A Step by Step Guide to Writing a Tune (sort of) - Part II

I present you with Part II (and the conclusion) of my first vlog entry which offers some insight into my composition process. Here is a  link to Part I in case you missed it! I often video myself to help remember the ideas - both good and bad. Also, since the writing is often spread out over several months, or more, it is a solid reference point to get me back to the essence of the tune in process. I hope you find this amusing and somewhat insightful. I have.

 

Time for a change of pace. I have established a pretty solid and consistent groove up to this point. Here, I am pretty much playing off what has already been established, but, slowing things down and re-arranging some notes. This is what will become the C section and will open up some space for a little improvisation later on.

 

The missing link. I needed a way to get out of the breakdown and establish a connection back to the intro. It is a slow build back to the main groove with some slight melodic variation.

 

Frustration sets in. After spending several hours (days) on a piece, things can tend to get muddled and oddly worse before it all gets better. I hate these moments but thoroughly believe they are a necessary part of the process. It really challenges you to believe in what you are creating.

 

 Sewing together the B-C-D and sections. Now all I need is...

 

...the end.

I will post a performance of the completed tune next month on my YouTube channel. Thanks for viewing, reading, and listening!

A Step by Step Guide to Writing a Tune (sort of) - Part I

I present you with my first vlog entry which offers some insight into my composition process. I often video myself to help remember the ideas - both good and bad. Also, since the writing is often spread out over several months, or more, it is a solid reference point to get me back to the essence of the tune in process. I hope you find this amusing and somewhat insightful. I have.

 

The gathering stage where I record the initial ideas soon after discovery. This is what will be the Intro and the A section of the tune. 

This is one of many searching stages. It is the initial process of developing the tune after landing on the hook. Just brainstorming and trying to figure out where the tune is going to go. This is the infant stage of what will become the B section.

Distractions. The initial process of writing this tune was accomplished sneaking away while Sadie (my daughter) had friends over. At the end of this clip you will hear the tune Footloose cranked. They were playing a game they called, "Let's annoy Daddy". An apt title. Also, I have no idea why there is a shirt draped over my shoulder.

The next morning after the initial gathering. Here you will see more searching and a hefty dose of WTF?

 

Starting to gel now. The tune is starting to come together as I clarify the parts and start to assemble a form. This is the Intro - A section - B section. Also, I had just installed my new webcam. Looks and sounds sooo much better.

I often drink coffee while I write. I often need to drink coffee while I write. Especially when I am stuck. To be continued...

In Praise of the Background Gig

For the concert guitarist, a background gig is a grind. They are a work of necessity, well paid functional playing, essentially, music as a service. Period. Whether it be a restaurant, wine bar, cocktail party, etc. it is no place to concertize, to express your art, or to push your product. You play among endless chatter, feeling ignored, playing but not being heard, filling the cracks between conversation or becoming a conversation piece for the awkward couple. In fact the only attention you usually get from such a gig is to be interrupted mid-tune by someone asking a question, "Hey! Is that a Martin yer playing there?" As I attempt to maintain the music, I may nod (sometimes I stop suddenly just to make a point), then the comments continue, "Yep, sure sounds like a Martin to me! Should have known by the sound!" (Yep, it has nothing to do with me mister. It's all the guitar.) After 3 hours of this, it can tear up anyone's fortitude, especially the fragile guitar man who needs to be listened to, who desperately needs to be understood.

When I finished the final piece of a recent gig (playing background music for a formal dinner), a funny thing happened; the patrons applauded. This wasn't applause as in, "Well thank God THAT'S over with!" No, this was appreciation. Appreciation for the service that I had provided. I think this was the first time I have EVER been applauded for my work at such an event. So what went wrong? These people didn't care what I was doing, they didn't listen, they don't even know my name! You know what was different? I cared and I listened. I guess they did too in a different way.

For years I have had a dismissive attitude toward such events grumbling my way through to the pay check. But more recently I am just happy to be working. My ego has stepped aside (or at least is on a break) and I have learned to embrace the background gig, to get out of myself (no easy task), to look up and survey the scene, and realize there is a lot of value to be found among the chatter.

I embraced this particular gig from the first note forward and I committed myself to my playing. It was not all about ME after all (guitarists are so arrogant), it was about the music and about them, the diners who were there to enjoy the evening with their friends, families, or lovers. They were into the night and I was into providing good vibes. I was adding value to the experience.

I noticed the joy around me and, lo and behold, the joy of playing! I was in the zone and playing for real. I mean, how may times have I checked out at the midpoint? Not on this night. I was fueled by the occasional tapping foot, the smiles sent my way, the food, the wine, and the warmth. When I paused - between tunes - there was a noticeable change in the dynamic of the room. I was in control and I too was having fun.

What are those silly sayings? "Dance like no one is watching!" "Work like you don't need the money!" Maybe I have a new one: "Play like no one is listening!" or rather,  "Play like everyone listening!" or maybe just "Play like one person is listening!" No bother. Just play and mean it. By giving the people an honest effort, you just might get what every sensitive performer needs, maybe, you will get some applause.

Snowbound State of Mind

Snowbound, looking down, drifting all around, white and falling. 
Cold wind blowing, can't see but the two feet in front of me. 
One foot in front of the other, heavy, falling down, incomplete, melting as I move, freezing as I stand. Snowbound, looking up, drifting all around, white and falling.
Deep, deep, snow, one foot in front of the other, one step more. 
My shoulder aches, my head aches, my soul sings to the music flooding my ears. 
The job will be done.

Five days a week, for five years early on, I participated in the ritual of the working man. My paper route; a time of solitude and a time of learning. "How many pages today?" was the foremost question as I approached the daily drop of newspapers. The number of pages determined the workload, determined the weight on my shoulders, and determined the pain. The cassette in my Walkman determined the pleasure. It always got me through.

Delivering newspapers in the dead of a Minnesota Winter was a perfect crash course in preparing me for the hard lessons and sweet rewards of working as an independent artist. Today, as I decompress from the end of a relatively major project - organizing, and performing at, the MN Guitar Society Acoustic Guitarathon - I observe the snow drifts piled up outside my window. I am revisiting the paper route in search of the focus needed to move forward with the next round of projects. Getting unstuck and getting on to the next round of work can be overwhelming. I am feeling snowbound as the projects keep drifting. Just figuring out where to begin is a challenge, but, it is best, to simply begin; beginning with this blog entry.

Walking along all of those early formative years I found strength in solitude. I was getting a taste of the long and lonely work of writing. It is an odd rhythm. A slow, step-by-step pace where progress is often barely perceptible. Yet, you have to keep moving forward to get the job done. Self-discipline and self-reliance is all you have as you face the inevitable obstacles of inclement weather, overstuffed papers, late papers, lost papers, incomplete ideas, and the occasional warm blast of inspiration; from the Dentist office on the corner. Just enough to set up your next move. It was a process of adaption. It was also an exercise in repetition and dealing with the sameness of day-to-day routine, even when I don't feel like it. Finding the necessary optimism is key. And where did I find the optimism? In the music. Under the headphones. The music always got me through.

And of course there is the sweet reward of hard labor paying huge dividends: the euphoria accompanying a solid day's work and feeling productive, the more tangible money (for the papers) and the even more direct music (for all), that hopefully will inspire another young laborer, learning some hard lessons of his own, trudging through the snow, delivering his papers, writing his songs, his soul singing to the music.

Blog entry complete. On to the next project. But first, the headphones...

My Writing Manifesto

Tell it like it is.
Get to the point.
Speak the truth.
Real emotion will carry the piece, the work, the art.
Focus.
You can never be too specific.
Read out loud.
Listen.
Rhythmic flow and variation.
Ask questions.
Reduce the clutter.
Re-write again.
Every word must have a function.
Check your logic.
Make sense.
For now, no one else exists.

'Twas the Winter of '86

How do I write music? I am never sure how to answer that question. However, I do remember the first time I realized that I can write music. 'Twas the Winter of '86, when we started rocking the house...

My first attempt at writing music occurred sometime in the Spring of '81. It happened late one Saturday afternoon, during my post bowling league ritual, where I would retreat to the cool confines of the basement and watch Grizzly Adams on the TV (a ritual that still persists today minus the bowling and Grizzly Adams). During this time, I would often monkey around with my first real acoustic guitar; a $10 model purchased by my father at a flea market. Classic. Without knowing how to play at all, I figured out how to tune the strings to an open chord. I could strum them without placing any fingers on the fretboard and a sweet sound would ring out. Technically, I suppose, this was also my first foray into the world of alternate tunings (fellow guitarists know what I am talking about). Soon, I strung together a few chords - by fretting couple fingers at a time - and spun out some lyrics with a mountainous, all around nature based, theme (it should be noted that John Denver was a big influence on me at the time). I have no idea how many verses I wrote, if there was a proper chorus, or what, but I know that I recorded the tune on our portable cassette player and played it for a neighbor friend. I think she told me that I was bragging, so, that was the end of my songwriting career for the time being. God, what I would give to find those lyrics, that guitar, and that tape.  

Winter in Minnesota is when life begins. The onset of long dark nights, short days, and a two week break from high school. This was December, 1986. And I fell into a new ritual: afternoon band practice, eating Little Debbie Star Crunch snacks, and my paper route. I had joined up with two other local musicians, Marc and Rick, to form a kind of side power trio. Our mission: to write original music. We had come to know each other around the periphery of what was the music scene of Rochester, MN. Marc and I played together for one gig, in a punk band, a year or so prior, and I knew of Rick as a consummate drummer who played with various groups around the area. After some holiday party, followed by a cruise down Broadway, I ended up sitting next to Marc in someone's car. "Hey man, how's it going?" "Good. You still playing?" "Yeah." "Me too. We should get together and jam sometime."  "Cool. You know any good drummers?" "Yeah, I know this guy named Rick." "Oh yeah, I know who he is." The following week, we assembled in Rick's bedroom, and thus began our musical odyssey.

Over the course of two solid weeks, working almost everyday, we crafted more than a half dozen original tunes. Marc had come to the table with almost all of the completed song structures - basic chords, melodies, lyrics - and they were all amazing. Collectively, we polished them and added our own parts and personalities. There was quite a diverse mix of musical styles and influences at work, but we were united as a creative force. We clicked, and for the first time, I understood chemistry. We were a band. Even this early in our development, our roles within were defining themselves, at least in my mind: Marc (lead vocals, guitar) was the raw talent, spontaneous, a funny brooder, the soul, and the bringer of ideas. Rick (drums) was pure energy, literate, a studied musician, and the fire. Me (bass, vocals)? I was also the studied musician and the arranger of ideas. I was the guy who would help mold Marc's songs into a tighter framework, you know, the verse - chorus effect, maybe flesh out the instrumental ideas, etc. Basically adding a level headed smoothness to his more erratic approach. I was the boring guy. Taking credit from no one, and giving credit to all, this was a truly collaborative approach - all souls being equal. We formed a deep, yet volatile bond, and an enduring friendship.

For the most part, as I stated, I was acting as an arranger; adding where needed, reducing where needed, but I had yet to arrive with a song of my own. Save for my Grizzly Adams era, I had never really completed an original piece of music. Contributing as a component of the band setting was an important step in gaining confidence to do so however. Marc had a book of WH Auden poems, and, (not being unable to write lyrics at the time) one particular entry, entitled But I Can't, grabbed me, so, I set out to adapt it to a piece of music. That evening, I strung together all of the coolest sounding chords I knew on the guitar, hummed a barely  intelligible melody over the top, conformed the poem to a lyrical rhythm, and there it was, my first (second) tune. I played it for the guys, shaky with much hesitation, but, they loved it (though, Rick did refer to one of my vocal cadences as sounding like Barry Manilow, not exactly a compliment given the context). At least, that is how I remember it. In fact, the song was actually well liked by many who heard it thereafter. I never liked it though (a continuing theme to this day). Finishing that tune was a key moment in my development. As self-deprecating as I can be, I acquired an odd confidence in my ability. I could write music. 

The culmination of our two week effort was a cassette recording of our masterworks (I do have this one!) and we decided to call ourselves, Canadian North. A very cool name in hindsight. I think it was Rick's idea? We continued on from there - eventually changing our name to Watercolor Sky -  for a couple of years, wrote many more songs, enjoyed some success, but ultimately fizzled out due to the onslaught of real life and the demands that go along with it. You could call it a microcosmic implosion. A typical ending.

When I reminisce, the soundtrack I often conjure up in my mind's ear is the Bryan Adams tune, The Summer of '69. Our version, of course, is The Winter of '86. When I look back now, that Winter did seem to last forever. Were those the best days of my life? No way, but there is no escaping the reverie of such days gone by, and it cannot be replaced or lost. Life has taken many sweet turns since then, but, that encapsulated moment, on the cusp, before the real world began, we were on top of it, and, for two weeks, we ruled.
That year, I learned that I can write music. 'Twas the Winter of '86.

Recommended Reading

Occasionally friends will ask me what I am reading and/or for book recommendations. So, I decided to write a brief summary of the latest titles that I think are exceptional - moving, thought provoking, enlightening, educational, and all that. For what it's worth, this is what I got:

Roadshow: Landscape With Drums: A Concert Tour by Motorcycle - Neil Peart

Written by the master, Rush drummer and lyricist, Neil Peart. I could go on and on about this book. I have lately been calling myself a born again Rush fan as, after a nearly 10 year on again off again hiatus, I have been reintroduced to, and re-inspired by, their music all over again. I mean, these guys were a seminal influence on me as a musician. Now, Neil has become influential on my prose writing as well. This book - his fourth - is pieced together from a series of journal entries while on a concert tour with the band. Neil rides his motorcycle between all of the dates - eschewing the usual band tour bus regimen - exploring the back roads and small towns of the US and Europe. Known as being fiercely protective of his privacy, the book is a surprisingly revealing account of his life on the road. There is no gossip here, just observations, personal ruminations, and descriptive essays. Part travelogue, part memoir, part method book, overall, a very insightful, literate account of his experience as one of history's greatest rock drummers traveling with one of history's greatest rock bands.

Me, the Mob, and the Music: One Helluva Ride with Tommy James & The Shondells - Tommy James & Martin Fitzpatrick 

Lent to me on a whim by a neighbor, I only had a vague impression of who Tommy James is at the time. Oh yeah! The guy who wrote Mony, Mony and Crimson and Clover. However, his story is deeper and much more convoluted than his classic hits will have you believe. Scooped up by the mob ruled record label, Roullette Records, at a very young age, he was soon under their thumb. You can imagine all of the rock-n-roll cliches that would come of such an arrangement. All of the lascivious trimmings are included - drugs, sex, money, violence, etc. (Fun fact: The record label head, and mob boss, Morris Levy, was the model for the Sopranoes character, Herman 'Hesh' Rabkin.) And of course, Tommy was never paid his proper royalties and over time, he lost millions and millions of dollars. The good news is Mr. James is ultimately redeemed. It is a fun read and also an interesting take on the music industry at large during the 1960s - 70s.

Autobiography of Andre Agassi: OPEN - Andre Agassi  

One of my heroes. I have always felt a certain kinship with Andre. My wife makes fun of me for that. After reading his book, that feeling has only increased. So, writing an objective summary is very difficult. Even if you are not a fan of tennis, or Andre, you will enjoy this book. The tennis stuff is interesting, sure, but more so, it is a revealing story that exposes Andre as a far more complex, at times troubled, human being - very much at odds with the image that we all know. I found it oddly comforting that despite all of his success and rewards, he was never fully at peace with himself. He was always searching for the real Andre, the better Andre, even when he was the best in the game. The good news, like Tommy James above, he too finds his redemption.

When I Stop Talking, You'll Know I'm Dead: Useful Stories from a Persuasive Man - Jerry Weintraub

I would love to meet Jerry. Talk about a media tycoon. This guy has been a manager, agent, producer, directory, promoter, movie mogul, and on and on for over 50 years. He has worked with so many giants of the industry: Elvis, John Denver, George Clooney, Frank Sinatra, etc. that he is now a veritable giant himself and just loaded with wisdom acquired from such an amazingly rich life. This is a true by the bootstraps success story and truly inspiring. Written in a perfect conversational style, it is a slick read with tons of parables and insight into the entertainment business at large. I want to read it again as there are so many life lessons to be learned from this old wise man. The final quote in the book is really the perfect summary:  I was never afraid to fail, which meant I was never afraid to try. I was never afraid to look silly, which meant I was never threatened by a new idea. I see the road ahead, too, a stretch that bends into the undergrowth. I do not know what will happen there, but I do know, whatever it is, I will rush to meet it with joy.

Lilac - Helm Matthews 

I know Helm from the music scene of Rochester, MN some 20 years in the past. He his also known as Ted. I picked up his first novel a few months ago and I am duly impressed. It is a well formulated story - emotionally gripping, relatable, grounded in realism with a hint of Twilight Zone overtones. The perfect kind of balance in storytelling that I find to be most compelling. Here is the brief review I sent his way:  I am no literary critic, so, I won't try to say anything profoundly insightful, but, GREAT book. Seriously impressive. It is very well written - a tight, concise, right to the point (to the emotions most importantly), well told story. When I had time to settle in, the pages just kept turning on their own. Consider me a fan and I am spreading the word. I look forward to your next work. Also, makes me want to visit Winona again! Was cool to connect with all of the MN references as well.