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