During my (awesome) adobe seminar, i finally finished transcribing lyrics into my book… i can’t believe it’s really full. Life, i suppose, really does move on
Creative
Emptiness vs the Slim Grey Book
For those of you who are slightly new to this whole shebang, you should know that Trio has effectively become my get-out-of-blog free card. How it works is, basically, I lay my artistic soul bare for you in a 10-12 minute concert that, despite its sound of carefree ease, involves hours of sweat, profanity, and occasional blood to produce. Flush from my artistic efforts an enamored with my new tuneage, I typically let Trio sit at the top of the page for a week (or more) so that my barely-existant fanbase has no trouble locating and clicking upon the special feature repeatedly to satiate their listening desires.
Right.
In related news, I’m having trouble writing about anything lately, because I don’t know what to write about. I am happy. I am sedate. I am routine. These are the makings of a dull, repetetive folk record, not my next rock opus.
Last week I finished my book of lyrics.
I feel just as odd reading that sentence as I did shutting the book last week. The book, my book, that slim grey volume I bought my first week of college, and furiously jotted into that week after I had my first drink, is finally finished. It’s over. Done. Complete.
What’s funny is that I didn’t even know it was full. I knew I had about a dozen blank pages left, and I had been scribbling songs out elsewhere, on other pads, so as not to put any irrelevant junk-lyrics in my book. When I finally piled all of my scribblings up for transcription I realized I had more than enough to complete the book. Enough, in fact, to make a decent start on a new book.
Not only is it full, but the last song that would fit was “A Little Bit,” the (bouncy, self-depricatingly optimistic) song I wrote the day before I moved out of my college apartment – the perfect bookend to “Crashing,” the (plodding, drearily pessimistic) song I wrote after my first college party.
Paging back through favorite songs and discarded lyrics, I realized that I can’t really claim that all my good work came from conflict or tension. “A Little Bit” came from an almost perfect zen, “So Hard” came from a poetic IM conversation, and “Punk” came from out of nowhere. Lately I have mistaken a reluctance to write something for an inability to write anything, but maybe it’s for the best – I have songs I’ve never really finished, or never really learned – why am I in such a rush to add any more?
Anyhow, I need to decide what my new book (my third) will be, so I can move on with my life and writing.
Trio: Season 4, #4
trio: season 4, #4
Are You, You Had Time (ani), Almost
Are You, You Had Time (ani), Almost
A Trio of Rejects
In and effort to get more Trios done (rather than just started), i’m going to start posting my aborted attempts and outtakes rather than hording them for months, all the while wondering what i could’ve done better. Here’s a trio of them (ironic, no?).
Just This Once (Original Demo)
Across The Universe (Live Take)
No Proof (Unfinished Demo)
Tomorrow i’ll be attempting my new Trio policy of recording and mixing all three songs in one day and posting outtakes if i fail; if Glenn can do a fucking album in one day, i should be able to do a damn Trio. We’ll see how that goes.
Tangible
Over at SongFight they have two particular side skirmishes that have been piquing my interest.
One is the Album a Day movement, where you do your best to write and record a 20-Minute EP in a single 24 hour period. Lots of SongFighters have joined the fray; the results i’ve heard have been mixed, with a lot of silly songs, but a a few keepers. I am sorely tempted to try it.
The second, starting on Friday, is Marathon Songs – where all the participants will write one song per day for sixteen days. The thought of recording and posting a song for sixteen straight days makes my head quiver and long to explode – this is, afterall, my year off from Blogathon. Still, i am intriqued by the thought of forcing out a product consistently for two weeks, especially as lately i am alternately convinced my songwriter gland has atrophied and afraid that i will never be able to record all of the dozen dozen songs i’ve got floating around.
That’s the crux of it, really. I have so many songs floating, and i am torn between forging onward into the unknown and holding back to work what i have into perfection. Hopefully the decision will be made easier by the shiny new guitar winging its way to me from Kansas City as we speak, but in the meantime i am warming up for either or both of the SF challenges, with my final decision on whether i participate or not coming on Friday.
So, yeah, basically what i’m trying to say is: here’s some shitty poetry.
I am thinking where am i
Georgia O'Keefe flowers keeping watch
Over my drip drop on the museum floor
I am soaking wet in Washington
Sixth and Pennsylvania
With four dollars in my pocket
Lost here in the city
I recognize each building
That i have seen on teevee
Could i be as real as these streets?
I was walking in New York City
Skirting the hole
Where buildings used to be
I was circling Central Park
Where teevee stars walk
But i don't know where i am really
And lost then in the city
Rabi seated across from me
Could i be as real as those streets?
As real as the buildings i once looked down from upon
Now gone?
I am wondering who am i
Walking to your house
Wondering if i know where i begin
So many ends i've got figured out, but
The means to acheive is what i'm always missing
Dry now in Washington i know i'm as real as the streets
And that white house where all the dignitaries meet
As real as Georgia O'Keefe's
Lewdest flowers, hung for all the world to see