I swear, figuring out this blog/site stuff has been harder than writing decent songs.
Over the past few years, as I've slowly, but surely, worked out songs and recorded them, I have also chipped away at The Mystery of How to Create a Decent Site. Not being an HTML coder, I have opted for services, such as Typepad, that massively simplify the process of building an online presence. Now, though, I use squarespace, which is a little more complicated to use than Typepad, but offers so much more freedom in how your site looks, its extra buttons are worth the extra effort.
All of which is a sort of set-up to announce the official launch of the Listening Lounge for Cerebellum Blues.
Now, with but a simple mouse click, you can check out my tunes as they come together. As of today, the Listening Lounge holds only one finished song -- Here Comes The Weather -- and a few demos, but over time, it will evolve and grow. Check back whenever you're feeling the need for a new melody in your life.
Recently, I've been posting partial songs, as though the world would be so intrigued by these bits and pieces that when the complete songs were finally available demand would be overwhelming.
Right.
So here is the complete version of Water Under The Bridge. No, it's not finished, in that there are harmonies yet, a few more instruments to be played, some real drums to be pounded, but this is the foundation.
Yesterday, bassist Sam Bevan plunged deep into Water Under The Bridge, a new tune I'm working on. This is a song that started out on dry land, but is now as swampy as a Creole crab boat. Well, maybe not THAT swampy, but certainly headed in that direction. Actually, what the hell am I talking about? I've only ever been to New Orleans once, and the last time I was in a swamp, I was, maybe 10.
Regardless, this song started out with a Keith Richards-inspired groove, but while Tim Young was out-Keithing Keith during a session at Hyde Street, he had the notion to put a little slide on the number. He reached for The Maton, plugged into my Carr Mercury and, well, you can hear the result: severe swampiness. I was pleased. Then Sam Bevan thumped out the bass part and, damn, if there weren't frogs nearby.
Soaring above all the oozey, murk-laden waters of the groove is Eryn Young, who is posessed of one of the greatest voies I have ever heard, yet who is as humble as a... well, who's humble anymore in our You-Tube-I-Should- Be-Famous culture? Anyway, Eryn is really nice, super easy to work with and has pipes lined with silk.
I exaggerate, I admit. I mean, recording at Hyde Street is hardly to sit in the lap of luxury while art pours forth. But, compared to sitting at my desk at home, Hyde Street was like being at the Ritz (not that I've ever been to a Ritz).
However, the economy being what it is -- a total shambles as a result of Uncle Sam thinking he actually knows what he's doing -- costs must be cut, without cutting corners. For me, this has meant doing more tracking at home and at other people's homes, where the rent is already paid and the engineer is yours truly, but sticking with the musicians who have become so integral to my music creation efforts.
So today, there I was, side by side with bassist Sam Bevan, cutting tracks in my apartment. Before us, my old desk, bought used off of craiglist awhile back, and pocked and scarred from years of use. The recording "gear": an Apple laptop connected to a 23" monitor, a Digidesign Mbox Pro 2, some hard drives and a pair of speakers. Oh, and my trusty, age-old AKG headphones, true marvels bought back in the '90s at some sort of killer discount through my friend Cory Verbin (check out his blog, it's great).
Sam and I were pressed for time, so we made the best of our two hours, working through bass parts for two songs, Water Under The Bridge and Yo Yo. For me, the upside of home recording goes beyond cost. First, I'm home where I can lie down comfortably if I need to, and two, the recording process really flows, because it's just me and the musician, no intermediaries. In between takes, Sam and I discussed the parts, hummed back and forth, I would strum my guitar maybe, he'd tap rhythms on the desk. Grand.
The plan is to record at my place once more next week, and then I will haul the tracks to Hyde Street, where ace engineer Jaime Durr will make pasta from the wheat I've gathered, or something like that. Basically, my goal during recording is just to dial up a strong, clean, hard-hitting signal and get the best performance possible, so that Jaime has the raw ingredients he'll need to get the tastiest sounds.
Worst of all possible outcomes? I have something good to listen to while the USofA collapses under debt.
Despite my recent post, not all is doom and gloom.
On Thursday of last week, I headed into Hyde Street Studios with one of my oldest and very best friends, Toby Germano, to record vocals for the two straight up rock and roll songs that will be on the album.
Even after walking into Hyde Street so many times over these past few years, and despite knowing that the session would most likely aggravate my injured brain and cause headaches and the like, I am still amazed at the sheer purity of my feelings on entering a recording studio. I know that making music is my greatest joy, and to be able to do it with a lifelong friend, well, words fail
And then there’s Hyde Street itself, a key ingredient in my little joy mix. It’s an old place that looks old; no one has bothered to update it since the late 60s and early 70s, when it was founded, save for new gear, of course. Gone are the tape machines of yore, although they are still in the building (what CAN you do with 24-track tape machine thee days?), replaced by computers running Pro Tools. Even the consoles are slowly taking their leave, their massive presence usurped by svelte digital creations. What remains is the outboard gear, the mic preamps, the EQs, the channel strips from old Neve mixers, a piano or two, even a Wurlitzer, I believe. Oh, and glorious tube mics, massive things holding curvy electricity and soul and depth and history.
The room I use at Hyde Street is Studio C, dubbed Cosmos Factory by John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival, who used it to record some of the greatest rock music that will ever be heard. I can see why. Studio C is floored with warm, worn wood that suffuses the ambient light with an organic yellow and reflects sound as only well used wood can. And it is big, free feeling. Oh, and you can't hurt it. It's not a delicate thing, adjusted just so, and furnished expensively; rather, it reminds me of a lake house up in Minnesota I once went to. It is inviting, it says come on in and sing, be with people, share, smile, create.
Toby was nervous. He'd had a cold, and had been working arduous hours at his winery, where he helps with making the wine, runs the wine club and commands the tasting room as only he could. And the economy was weighing on him. He'd had to let some people go, business was down, the mood of Sonoma, where he works, was tense, fearful.
Over the next several hours though, Studio C coaxed Toby into a mood, a rock and roll mood, and he began belting; you could hear the change, see it, feel it. To hell with my cold, to hell with the economy, to hell with these goddamn headphones, something Frank never wore; I am here to sing some rock music and that it what I will do.
I was so inspired, I got up off the couch, headed out into the Toby's Room, and sang harmonies. No, I can't really sing, no my voice was not in shape, no, I did not feel very good after only a few passes. But I wanted my album to have a couple of rock songs, in the vein of The Rolling Stones circa Exile on Main Street, back when Keith could still deliver the high, slightly ragged harmony over Jagger's thick bed of blues, and this was my chance. I did my best, so much so, that I had to go home afterward and go to bed, dizzy, fatigued, angry at my condition, but at peace with my sacrifice.
Toby, thank you for that day. Jaime, thank you for capturing the magic. And Studio C, thank you for being.
I feel like it's been forever since I last posted about my album, the album whose creation this blog was supposed to chronicle.
The reason is simple, but I don't really want to talk about it. Let's just say it's a BIG problem, and I don't have a solution. Yet. Right now, the album will be done, at the earliest, in June of this year, and that's if a lot of things go right.
In the meantime, I'm trying to dot my i's and cross my t's, ensuring that my copyright stuff is in order, my distribution strategy is sound and that my "brand" is not confusing (I'm no longer putting out anything I hope to sell under My Shirt Is Cool, now all serious stuff is under my own name).
Sigh. It's been a long road to get this far, and I WILL make an album, just not as soon as I'd hoped.
In part two of this three-part series, I posted about how I rewrote the end of the chorus, but continued to struggle with the middle 8, or bridge, of The Forgotten Place, a song I'm working on with Dave Tutin. Still, I sent off what I had and awaited Dave's response, which I knew was going to be less than enthusiastic.
I was right.
So I did what I should have done earlier in the process: I scrapped my first sessions and started anew. If you write songs or create any other kind of art, I think you know how hard starting over can be, but it had to be done. Not that the entire song was wrong, in fact I liked most of it, but the tempo was just too slow to let the song go anywhere. It dragged, and though the song is supposed to feel a little mournful, dragging is ALWAYS bad.
So I opened a new session on Pro Tools and set the tempo about 10 beats per minute higher and got to work. As I'd hoped, the faster tempo lead to new ideas for a middle 8, and after hours of noodling, and many fitful nights, I finally, finally, finally settled on an overall structure I liked. I played the new version for Catherine, she approved, and I sent it off to Dave.
He liked it, but like me, still felt something wasn't quite right in the end of the chorus. I tweaked the chords, resent the tune, and, well, now I'm torn. Personally, I think the chorus that goes to Em is best (first version below) whereas Dave kinda prefers the change to D (second version below). At this point, though, I need to stop, step away from the recorded versions, and just let the song marinate in my brain awhile longer.
So, there you have it. The story of a song, but sadly, without a definitive end. That's the way art is, though. Sometimes you just need to wait, get away from the process a bit, do something else, then come back to your project and try again. And that's what I'm going to do.
In part one of this saga describing the writing of The Forgotten Place, a collaboration between me and Dave Tutin, I described mainly how the lyrics came together, starting with my friend Dave's email and ending with Dave's rewrite of my additions to his original lyric. Since Dave's rewrite was pretty much NAILS, the rest of this saga has to do with music.
Let's see, when last I left this tale, I had just sent Dave my first pass at music and melody. His reaction? Encouraging, and... well... encouraging. But before Dave got back to me, I played the tune for Catherine and she was pretty blunt, saying the song was boring and didn't really go anywhere. I agreed, reluctantly, and when Dave's note came through, I wasn't surprised. Dave also noted that my decision to leave out the middle 8 seemed, um, unfortunate.
Clearly, I had a lot of work to do, so when Catherine and I left for a Christmas vacation in Hawaii, I brought a guitar.
After much noodling, I decided that the two biggest problems were the verse chords/melody and the chorus.The verse chords for the first version were E, Bm, C, Bm, C, Am, Em, which were meant to evoke the act of trying to climb a hill but slipping backwards, never really reaching the top, in other words, trying to get somewhere but never quite making it. I thought the metaphor seemed apt, given the lyric. I also loved the movement from Bm up to C, then back to Bm, then slipping to Am and back to E, only this time a minor. It all felt resigned, sad, tired -- and somehow right.
But it was wrong. The movement from Bm to C just felt too passive, there was no intent to make it to the top, and without intent, why bother? After playing the progression a million times, I finally tried dropping to A and, for me, that made all the difference. Now the melody seemed to say, "I'm going to regroup, take one step back to take two steps forward," instead of. "what's the point?" I also asked Dave to pen a second verse, so that there would be more anticipation before the first chorus; further, a second verse would create the opportunity to vary the chords slightly, so that the transition to the chorus could be more dramatic. The new verse Dave sent over read:
Sparks on the wind And a new fire starts The ecstasy of every Collision of hearts
Yeah, pretty brilliant, and with more noodling, I finally hit on a chord progression I thought did the words justice and created a good verse melody that really built to a chorus. The progression was E, Bm, A, Bm, C, D, Em, E, Bm, A, Bm, C, D, A, with the A being the fulcrum, the inflection point between verse and chorus. Of course, A can't settle into G, as it would have had I kept the original chorus chords, so, more noodling, and I hit on a progression that went: C, G, F, D, F, D, Bb, F, Am. Was this right? My gut told me no, but I persevered, keeping the last verse/chorus from the first version the same, because I loved the notion of the song itself not going home (not repeating the verse/chorus melodies from the pre solo bit) and I hit send.
Here's the version I sent? Still no middle 8. Was this the winner? Stay tuned.
On 12/19/2008, Dave Tutin sent out the following email to regular readers of his blog:
Ever thought you'd like to write a song? Now you have the chance. I just posted at davetutin.typepad.com a verse that has been kicking around in my head for months. Where the rest of the song will go I, as yet, have no idea. It's called The Forgotten Place. So send me your ideas. If I use any of the verses, or chorus or bridge, submitted I will copyright the song as a co-compositionin your name(s) and mine. I can't promise you'll make any money. But you'll be able to say "I wrote a song". - Dave
To me, that email was like crack to a crack ho. I could not resist. I clicked into Dave's blog and read the verse referenced in the email, which was:
There's a need that burns Like a forest fire Scattering the casualties of my desire
From Hong Kong to London From Bangkok to Rome From New York to Rio To a forgotten place called home
Yup, pretty goddamn great. I immediately set to work, seeing step one as "completing" the lyric. Inspiration came fast, and I penned the following over the next few days:
But nothing grows Come rain or drought Because all the seeds I've scattered Are just seeds of doubt In Singapore cafés Under Tuscan domes In hotels and airplanes All forgotten like that place called home
(FROM TUTIN POEM)
There are some Jigsaw cities where I may rest a while Knowing I am safe within the suburb of your smile
But the need still burns Until it all lights on fire And scatters one more casualty Of my desire
And I go back to London I go back to Rome I go back to Rio But I can never go back home
I was pretty pleased with myself. I thought I had extended the story of the lyric in a good way, added some twists, found a cool poem of Dave's that fit nicely for a middle 8. After I sent off my creation to Dave, though, I got a reply that was not exactly universal praise. But, my scribblings had given him a few ideas and he had produced this:
There's a need that burns Like a forest fire Scattering the casualties of my desire
In love and loss In flood or drought All the seeds I've scattered Were just seeds of doubt
From Hong Kong to London From Bangkok to Rome From New York to Rio To a forgotten place called home
Sparks and wind And a fire starts The ecstasy of every Collision of hearts
From Berlin to Cape Town From Bangkok to Rome From Singapore to Paris To a forgotten place called home
But the need still burns And that wall of flame Stops you from returning The way you came
With their mother's ghost Still between the sheets My imaginary children Walk the streets
From Hong Kong to London From Bangkok to Rome From New York City To a forgotten place called home
I read those words and, well, I was just blown away. The last verse especially. Off I went and came up with the music of what would end up being version one of five, or even more depending on how you count.. I don't consider myself overly arrogant or cocky, but I thought my first pass was great, and yet, there was a small, tight knot in my stomach. Stay tuned for what Dave had to say, as well as The Wife's opinion.
In the meantime, what's yours? What do you like about this version, not like, wish were different, etc?
CAVEAT: I'M PLAYING EVERYTHING AND SINGING, SO DON'T GET TOO HUNG UP ON THE PERFORMANCE!
Coming from the ad business, I'm disappointed in myself. I mean I wasted a lot of time and money fooling around with a faux band name, My Shirt Is Cool, that I think, for the most part, just confused people. And good marketing is rarely confusing, no matter what Crispin Porter Bogusky says.
So, from here on, I am now just plain old Jeff Shattuck, my real name. "Jeff" is pretty common, but "Shattuck" is kinda unusual, so I shouldn't do too bad in world of Google search. We'll see.
Further, it's my name, damnit, so when people hear a tune and find out who it's by, it won't be some weird band name, a band that doesn't even exist, for that matter!
Most important, my tunes are, um, not exactly similar to one another, so I don't even SOUND like a band. In fact, I need the license to explore, try new stuff, do hard rock, do ballads, do country, and bands don't have this freedom. Bands succeed these days largely because people know what to expect from them. And if I truly follow my muse, the only thing people should expect from me are good songs performed well.
Thinking about all this makes me sad for two reasons: 1) I really liked the name My Shirt Is Cool, and I am BUMMED that I will not be using it going forward on songs I have commercial hopes for; 2) I am reminded of the freedom bands used to have, freedom to really stretch and create. I mean, back in the 70s you awaited the new Led Zeppelin album precisely because you did NOT know what to expect. Same with the latter day Beatles work, and Bowie and Talking Heads. Nowadays, I can't hink of a single band that reinvents itself album after album. No, they find a formula and DRIVE IT INTO THE GROUND. Argh, it kills me.
I'm old enough to remember those E.F. Hutton commercials, which would always open with some sort noisy event, and someone would invariably say, "Well, my broker is E.F. Hutton... ," and the entire room would hush and listen. That's how I feel about my friend Dave Tutin. When he offers you advice, you listen.
So when he commented that I should rethink my notion of recording under the band name My Shirt Is Cool and instead just use my name, I took the advice seriously. Granted, I didn't act on it right away; I wanted to have a band name damnit, but after several hours of mulling, I knew Dave was right. After all, I'm trying to position myself as a songwriter not as a band, so why have a band name? Further, over the past few months I've had more than a few people ask, "So, where are your songs? I see stuff by My Shirt Is Cool, but what's that? Where's YOUR stuff?" Now, I could smugly think, wow, that morons, but then I'd just be an asshole, which I might still be, but not willfully! No, the truth is, people swing by my blog, check it out quickly, and then move on. I need to do everything I can to ensure that my blog is not confusing. Hence, no more band names.
Nope, from now on, I am just Jeff Shattuck, which is why my iTunes and Amazon links are gone. They had me under My Shirt Is Cool, but I've instructed Tunecore to take down the songs, and put them back up with just my name. It'll take a few weeks, so please be patient.
I'll write more about this episode next week, but for now, Dave, thank you. Your adivce was dead on.
On the day after I get married, I felt something unusual when I woke up, something not quite right, something downright odd: happiness. And I thought, hmmm, that might be a cool song, a tune about happiness showing up one day, after a long absence.
I batted around the idea in my head over the next week, and gradually a lyric and melody emerged, as my WIFE (yes, it still feels odd to call Catherine that) and I drove down through southern California, lounged in Santa Barbara for a night and then holed up in Palm Springs for an indulgent amount of time.
Normally when we travel (we rarely do anymore, and never by plane if we can help it, thanks to my evil brain, who his hell bent on torturing me for the damage I did to it), I bring my Steinberger, because it's small and pretty much impervious to humidity and hard knocks, but since we were driving, I packed my Gibson 336. Like The Maton (all hail!), my 336 is a semi hollow body, but thinner, so you still get nice acoustic tones, only less bulk. Also, my 336 is pretty new, whereas The Maton (amen!) is from a long time ago, and therefore somewhat delicate.
While I started the song on The Maton (hallowed be thy name!) before we actually hit the road, I finished it on my 336, while sitting on our hotel deck, which overlooked a pool on was on the second story, exposed to the morning and evening breezes (always good at carrying inspiring somethings, I find). Now, me being me, despite my gorgeous surroundings and Catherine's constant presence, I still managed to make the lyrics some how sad, mournful, a little desperate. I've posted them below, but in a nutshell, as I said earlier, the song is about happiness showing up after having been gone awhile, not admitting it's going to stick around, and staying just outside the door, as overtures are made and hints are dropped that it had better goddamn stick around.
HAPPINESS Written on The Maton and my Gibson 336 Started November 2, 2008, Finished in Palm Springs on the 336, Finished again a little later
Happiness Won't you come on in? It's been awhile and you're looking kind of thin
Happiness Can I get you anything? Just tell me what you want because in my house you are king
And I have no pride I will beg, I will borrow, I will cheat, steal and lie I will not be denied So happiness, won't you please come inside?
Happiness I remember you so well Why were you gone so long, what stories can you tell?
Happiness I know you're staying for awhile But where are your things? You've come so many miles
And I have no pride I will beg, I will borrow, I will cheat, steal and lie I will not be denied So happiness, there's nothing to decide, No excuses to try So won't you please come inside?
And don't make me guess Don't make me pass some kind of test You know just what I want All you need to say is, "Yes."
Happiness Don't break my heart We belong right here Can't you see Can't you see Can't you see we should never be apart?
Back in mid 2006, I was "walking" back to my apartment from Peet's on Fillmore in SF, and the line "too many demons and too few saints" popped into my head. Once back home, I'd forgotten it, of course, but I popped in a DVD of Tom Petty at the Fillmore and was so inspired by The Vibe That Is Petty, I picked up my Steinberger and started possibly, maybe writing a song.
I was hesitant, because writing songs is a commitment, and I was not ready to commit to much of anything, save for sleeping. Still, the guitar found its way into my hands and a riff emerged, the riff that would open and serve as the chorus for... what was that line I had thought of earlier... hmmm... oh yeah, too many demons and too few saints. (I confess, the riff is a touch similar to Tom Petty's "You're Jammin' Me", but I think the overall tune is different enough that Tom's lawyer's won't be knocking on my door.)
I wrote the rest of the music for the song quickly, stalling on the bit for the solo before hitting on the F, C, G thing, and stalling forever on the words. In fact, I just finished the words this morning, as I am under the gun to get my friend Toby a scratch vocal, so he can have a reference when he sings the song properly in a week or so. Singing, as I've written before, is something I suck at; worse, the act of singing just destroys me, so there's been lots of trips to the couch, where I can rest my head and ease the dizzies, in between takes. Regardless, the demo is done, and will be winging its way to Toby's inbox this afternoon. Please give it a listen and let me know what you think about the song (I can imagine what you'll think of my voice). And stay tuned for the real version in about a month! Oh, first draft and final lyrics appear below. I think they got better, do you?
Too Many Demons, Too Few Saints. (from about 14 months ago)
My future was once wide open I made plans every day I was not yet broken I had a past I wouldn't trade
But things happen
Decisions get made You end up living With less love than hate
You walk around
You remember what was You wish you could leave But you're trapped because
You've got...
CHORUS
Too many demons and too few saints To count your blessings or ever cut bait I know they say it’s never too late But I’ve got too many demons and too few saints (I’m never going to set this record straight)
We saw each other at a corner cafe We'd see worlds soon We stayed up from night to day We didn't part until the afternoon
But life changes Throws you curves Asks you to live For better or worse You make mistakes You break your own laws You want out But you're trapped because
You've got...
DEMONS & SAINTS (2/18/2009)
My future was once wide open I had my plans, I had my dreams I was not yet broken I thought I had whatever I could need
But life changes Throws you curves Asks you to live For better or for worse You make mistakes You do some things wrong You try to turn back But you're too far gone And you've got...
(CHORUS) Too many demons and too few saints To count your blessings or ever cut bait I know, I know they say it’s never too late But I've got too many demons and too few saints
And I remember when I was new I had my faith, my beliefs I told lies I thought were true Some days I even felt at peace
But life changes You lose your guide You want so much You're never satisfied You try to stop You try to turn back But you're too far down The wrong path And you've got...
CHORUS > SOLO
And still life changes Throws you curves Asks you to live For better or for worse
It takes a toll Little by little Before you know it Rome burns while you fiddle And you've got...
After experiencing some annoying lags with Divshare, I have decided to use Bandcamp for all my music posting from here on out. My original plan was to only use The Camp for final stuff, but that's dumb. If you've got a free Ferrari, use it for everything. So here, once again, is a rough mix of Love & Hate, served by The Best Music Site This Side of Andromeda, And Probably The Other Side Too.
Since the only song I've posted so far is a piano-driven tear jerker, and I go to talk therapy and talk about my feelings, I'm a little worried that my growing multitude of fans will think I'm part of Clint Eastwood's Pussy Generation. So here is a rough mix of one of the rockers that will be on my upcoming album (tentatively titled "Greatest Hits"). The guitar solo sucks almost as bad as Vista, but my friend Toby Germano will rectify this sad state of affairs in the coming weeks by giving his Strat deep tissue massage through a mutherfuckin' Marshall half stack.
For the last several weeks, I've been working on a new song with Dave Tutin. Dave wrote the words, and they are KILLER , in my opinioni, so I really, really want to do them justice.
This has not been easy.
Early versions didn't have enough tension/release, they were too slow, I couldn't figure out how to incoporate the middle 8, and on and on. As I worked, I tried to save stuff I shouldn't have, which, of course, just makes it harder in the end to really achieve the right arrangement. One of those "stuffs" was a guitar solo. I liked it because it evoked, for me, at least, late Beatels stuff -- Abby Road, Let It Be -- and I just love the way the Beatles kept even their softer songs ROCK with great guitar work. However, my philosophy is SONG ÜBER ALLES, so the solo had to go, because it just didn't fit.
I'll post the final demo of the song, as soon as Dave and I agree it's cool, but till then, here is The Solo That Had To Die.
Since perforating my cranial membrane with a sliver of skull driven forward by me falling backward into a tile wall, I have definitely gotten better at writing songs. I suppose the reason could be a new neural connection or two, or maybe a broken one, but I think something more is at work.
Specifically, I think the treatment I've been undergoing for depression has been helpful. The treatment was initiated at the insistence of my neurologist, who warned me that life altering injuries could paint the world pretty black, and suggested a two-pronged attack: drugs and talk therapy.
The drugs you've all heard of. I started with Lexapro, liked it, but switched to Cymbalta on the theory that its unique concoction of Prozac-like stuff with old school Stepford Wives-based stuff would help with the extreme "coldness" I "feel" in my feet (they're not really cold, but...). Anyway, my feet still wade happily in their ever present bath of ice water, so Cymbalta has failed me in one respect, but it seems to help in the other, buoying my mood, about as well as Lexapro did, so I continue to use it.
As for songwriting, I think Cymbalta helps because it keeps me from getting so down that I lose my motivation to, say, rewrite that verse for the 37th time. But that's about it. Oh, and maybe by keeping me in a less tense state, it frees my thoughts to flow. Not sure.
Now, talk therapy is a different beast altogether, but one I have grown to value immensely. My therapist is my brain mechanic. I describe what's going on inside my head, and she offers ideas for what to do about it. And you know what? All this talk leads to tons of little conclusions, some of which are the grains of sand that become songs (sorry for the cheesy metaphor, but it's true). In other words, its great creative fodder. Further, it is fodder that can be refined over time, sifted through, added to, subtracted from.
Most important, if songs are crystallized emotions, which I think they are, knowing my emotions, knowing what's behind them, or, failing that, simply "digging in the dirt", to quote Peter Gabriel is a fabulous way to identify which emotions I want to try to crystallize.
Last, talk therapy has even lead to a song about, you guessed it, talk therapy called Talking. Here are the lyrics. Music to follow in the next few weeks.
Talking
I start with yesterday Then my childhood Then school and my career
And there's so much to say And it feels kind of good As I work through hopes and fears
And there's relationships And being alone And being a person I wouldn't want to know
And Freudian slips And feeling like stone And feeling like so much is still unknown
CHORUS And I'm talking, and I'm talking, but I've got more to say And I'm talking, and talking, I could sit here and talk all day And I'm trying, I'm trying to clear up shades of gray And do my best to make a little sense Of life's mysterious ways
And there's talk of love Talk of hate Talk of everything I can feel
There's hawks and doves Choice and fate Things I hide and things I reveal
And I talk about the night I talk about the dreams I talk about the things that are not as they seem
The lyrics I write The songs I sing The feel of a brand new wedding ring
And I'm talking, and talking, but I've still got more to say I'm talking, and talking, don't stop me if I start to stray 'Cause I'm trying, and trying but there's just too much to convey Still I do my best to make a little sense Of life's mysterious ways
And I talk about mom I talk about dad I talk about the things that make me happy and sad And there are words of wisdom And words I need to learn And more than a few pages turned
And I'm talking, and talking, but I've still got more to say I'm talking, and talking, I could talk the entire day 'Cause I'm trying, but I worry that I'm starting to stray Still I do my best to make a little sense Of life's mysterious ways
But once you've got your expertly written, expertly produced and wittily titled tunes, what do you do with them? How the hell do you get them to those who matter?
Truth be told, I'm not sure, but here's what I'm gonna do.
1) Create nice packaging both online and off.
Online, you should have a site that doesn't just look like some off-the-rack blog program and that lets people listen to your stuff for FREE. Do NOT make it hard for people to hear your music, you're trying to sell the song, not necessarily your version of it.
For my web site/blog, the one you're on right now, I've opted to use a service called squarespace, which is kinda like Typepad in the way an F-16 is kinda like the Kitty Hawk. The amount of control squarespace gives you over the look and structure of your site is just mind-blowing, and it's all backed by killer reliability and service like a Three Star Michelin Guide restaurant, sans le 'tude.
For hosting my music, MySpace just doesn't cut it. I think every MySpace site looks like a garage sale, even the most pimped out ones (sometimes they're the worst.) Facebook is awesome for connecting with friends, but it's not a music site first and foremost. So who gets my non? Bandcamp. Clean, fast, free (for now, I'd pay them in a heartbeat, should they decide to start charging), Bandcamp makes all others Spinal Tappian.
Offline, to create physical CDs for those Luddites who still demand such arcana, I searched far and wide for a printing service who would do as few as ONE CD, no set-up fee, and I found it. The service is called CDPRINTEXPRESS and it rocks. These dudes even let you create environmentally friendly cardboard sleeves, so you don't need a jewel box. Bad. Ass.
2 )Now, once you've got your "warehouse" ready (site, hosting), who's gonna be your UPS? Who's going to send your songs far and wide to the world's best known music shops, iTunes included? Tunecore. I considered CDBABY, but they trace their roots to physical distribution, whereas Tunecore started out digital. Both now do everything, but I like the fact that Tunecore is more rooted in our zeitgeist. Quick note: do not send your songs to multiple distributers; it gets too complicated, at least for me.
3) Join Sonicbids. If you've read about this service, you might think of it as strictly a way for gigging musicians to connect with promoters, and vice versa. Not so. Live gigs are certainly a huge part of Sonicbids business, but the site also features loads of song contests, placements on compilation CDs and licensing opportunities, the last of which will be my focus. Here's how Sonicbids works: you create an EPK (Electronic Press Kit), which describes you and your music, plus holds media files , sich as, yup, your tunes. Several times a month, Sonicbids notifies its members of opportunities, and you submit your EPK to the ones that interest you. The cost of each submission is from $5 to $30, and the monthly membership fee for Sonicbids is only about $6 a month, but here's their complete pricing matrix.
4) Get your ass out there. The last aspect of your distribution strategy should be to get physically in front of people who can make a difference for you. The Internet is great, amazing, in fact, but it cannot be your only means of getting heard. Even in the Age of Google, personal connections still count for a hell of a lot. My plan is to tap my very, very few music biz connections, when I feel I am truly ready (do NOT waist people's time, because you never get a second chance to... blah, blah, blah). I also plan to march into a radio station or two and just ask about submissions; a friend of mine, Toby Germano, has had some good exposure this way.
5) Carry a "business" card. You never know who you're going to run into, so design a card you can carry around with you everywhere you go and give to people who might be interested in your music.
As I prep my tunes for worldwide release (within the next two months, I promise!), there are five things I've determined need to done in order to maximize my chances for success in today's world.
Keep in mind, success for me is a humble thing. Ideally, I'd like to be able to recoup my recording costs, which total somewhere around $20,000, but I'm not sure, since I'm afraid to look. (Note: funds for my recording came from a bit of money I inherited awhile back. Yup, I'm a little spoiled and, save for the brain thing, not too much of a hard luck story.)
Also, because of my brain injury, my list does not mention gigging. Obviously, if you can get out their and play a lot, you should.
So, without further ado, here is Step One.
1. WRITE SONGS THAT COULD BE HIT SINGLES
If you're going to try to write songs that sell, you need to write songs that could sell. Simple, no? And yet, it is oh-so-hard to write a hit. If it were easy, everyone would do it, right? I mean, who wants to bust his hump crafting brilliant songs that no one ever hears? Not me.
So, what's a hit? For me, the best definition I've read so far lies between the covers of Eric Beall's new book, The Billboard Guide to Writing and Producing Songs That Sell. Granted, Mr. Beall frames his argument for what constitutes a hit within what radio will play, and we all know that radio might not be the best litmus test anymore, but I think radio is still a darn good place to start for defining a hit.
In short, a hit is under four minutes, uptempo, has a primary hook and a few other secondary hooks, and is memorable. Oh, and it can grab a listener in under ten seconds.
Now before you crap all over this definition, remember, there are exceptions to every rule. Every last damn one. BUT, certainly being able to meet this definition is not a bad thing. At least I don't think so, especially not for a writer aspiring to be a commercial songwriter, which would be me.
So, I plan to keep every song on my album under four minutes, hooky and memorable, and to keep the slower ones to a minimum. Is this a sad thing that I am so willing to be a slave to the market? Personally, I don't think so. For starters, I LIKE hits. Most of my favorite songs, in fact, pretty much fit Mr. Beall's definition, and I've never really been one to "work" to like something. Either it grabs me or it doesn't, sometimes on first listen, sometimes after years of exposure. Regardless, I am seeking to appeal to the market, so why fight it, especially now, before I've had any success whatsoever?
Stay tuned for Step Two.
And feel free to comment. I don't, for a second, believe that my ideas are the end-all-be-all.
At 45, I'm the perfect age to have heard Van Halen's first album in the best possible context. Because when Eruption, Running With The Devil, You Really Got, Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love and other tracks all started blasting forth from the radio and my home stereo pretty much constantly, it was fresh. Wait, make that FRESH. Even FRESH. I had NEVER heard anything like it, not even close. And by IT I mean Eddie Van Halen's guitar playing. To this day, no new pop sound has ever floored me the way Halen did.
Moreover, not only did Eddie Van Halen re-invent guitar playing, he also re-invented the guitar itself. After Van Halen, the notion that you needed an expensive guitar built by craftsmen in order to be a real Player melted like a tube in Eddie's sweating Marshall (oh, he reinvented amps, too). No, after Van Halen, all you needed was parts, because you were going to build the guitar yourself.
So when I read on CNN that Eddie Van Halen had finally designed a production guitar -- called the Wolfgang -- that truly reflected his knowhow, skill and creativity, I headed straight for fender.com (Fender makes EVH gear) and read all about it. Now, EVH has put his name on guitars before -- various Kramers, EVH stuff -- but it was always more of a cosmetic effort, I felt, than a true expression of Eddie-ness. Not the EVH Wolfgang. Read all about it here -- the woods, the low-friction pots, the raw neck, the stainless steel frets and more -- and even if you're not a guitar player, if you just appreciate well built stuff, you will get goosebumps. Damn, I mean, the only guitar I've really wanted for several years now, is some form of Telecaster, but the EVH Wolfgang just got added to my list, albeit in second place.
I swear, figuring out this blog/site stuff has been harder than writing decent songs.
