry that I can't help but try and theorize why something I love so much, can be so hated as well. So I'll move to my second cliche and move to the beginning of these experiences.

Most of the time, when people find out that I love poems, I'm met on some scale between confusion, annoyance, distaste, or anger.

Rarely.

                 Vary rarely.

I meet someone who enjoys poetry too. 

It's not impossible. But I find those encounters to be outliers. And of those few encounters it's even harder to find someone who enjoys the same kind of poetry I do. Maybe this is do to my geography, or the small circles I keep, and maybe this would all be solved if I just got out more?... but this has been my experience.

So younger me, often kept poetry as a solitary subject. Something not to bring in to conversations with my friends. The times I remember best, ditching class, to have time alone in a corner of a library, or in my room, or on the university lawn, or hiding in the front seat of my car with the windows down. Quietly absorbing every line. Taking in the page as a secret passed thru history just for me. And I was fine with that. In fact it was exactly what I wanted. A way to enjoy my lonerism.

After all, poetry wasn't about making friends. 

Still isn't. 

Poetry is something I do for me. I read and write cause I want to. It's my desire that is it's own reward. There's no monetary value. No good job or high five. No reason other than a desire to read and write. I can share a moment with a writer's thoughts, see if they speak to me, if I like it or not or if I want even want that message in my life. And everything about Poetry, hinges on me. And while yes, sometimes it's another author who wrote the piece, the conversation is strictly internal. They were merely the fuel for my own imagination. I hold the conversation. I dictate how it ends. 

And I imagine this true for you, if you are a poetry person.

Maybe that's where the disconnect occurs? Maybe some people don't understand why they should put so much work or thought into a poem when it takes so much effort to understand and they receive no tangible reward. Poetry is slow. Its practice requires calming that internal itch for fast and easy and waiting for a longer, personal reward that may not reveal its purpose until years down, when a reader can recall a succinct and poignant line.

And while poetry is personal, at its origin, it's meant to be communal. Meant to be spread and shared. That was a big lesson for me to learn from the Shakespearean Actor and my wonderful Romance Professor. What's the point of writing, of publishing, if not to spread out like a virus thru time, infecting futures with the strange ramblings of your mind? 

Poetry, like all writing, is the message. Every poem has one. From the author to the reader. From reader to listener. And often that message is simple, though sometimes it is obscured in difficult layers of representation. *(More on this later)

That communication is the most important part of reading. Even if you're alone in your room, on a recording, in bed with a lover, or on a stage in front of a room full of people, or live on Instagram, the point is to uncover the message. 

Bring it out. 

Give it warmth. 

Slowly make it live. 

Only the reader can do that.

A good reading should help the message emerge. A great reading should bring the author's voice off the page and into our reality. Into the moment.

Sometimes it takes a lot of time and re-readings to ever get to a comfortable place and say - I know this poem well enough to read it.

I hear a lot of people read unconfidently. And this is probably because they aren't precisely sure what they are saying. 

So take time. 

I never read aloud the first time. And I never perform without many, many re-readings. I imagine this was equally true for the Shakespearean Actor who read at my University.

Read unfiltered, then Re-Read asking lots of questions like:

What did the author mean? What is actually being said here? What should the reader get from this? Why is the poem divided up the way it is? Are the rhymes and rhythms supposed to be emphasized or is it just a background mood? What is the tone of this poem? Etc.

There are a million questions and even more answers, but with every answer you find (different readers will and should find different answers) you should get closer to understanding your message.


 This is the work of reading. It's not easy. 

And the reward... that's even harder to define. 

Maybe here we can revisit this Love/Hate problem. 

Why work so hard for words? Why go slowly over an idea, again and again? Why obsess over someone else's thoughts? If you see no value in it, it is the equivalent of eating a chunk of rubber tire. Hard. Distasteful. Unrewarding. It's easy to understand why someone would hate the thought of it. Or think it strange that other people enjoy it.

I think that's the inherited attitude of our High School understanding of Poetry. And for that, I won't blame them.

But if like me, you are a Poetry Person, you know there are universes of ideas to escape to. Dreams to make. Experiences to feel. Each one has made my life so much deeper. Has taught me to appreciate others. To Think. To Feel. To Love. To be cautious of the words I use. To be mindful of my form. To be something more than I could be without Poetry. 

Human. 

So I challenge you to find a poem, record yourself reading it the first time, then read it over until you find some new insight into the meaning, and record it again. Hear the change that comes with understanding.

Much love

-rene

ps. as always like, share, subscribe and if you want to talk you can reach me on this blog, youtube, facebook and twitter. Also my new website ReneTheWriter.

pps. Let me know if you liked this and I can do more.

Late-Night Drinking

I'm writing this a little late, and more than a little foggy in my head. This has not been a good week for sleep. Sorry to my wife for all my restlessness, but those things come in waves. Just the consequence of living for music.

The last two weeks have been non-stop, so I took yesterday evening with the guys and stayed out late-night drinking, having talks that were way to involved, books, writing, race, all those fuzzy speeches, that spill out of late-night podiums from pseudo-philosophers like myself.

It's too much I know. But I can't help it sometimes.

I can say being that guy is all terrible. A lot of good ideas come from venting. Pushing out all the weird ideas I carry and letting them go.

It was when I got home, the house completely quiet and dark except for the light over the sink, that I took a long breath. 

It was good.

I threw off my shoes. Made a snack of cheese, hummus and a slice of bread, not very creative but delicious none the less, and ate standing over the stove top, humming a song, and thinking this was a really good place to be. And I didn't just mean snack-wise.

The tracks with Larry are sounding amazing. We will be finishing the last song on Saturday, before the Mixing phase. 

Idyll Green is putting together a song to give away which will be out soon along with some really cool visual stuff. 

Tuesday night we recorded the first episode of the podcast that I think came out great, and I have a lot more to do. 

So much that it is intimidating. 

And exhausting. 

And fun. 

Through all of the work. This whole experience of collaborating, building, and creating Idyll Green has been one of the most fun projects that I have done in a long time. And that's a lot to be thankful for. 

And last night I found that, in the dark of my house. Alone. Tired. Content.



until next week



-rene



ps. as always like, share, subscribe and if you want to talk you can reach me on this blog, facebook and twitter

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 

Fiery Indignation. Family Pt. II

So we can all be family bands. But still there's something different, something unique about a band of blood.

I am two years under Abe, three over Jaime. That's some distance, not as much as others but enough. As I went to middle school, Jaime still in elementary and Abe into high school, the three of us drifted.

Sure we hung out all the time on weekends and after school, but it wasn't close. I don't remember any deep talks, we played video games, watched tv and movies, had our inside jokes, but the personal stuff was kept private. Maybe that's because our parents were private people and we inherited that, but maybe it's because middle, elementary, and high school kids just don't hang out.

I internalized. I kept a lot of things hidden, not just from my family but from everyone. Anyone that knows me from that time, knew I had a temper and a tongue. It might be hard for friends now to picture who I was, or for those people to realize I've cooled off... but I have, and I was.

I was a fighter, quick to fists, quick to fits. My teenage years did me no favors either. My tastes in music and books,pushed me further from the friends I used to have. Deeper into my own thoughts, until I was happy being on my own. Happy living life on the fringes. Making jokes under my breath. Keeping my thoughts hidden away in secret journals, of fiery indignation. Turning isolation into creativity. Turning reaction into desire. My purpose: to observe, to write, to find inspiration to live fully in dreams and thoughts.

My brothers were always there, but not as close as we are now. It wasn't until we found music that we drew back together. We shared CD's, shared bands, stories, dvds, and became friends. And from there it was unstoppable.

I can't tell you how other bands feel about their bandmates, but for me, it's about as perfect as I can hope. I get to carry home with me when I travel, which is good cause the road is a distant and lonely place sometimes. I get to collaborate with artists I respect. I get to laugh all the time. But most importantly, I get to be myself.

My brothers know me. Know my jokes. Know when I need space. Know when I need to talk. I don't pretend, I don't have to be anybody else. This industry has a lot of pressure to be cool. To dress cool. Talk cool. Drink cool. And I hate that. Might be one part of the job I really hate. Cool is nothing. Cool is substance love. Cool is a form of control other people throw on you. Cool is as real as Dirty Harry, or The Fonz. Cool is a dream to laugh at. Cool is trading originality for fad. And writers shouldn't suffer that. I'd take honesty over cool any day of the week. 

Family gives me honesty. Luckily my work is family, so I get reminded when I'm being fake. When I failing myself. When I'm falling into traps. When I'm running off cliffs. When I'm losing. Cause it's so very easy to go.

-rene

Dirty Harry worked in a shop
Every day till his hands were shot.
His stomach grew wide, his hair fell thin
And his wife gave up counting his chins.
Her heart, alone so many years
Malnourished, shrunk, fed on fears
Of loneliness, but holding right
Like long winter's root, for spring's delight.
It should be no shock, this young sun
Found her, with a little time, and won
What was so long lost. Harry kept on
Squint-eyed at work, pushing it down.

Away, away, waiting for the morning.

A bell to strike 3 or 4. A warning

To Harry with force, get yourself home.

To lover to leave. To wife alone. 

- Don't... there's still a few minutes... -

and how do I feel? Like the wind over the shoreline, clouds under stars. I move nothing.

- ...not till the guard calls. -

and she smiles again like we have hours. When the night begins, and dawn is no closer than the body that should be warming this spot.

- and tomorrow? When he goes... -

she doesn't need to ask. That's not the when we need to know.

- here again. And you, Elaine. When will this be over?  -

the bell rings.

- Don't make me, - she says in a breath. - You need me here. Like Harry for his work. Like the author for this story. Like the bell in the tower. I'm struck. -

I don't know why she would bring the story in to this, having forced me to break my meter. But she is right. Never blame someone else for you writing. Especially your own character. It's cowardly. So I nod. Finding my shirt, the bell rings a forth time. Then a fifth. And we hear him on the stairs.

- Tomorrow then. -

- Tomorrow. -

I left the window open a crack. Moving softly down the fire escape. The metal floor creaking beneath my steps. I hear the door close. And he doesn't say hello. He never does.

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

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

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

Pilot In The Sky, Out of the Unknowing

I won't give you up
somehow I've taken more than you'll allow
when I think about it, I can't live without it
destiny don't matter much
just an end no man can touch
pilot in the sky
reflecting light

Lennon once described God as "a concept by which we measure our pain." I have a different view of it. If you were to make God a concept, some keep it a fact and that's ok too, I think the concept would be a complete measure of all things and experiences, pain, happiness, boredom... Sometimes I rely on faith, when things seem bad, and in that sense I understand Lennon's statement, but God doesn't have to be relegated to only our hardships. It can be if we want included in the best part of our lives, the mundane parts too. So I would say God is a concept through which we measure life. If you believe in God, and if you don't too, God could be the totality of all things, in which there is nothing that is not under its umbrella, so there would be truly no division. All God, No God same thing, a name, a reflection.

I think here I should mention, that Pilot In The Sky, was a group write. We came up with the chorus in the studio. Everyone shouting out ideas. It really is a group Hacienda + Dan song. So I can not give you a definitive story of it's writing process, each member will have a different prospective of it's origins and meanings, and this is more about what Pilot means to me today. Also I will mention that group writing is a lot of fun, though sometimes trying. I think there are a lot of moments where you can hear different personalities really pop out. Abe did an amazing piano performance through out the song, and Jaime's drums are so tasteful. Myself, for the most part, tried to keep my bass simple and out of the way. Dante's vocal performance is very unique and full of character, and if I remember correctly Dan is providing a very psychedelic ambiance on the wah-wah guitar. Overall it is the song we spent the most time on. Trying to get the feel right, and it is oozing with vibe.

God and religion are touchy subjects for me. They are, to be honest, ones I don't completely feel comfortable writing about. As part of my make-no-stance attitude of rock music, I feel its best to leave those topics to other artists. I don't think there is any shortage of religious based music in the world and Pilot in The Sky isn't by any means a religious song, but just a song that could be interpreted that way.

Recently I have had a lot of change in my life, and it has led me to a state of constant contemplation, so that is the way I'm reading this song. I imagine everyone has periods of intense ups and downs, people seem to be very dramatic creatures, so I won't say that my life is unique in this, pardon me while I keep vague, but the intensity of my feelings do not seem to be part of the average daily experience. By far the most intense change being the loss of my mother who passed away a few years ago. This change forced me to look at the world differently, look at myself differently. I began questioning a lot of the beliefs I had. I feel a lot better having gone through my personal interrogation, and those questions crept up into the writing of this album. So though I didn't start out or intend to talk about some things, they ended up coming out of me. I think Shakedown is by far the most spiritual album we done, and I am happy with that. 

I've always been a little bit skeptical of religion, partly from experience and partly from my love of science. I would consider myself a skeptic about most things, and I consider a line about Destiny with that sort of distance: don't matter much, just an end no man can touch. If something like destiny/planning existed, than there is no escaping it, so why worry? If it doesn't, we still know- well as far as we know, things only happen one way and it's unchangeable. No one can go back and change the past, to add to John Lennon's list of "don't believes" I add: Time travel. The future is made concrete by the present, out of all the choices there is one course of action taken. So plan/no-plan happen with the same result. To believe or not only changes how I perceive the events. Am I in charge? Am I capable of acting? Or am I destined?

check out the starz commercial with Pilot...

These are all really exciting questions and ones I will continue to think about till the day I am no longer able to at all. The chorus speaks to me because it is the way I view the world. A lot of questions, no answers but punched-up with a healthy dose of determinism. No matter what way I look at it, I think it all comes down to our actions. How we live and how it affects others. God/No-God, Fate/No-Fate comes to a personal belief, but it's the actions of those beliefs that create the consequences of our lives. I'd love to know how you guys feel...

Pilot is one of many vague-morphing songs. A song I know is telling me something, even if I can't quite put my finger on it. The lyrics are as searching as I am. I will come back to it in a few years, months, days and have a different outlook, and I think that's beautiful. Maybe that is the greatest thing about music and religion. In the mystery, out of the unknowing, everything is possible. Anyone can project on to it, and pull from of it innumerable meanings. I try to understand something, and find out the only thing to really understand is myself.

in a worn out two-room shack on empty floors,
I think of you

in vast supermarket lines of  tedious measure,
I think of you

in deepest suburban holes of sterile nothing, where I think the saintly would not go

you were already there

waiting in runoff alleys, desperation corners and pavements clawed with jagged nails,
I think of you

in smiles covered in cellophane-sheen like high-rise towers and super complexes,
I think of you

where i found there is no such thing as an empty inhalation,
to know I'm never not taking

you were already there



-rene


PS. I've always been more of a My Sweet Lord guy: