A bright sunny day in California. I woke up today and sat down at my desk for my hour of music time in the morning. Lately I’ve been used that time each day writing–in fact, exclusively working on the last of my Seven Songs: I’ve Been Scared. Today I had a different idea.
I’ve written a lot about the craft of song-writing, but I realize I haven’t talked about why to write songs. And of course I have some thoughts on the matter.
In my first post I talked about plumbing the depths of my soul, or something like that. That is in fact something songwriters do. On occasion. Very little popular music is in this vein. Which isn’t a criticism per se. I write a lot of silly songs, myself. But I’d say a majority of my music comes from soul plumbing (to coin a ridiculous phrase).
One of the first songs I wrote in earnest was called What Don’t Kill Me Makes Me Strong. It was about depression, and my desire to turn it into something constructive (as if it makes me stronger). That song was also silly–but that doesn’t detract from it’s serious intent and purpose. The silliness actually was the constructive part: if I can laugh at my problems they don’t seem quite so bad.
But let’s go deeper into the idea of plumbing the depths of one’s soul. Perhaps I’ll begin with another example. I wrote a song called Someone to Blame. It started out as a conversation I was having with my father–who is deceased. The conversation itself began with the song. It wasn’t a letter set to music, of something like that. The idea probably began at my therapist’s office. Judith may have suggested I try to dialog with my father, as part of my therapy. Needless to say, I have unfinished business with my father. Specifically, I have anger toward him for his suicide at the age of 50 (hence the significance of my birthday this week).
Anger can be a funny thing. Like other emotions, it needs to be expressed. But when your father is bi-polar (manic depressive, they called it in those days) to the point of suicide, it is difficult to stay mad; hence the anger is suppressed. In fact, I am angry over the simple fact that he is not here to have a relationship with (It is probably a common emotion for family members–even when the deceased has no control over the matter.)
I started writing the song from the point of view of my father: in other words his thoughts about my life. It starts out, You wear your burdens like a scar, it’s who you think you are, like a curse that is written in your blood. In other words, I was feeling sorry for myself.
My father goes on to tell me that I have to take responsibility for my life, instead of blaming it’s failures on the ones who raised me. Regardless of who’s responsibility it was to begin with, no one but I can make things better.
A fairly simple, even mundane, message. But a song is not an advice column. In Someone to Blame I recount the story of my life, and expose the troubled relationship I had with my father. Again, from his point of view: I never could quite see you, and no one came to free you from a life that was lived as in a cage. Where nothing is fair, and god isn’t there–except to see the penance is paid.
This describes how I transformed my neglect into shame–something children do. (It is too painful to imagine that our caregivers could neglect or abuse us, so we blame ourselves.)
So why did I put this letter/poem/song get put to a Country setting? This is a case where I have to say: I have no idea why I do the things I do. I don’t even like Country Music–or at least nothing from the last 40 years. So why do half my songs end up that way? I can’t tell you. I also can’t tell you why a very serious topic gets put to a basically bouncy rhythm–something that sounds almost cheerful when listened to without the words. The answer is: it just happens that way. And for some reason it works.
The funny thing is: when I perform this song, I imagine the listener figures it’s a love song, albeit love gone bad. That’s what I would think if I heard it for the first time. I never listen closely to a lyric until the fourth or fifth listening. In any case, a song has to stand on its own just for its sound (which absolutely includes the sound of the words). And I think this one does. A second or third listening will yield some surprises, but these are not inconsistent with the overall effect of the song, in my mind.
I write a lot of songs that deal with serious topics but bounce along like Jingle Bells. But I’m not the only one. Bluegrass is certainly filled with anguished lyrics set to bouncy rhythms. The way I see it, I’m in with good company.