I just checked in on a site that I’ve been enjoying, called Measure for
Measure (“How to Write a Song and Other Mysteries”) only to find out that
they are “temporarily closing down.” Which, in this economy, probably means
something a bit more severe than that. The site captured the inner-workings
of songwriters like Andrew Bird, Suzanne Vega and Rosanne Cash who offered
up fairly deep and thoughtful insights into their process. In an effort to
create a little closure, they asked the artists to write about their
experiences writing about their process and to get “meta” about it, they
asked if the process affected their songwriting. As artists usually are,
their ability to get broad is not nearly as interesting as their ability to
paint a moment. But the earlier writings still really resonate, like early
albums of artists who later became retrospective rather than introspective.
Down below, here, is the first one I read, from Andrew Bird. It is immensely
interesting and offers a little insight into the mind of an artist. At one
point, he says, “almost every breath contains some fragments of an escaping
melody.” He’s talking about his uncontrollable need to make music, from a
place inside him that he doesn’t so much summon as unleash.
It’s sad to see this kind of thing come to an end, but in a few important
ways, it was probably necessary. Sometimes we can give up our motivations by
talking it out – It’s that cartoon showing famous people on Prozac, where
Edgar Allan Poe writes his famous novel, “Hello, Birdie!” We have to harness
those personal, idiosyncratic fears into artistic expression and shining a
spotlight on it can never be fully honest, as the artist is often incapable
of understanding it and being it at the same time. Simply put, you can’t wax
philosophical while you’re trying to whistle a tune. I’m a little sad to see
the site go, but maybe a little happier to see the artists return to what
they’re good at. I had the same feeling when Bono wrote a “guest column” for
the NY Times. It sort of detracts from both entities.
Anyway, listen in: http://measureformeasure.blogs.nytimes.com/
March 26, 2008, 2:38 pm
Words Will Tell
By Andrew Bird
In about a week I will load up my car with amplifiers and guitars and drive
to Nashville to begin recording my next record. I don¹t drive much anymore
and I¹m glad for that except that I used to write a lot while on the road.
Solitude, boredom, and the desperate need to entertain oneself are ideal
stimuli for songwriting.
I¹ve spent most of the last year inside a tour bus. I¹ve spoken more words
to journalists than I have to my friends and family. All of this has kept me
from what I realize now is my job, and that¹s to daydream. Now I bring my
bike on tour and ride every day. Wandering in an unfamiliar town, the rhythm
of walking or riding and a few hours to kill is nearly the perfect recipe
for a new idea.
I¹ve got 11 songs mostly written and several dozen distinct melodies. I
never worry about the melodies drying up. Since I can remember, I¹ve had
melodies in my head. I chew my food to them.
Almost every breath contains some fragments of an escaping melody. If I
shape my lips so as to whistle, my breath will take on a musical shape like
sonic vapor. Words are much trickier. I would forgo words altogether if I
didn¹t love singing them so much. My choice of words and my voice betray so
much and that¹s what¹s so terrifying and attractive about it.
I¹m not the most forthcoming person I only speak when I have something to
say. What is becoming more challenging of late is dealing with so many fully
formed melodies that are unwilling to change their shape for any word. So
writing lyrics becomes like running multiple code-breaking programs in your
head until just the right word with just the right number of syllables, tone
of vowel and finally some semblance of meaning all snap into place.
I¹m kind of the opposite of the confessional singer-songwriter who fills
notebooks full of poetry and intones them over a bed of chords. Meaning or
³the truth that¹s in my heart² usually reveals itself well after the record
is released. I¹m often surprised that the things I care about actually end
up in my songs. Until then I¹m mostly concerned with shape, tone and
texture. I¹m really an instrumentalist who sings words and if you care to
pay attention you might enjoy them. So in this post, I will begin reporting
on the progress of an as of yet unfinished song, with all my doubts and
insecurities laid bare.
The song in question is called (for now) ³Oh No.² It began, as do most of my
songs, with a sound. It could be a creaking door or a delivery truck or the
sound of multiple stereos wafting out of bedroom windows. For the last four
years the same dancehall beat has been has been rattling the foundation of
my Chicago apartment. When I stay at my farm, sparrows, coyotes, chickens
and frogs find their way into my songs as well.
In the instance of this song I was on a flight from New York back to Chicago
and a young mother and her 3-year-old son sat in front of me and it was
looking to be the classic scenario of the child screaming bloody murder.
However, I was struck by the mournfulness of this kid¹s wail. He just kept
crying ³oh no² in a way that only someone who is certain of their demise
could. Pure terror. Completely inconsolable. It was more moving than
annoying.
So when I got home I picked up my guitar and tried to capture the slowly
descending arc of that kid¹s cry. It fit nicely over a violin loop that I
had been toying with which moves from C-major to A-major.
I¹ll spend days at my farm creating loops with my violin where I record a
phrase and layer on top of it, often starting with pizzicato followed by
multiple string lines. This is a handy compositional tool I also use in
performance. I can follow any whim and instantly hear how it works in
counterpoint with other ideas. It¹s perfect for someone who plays by ear and
improvises as I do and who is too impatient for notation. This helps keep
ideas fluid and ephemeral but with an instant gratification playback option.
I¹ve found that I can be completely satisfied for weeks by the simplest
four-bar phrase repeating over and over again. It¹s a fragile thing where
your perception of it can change it completely. You can reconstruct all the
elements the following day, note for note and go by physical memory but the
feel can be elusive.
Back to ³Oh No.² All this child knows is that he needs to get off this plane
and I can empathize. I often find myself in a crowded room and all I know is
³I need to get out of here.² So begins the song with a child¹s half-dream of
climbing out a window and venturing into the ravines around Lake Bluff,
where I grew up.
let¹s get out of here
past the atmosphere
squint your eyes and no one dies or goes to jail
past the silver bridge
oh the silver bridge wearing nothing but a one-sie and a veil.
When I was little the ³silver bridge² spanned the ravine and marked the
boundary of my known world.
Words get under my skin the same way melodies do. Something catches my
attention and I file it subconsciously. It often begins with an archaic or
obscure word I have not defined. I just like the sound of it and its elusive
meaning gives it a mysterious shine. On the menu of a local cafe is an item
called ³salsify.² Before I reach for the dictionary I let my imagination run
wild and decide that salsify is a burrowing bronchial root like a rickety
old mine that burrows deep into something. It turns out that¹s mostly
correct which encourages me further. All I know is ³salsify mains² sounds
good to me.
Then I might think of what I want to say, what have I been fixated on of
late? I have been thinking about how as adults we bury our emotions and I
almost envied that kid on the plane who had license to express what we all
were probably feeling. And how I have felt frozen and numb of late. (The
process may seem more deliberate than it actually is it¹s only because I¹m
breaking it down for this article and have hindsight that it appears that I
know what I¹m doing).
In the salsify mains of what was thought but unsaid
the calcified charismatists were doing the math
It would take a calculated blow to the head
to light the eyes of all the harmless sociopaths
What does it take to wake us up, we who feel so little? Aren¹t we almost
like sociopaths, only the kind that don¹t kill people?
The only thing I don¹t care for in this lyric is the ³calcified
charismatist² it just feels too clever. I¹m known to make up words but
this is too heavy-handed. So I¹m still searching for the right words. For a
while it was ³unemployed ex-physicists,² but that¹s too typical of something
I would write. Lately I¹m considering ³calcified arhythmitist² or just
³arithmatist² something that conveys a physicist¹s sketch or formula for
what will revive our harmless sociopath. Then the cheerful refrain of ³arm
in arm we are the harmless sociopaths/in the calcium mines buried deep in
our chests.² Followed by the chorus which has only taken shape in the last
day, which is ³Oh no, we¹re deep in a mine/Oh no, a calcium mine.² Sounds a
bit bleak as I break it down, but it should be a rousing little number.
Danger Mouse is the guy who did that mash-up album of The Beatles’ White album and Jay-Z’s Black album. He’s back with another album ensnarled in controversy, called “Dark Night of the Soul.” But you knew all that. The album is a who’s who of musical and cultural importance; from The Shins’ James Mercer to The Strokes to Sparklehorse to Iggy Pop to. What was strange was that David Lynch’s name was also attached to it. That didn’t ever seem to make sense. Well, now, because of some potential lawsuit, the album has been released but with, get this, no music. That’s right, it comes with a blank CD. One guess what you’re supposed to do with that thing as, oops, the songs have somehow all turned up online. The thing you might not know is that there’s a show opening tomorrow night (May 30th) of David Lynch’s photographs that appear in the music-less album’s attached book. The show is at the Kohn Gallery on Beverly and is also called “Dark Night of the Soul.” And the music playing in the background will be, you guessed it, the unreleased music of Danger Mouse and crew.