"Living Loud" has a price: I'm bloody exhausted.

On approximately Monday, I tweeted, "Oh man this week's blog-song is going to succckkkkk >_<"

The next day-ish, Jamie said to me, "So what's this I hear about this week's song sucking?"

I hemmed and hawed and grumbled something like, "I'm just really unhappy with how it's turning out."

To which Jamie replied, "Aha, you're a true musician at last!"

Touche, my love.

I also didn't have as much time to work on this song. I scribbled down the first verse or so on Thursday or Friday, and then totally neglected it until Monday when I realized, "Shoot! I have a deadline!" I finished the lyrics Monday morning, bashed out the chords Monday night, and then tweeted in despair.


I guess it's not so bad. In fact, since Monday I've worked out the wrinkles (ew that bridge really is not working, I'll just tweak it so that it's the same melody as the rest of the verses oh there that's better) and played it enough to have gotten used to how it sounds, so I don't actually really mind it anymore.

But it was a close one. There were a few moments when I thought that I might just scrap the whole thing and post a video of a song I wrote, like, a year ago. But that would have been cheating; that's not what I made this blog to do. This blog is about writing crappy songs that I'm not really satisfied with and posting them as testament to my creative output. It's fine enough to share the nice songs you write every few months; it's another thing entirely to share every song, even the less-than-good ones. By forcing myself to finish a song, even when I don't think it's very good, I am in some small way triumphing over the roadblock of Not Good Enough and hopefully gaining tools that will help me write even better songs in the future.

This song is kind of about Amanda Palmer, and how I didn't get to see her last Saturday. The first verse and first chorus are pretty much about that, attempting to capture the frenetic, excited feeling, and then the downfall as I accepted that I would not be able to go, that I had to be an adult and do Adult Things like go to work. I was going to continue in that vein and it was going to be another kind of depressing song, but then I thought, "Fuck it," and decided I shan't be growing up any time soon. So there you go.

I'm kind of exhausted because it took me nearly an hour and a half to get an acceptable video on an evening when I was already tired. It took long enough that I had to take a break and look up the food chemistry behind kombucha with Jamie. I lost track of how many attempts it took; let's just say that a little chord-and-lyric sheet (like the one I had the wherewithal to make last week) would have been immensely useful. (All of this is to explain the little cheer at the end.)

I already have an idea and even a couple verses for next week's song, so hopefully it won't feel quite so last-minute as this one did. It will NOT be about current events.

What are you, new? Go to the first post to find out what this blog is all about!

How NOT to Deal With Positive Feedback

I'm having trouble getting used to the idea of "putting myself out there" as a musician and creative person. Art always been something I've kept to myself. My music has been such a personal thing for so long, that sharing it with other people and receiving their reactions is not an easy thing on multiple levels, even when those reactions are positive ones.

When I was small, and I'd present my parents with things of my own creation--dolls, drawings, little songs--they would, of course, immediately begin heaping on the praise. "Oh, Maggie, it's wonderful! I love it! It's beautiful! Oh, you've done such a good job!" ...and similar adulation. This invariably made me uncomfortable and cross; there was something about this seemingly overblown applause that just annoyed me. It wasn't that I felt I didn't deserve it, I just didn't like that it was all directed at me.

So when I wanted to share with my parents something I'd made or written, I started prefacing it with something along the lines of, "Okay, I'm going to show you this, but don't get all praisey-praise about it." No praisey-praise! So then Mom and Dad would take on mock-stoicism, and with great solemnity say things like, "Oh yes, this is very nice. It's good. Good job." And this, naturally, would annoy me even more. "Not like that! Just be normal!"

Praise and accolades still make me uncomfortable. This morning, when I was starting to compose this blog entry in my head (some twelve hours before I was actually able to sit down and write it) I tried to pinpoint just what it is that makes me squirm and wince when people tell me, "Your songs are amazing! You're such a good singer! This is beautiful!" I think the fear of this kind of reaction is one of the things that has kept me from widely sharing my music for so long, which is kind of funny, considering that most people probably fear the opposite reaction.

I don't really know what it is. Probably on some level, I feel like I don't deserve it. Oh come on, I'm not that good, you hear way better than me on Pandora; I'm really not that great a guitar player. Please, stop.

So I guess I need to get over that. Sincere, positive reactions are a good thing, because it lets me know I'm doing something right. A certain someone, who is apparently industriously promoting his blog to his friends, said to me yesterday, simply, "People like your music." Considering that this blog currently features all of two songs, I'm going to take this as a good sign.

The other thing that occurred to me this morning, while sorting out my thoughts, is that NOT "going all praisey-praise" is really fucking hard when faced with something beautiful that you love. The first time I heard Bruce Springsteen's Live in New York City album, I flailed all over my dad's couch in paroxysms of joy. The final song on Bon Iver's new album regularly sends tears streaming down my cheeks, and maybe that's just been PMS, actually, but I also take every opportunity to gush at people about how I'm physically incapable of stopping listening to the album.

So it's okay for me to get all praisey-praise about other artists, but my friends and family aren't allowed to get all praisey-praise at me? Younger Me should have cut my parents some more slack.

I think my point in this is that this journey is hard for me in ways aside from merely the job of churning out a song every week. (Ohohoh, wait until tomorrow, there will be whining and self-deprecation!) But every difficulty presents an opportunity for growth, and maybe by the end of all this I'll find it easier to accept the concept that people actually like the things I create.

This would be a great spot for a picture of four-year-old me playing the ukulele my grandmother gave me for Christmas one year, but I don't have any of those on my computer so we'll just have to settle for this picture from last spring. 

Now I know what Real Musicians feel like!

Last week I recorded the song in two takes--one take to mess up, and one to get it right.

This week it took ten takes. Take three was pretty decent and I didn't make any mistakes, but I'm still not totally fluid with the transitions into B-minor chord, so there were all these pauses while I shifted my fingers and that didn't make me happy. I solved the problem by switching to playing D in all the placed I'd previously played B-m, and the pauses were gone. The song no longer has quite the same sound as it did originally, but it still works.

So then once I was used to playing D, I kept futzing around with light sources (apparently I care about that kind of thing now?) and kept getting the words and/or chords wrong, so it took a few more takes. I figure that I should keep all my aborted attempts and at the end of this project, string them together into a blooper reel. (I suspect is will consist mostly of me yelling "FUCK" and/or flailing wildly upon the strings and/or gazing into the camera with wide eyes and a manic grin as I get ready for yet another take.)

ANYWAY. The song. In my last post I mentioned that this one is about current events...and whaddaya know, they're the same current events that I spent most of aforementioned previous post pondering. I began writing this song when Clarence Clemons first had his stroke, when I was feeling all wibbly and oh-god-he-has-to-get-better. Such was my conviction that his recovery was imminent, that the initial version of the song had a decidedly more hopeful tone. (It also contained a Doctor Who reference. Make of that what you will. I removed it.) Then Mr. Clemons died, and some of the stuff I'd written in the song didn't really make sense anymore.

But I've noticed that I'm basically incapable to writing a truly depressing and hopeless song, so it does look up a bit in the end. (The title reflects this.)

And there you have it. Next week: ????

In other musical news, guess what, I won a ticket to see Amanda Palmer at a super-secret, exclusive, invite-only show new Boston THIS SATURDAY!! I KNOW RIGHT HOW AWESOME IS THAT. Too bad I can't go because my boss won't let me leave work early!

Amanda Fucking Palmer disapproves of your shenanigans.

...Thus dashing my hopes of become AFP's BFF and getting her to pimp this blog on her Twitter. (What?! I have dreams!)

So I will probably Make The Adult Decision and earn karma points by forfeiting my ticket to let someone else have an amazing time at the amazing concert.

Actually, next week's song may very well be about that.

What are you, new? Go to the first post to learn what this blog is all about!

The house band in Heaven must be rock rock rockin' at Heaven's door

They say you can't take it with you
But I think that they're wrong
'Cause I woke up this morning
And something big was gone.
--Bruce Springsteen, "Terry's Song"

I took a walk last night. I watched a magnificent apricot sun set over the Connecticut River with my feet dangling in the water, and then walked most of the way home barefoot, listening to my iPod. Around 8:30, "Jungleland" came on, from Bruce Springsteen's Live in New York City album. Part-way through the song is Clarence Clemon's killer saxophone solo. That solo is epic. It is smooth and rough and golden and buttery--I could spread that sax solo on bread, mix it in with my mashed potatoes, stir it into a roux, and that would be the healthiest damn meal EVER.

When I was walking last night and listening to Clarence play his sax, I thought to myself, "Man, I am so glad Clarence Clemons is getting better. I don't know what the fuck we're going to do if he dies."

I got home, turned on my computer, and saw the headlines: Clarence Clemons, Springsteen's Soulful Sideman, dies at 69.

He'd died around 7:00pm (due to complications from a massive stroke he'd suffered on June 12th), approximately an hour and a half before "Jungleland" on my iPod, so it wasn't like there was some kind of cosmic link that caused me to revel in his power at the exact moment he'd passed from this earthly plane. At the same time, it felt just a little bit like the Universe was watching me and saying, "o hai, i see you has a wound, here let me rub salt on it kthx."

Those who know me well know that I have a massive girl-boner for anything having to do with Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. My iTunes playlist of  my favorite Springsteen songs is almost seven hours long (the playlist itself being titled "Bruceasaurus Rex"). There is something about the music those Jersey boys make that simply sends me into fits of wild joy; some of the songs make me feel like I could dance through the rest of my life, others make me sob. Most of all they make me feel. I think that's what makes me love them so much: I feel the music so deeply, the breadth and depth of emotion is right there, so open and raw, shameless and sincere. (The writer Chuck Klosterman, whom I adore in every aspect but for the fact that he doesn't like Springsteen much, once complained that what he dislikes about the Boss is that he is "too earnest." But this is precisely what I love about him!)

Basically, there's a lot to love about Springsteen and his band. I've only seen them once in concert (August 22, 2009, Comcast Stadium in Mansfield, MA) but I freely admit to having spent hours watching YouTube videos of live concerts and DVD clips. And I adore Clarence Clemons, the Biggest Man You Ever Seen. His stage presence, his antics with Bruce, and most of all his music are utterly delightful and engaging. I am so, so grateful that I got to see him live before he died.

I feel like I'm not articulating myself very well. Last night I read several wonderful essays and obituaries about the life and work of the Big Man, and they said everything so much better than I. In some ways I feel a little unworthy to speak of Clarence Clemons in these terms: I only "discovered" the music of the E Street Band in 2009, while people like my father, a born-and-bred Jersey boy himself, grew up with this music, have been listening to it and worshiping at its altar for some 40-odd years. But the fact that I, at 22, and my father, at 53, are both saddened by the news of the Big Man's death, speaks to the timelessness of the music he helped create. There are multiple generations of people grieving for Clarence Clemons.

Really, though, I think the best words were penned by the Boss himself, on the official statement that was released last night on brucespringsteen.net:

It is with overwhelming sadness that we inform our friends and fans that at 7:00 tonight, Saturday, June 18, our beloved friend and bandmate, Clarence Clemons passed away. The cause was complications from his stroke of last Sunday, June 12th. 

Bruce Springsteen said of Clarence: Clarence lived a wonderful life. He carried within him a love of people that made them love him. He created a wondrous and extended family. He loved the saxophone, loved our fans and gave everything he had every night he stepped on stage. His loss is immeasurable and we are honored and thankful to have known him and had the opportunity to stand beside him for nearly forty years. He was my great friend, my partner, and with Clarence at my side, my band and I were able to tell a story far deeper than those simply contained in our music. His life, his memory, and his love will live on in that story and in our band.

Rest in peace, you beloved Big Man. You will be sorely missed.

UMMMM okay in other blog-related news, Song #2 is coming along nicely (It's about CURRENT EVENTS.) I'm basically done with the lyrics and have the chords worked out. (I know that not ever week is going to be this easy, but it's nice to be starting out with this much productivity! The main thing I need to work on for the next few days is the transition from G to Bm and C to Bm. Is not easy. 

I really like the way this one sounds. The chords fit really well and I could hear it just as easily on an electric guitar as with my acoustic Blue Ridge. I might post a "preview" in a few days to get y'all excited. =P

I really need to change my guitar strings.

The new strings have been sitting on my desk for approximately two months, staring at me, waiting for me, weeping for me.

Their day will soon come.

ANYWAY.

Tonight I recorded and uploaded this song for you, my pretties. I wrote it a couple months ago, I guess? (I remember playing it for Ali and/or Margaret at some point in Aprilish.) I'm not really sure where it came from; it was one of those happy, magical moments where the song appeared in my head, essentially fully formed. All I had to do was write it down and work out the guitar chords. I wish that would happen more often.

It doesn't really have a title yet. I've been tossing around the name "Wasteland Lullaby," but I don't like that very much. I'd really, really like to call it "Apocalypse Lullaby," but I've come across no fewer than two songs in recent months with the same or similar name ("Apocalypse Lullaby" by the Wailin' Jennys and "Apocalyptic Lullaby" by Alina Simone--both are gorgeous songs, check them out!). Given this reality, I'm thinking I should come up with something original and different. But what? (Suggestions?)

Interestingly, my song and the song by Alina Simone bear many similarities, even though I'd never even heard of her when I wrote it. Collective unconscious, much?

Simone: Hush, now, baby, baby, don't you cry / 'Cause battle ships keep falling from the sky.
Cobb: Hush, little baby, don't say a word / The bandits move in angry hordes.

Here's mah vidja.

What this means is that the next song I upload will be on Thursday, June 23, a week from today! That song is already in progress, I just need to write the last few verses and master the chords. (B-minor is not my friend, however much I love the way it sounds.)

I also have a bunch of ideas for topics to write about here, from where I get inspiration, to what kind of music moves me, to my songwriting process, etc., so expect some of those posts coming up during the weeks between songs!

"You just gotta fight your way through": Why I am fighting.

This quote by Ira Glass is what inspired me to start this blog. I found it some weeks ago and realized that it perfectly explains everything I feel about myself and my creativity, why I continue to be dissatisfied and annoyed by my own creative output. (Thanks for the ego-boost, Ira Glass--apparently I have good taste!) Sometimes it seems hopeless and I feel utterly discouraged; I'll never be a good songwriter, I'll never improve on guitar. I still don't know how to play piano so obviously I'm an utter failure. My ukulele and I aren't on speaking terms. I write approximately one good song per year. Bruce Springsteen will never be my friend.

It was this part of the quote in particular that gave me a certain sense of purpose: "...the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you finish one piece."

So that's my goal. I'm done with writing one good song per year because I know I can do better. I am going to write/complete one song per week for the next three months (at least) and record them and post them on this blog. They won't all be good, and some of them may be downright bad, but but the process will help me improve and hopefully each one will be better than the last. Three months means twelve songs which is approximately an album's worth, and that feels like a good goal. If it works, I'll keep going!


The point is that setting a goal of recording one song per week will force me to hone and develop the creative skills that go into song-writing. The main thing that's held me back in the past is the sensation of "not good enough." I'd start writing a song and then stop, because I couldn't make it work, it didn't look good, I couldn't get the chords right. No more of this. I shall churn out songs whether or not they're perfect--I won't let my uncertainty and self-doubt impede me, because that's not going to help me improve AT ALL.

I've actually been putting this off for a while--I meant to start at the beginning of June. But at that point I was bogged down with moving, finding a job, and this morose state where I was extremely unhappy with my current life situation and feeling trapped in a life that will never amount to anything more than retail. But that can only happen if I allow it to, and my hope is that by following through with the goal of this blog, I can help carry myself higher and farther, emotionally or otherwise.

At some point in the next few days, I'll post a song I've written recently, just to start things off. From then on, that will be the day of the week that I'll plan on posting the song I've spent the previous week working on. I'll also probably make at least one or two posts during the week, to update on progress and share random musings on music, writing, inspiration, life, etc.

Good lord, what have I gotten myself into??