Chronicling many of my written works for this website has allowed me the opportunity to reflect on my evolution as a writer/lyricist. There have been defining moments of inspiration. There have also been flatline periods where the creative pulse was dead. This is my journey.
Baby Steps
After a few years of guitar playing, I started combining chord progressions and melodies. Lyric ideas started coming to me before I had music to compliment the words. The sabotaging voice in my head told me I was doing it all wrong.
Constructing a cohesive thought was quite difficult. Lyrical concepts were scattered and disjointed. I was influenced by a broad range of topics including the PTL Club, Dungeons and Dragons and beautiful girls that would never look at me.
First Words
One of the earliest full set of lyrics I remember writing was a song titled “Lady of the Night”. In hindsight, it was terrible:
“Lady of the night want me
Lady of the night, need me
Lady of the night, you’re mine”
Another song had an opening verse as follows:
“Prince of the morning star, we all know who you are
You won’t take us very far; your darkness is hollow”
Okay that one had some potential for more depth. It was certainly better than this little ditty:
“I don’t care what your mama said, freedom starts when you’re in my bed”
One day I will do a whole story on the worst lyrics I have ever written. The lyric I just shared with you is merely a sample of what’s to come.
Eventually I finished writing a few songs. The internal questions started swimming in my head. How do I know if it is terrible? Am I wasting my time? Who could I possibly trust to give me an opinion?
My fellow musicians weren’t an option. I just assumed they were all better players than me. Plus, let’s face it, dudes can be total d!c%$ even if they are your friends. The male species is ruthless with our teasing and “good natured joking around”.
Cooking Class and Choruses
If I could only reach somebody with an open heart and mind. It had to be an artsy person. It had to be someone I could trust with my vulnerability. Who wouldn’t hurt my heart if my words were garbage? I also needed someone that was tuned into all the glorious rock genres. I realized the person I was searching for was my friend, Mishel.
I had already sensed a great energy with Mishel. There was a connection that proved to be deeper than our amazing hair and love of rock n roll. Something special dwelled inside of her. There were times I would see her sort of waving her hands slightly or shuffling her feet a bit in the kitchen area of our Home Economics class.
If this gal was dancing to music that she’s playing in her head, she must be every bit as loopy as me. She had a gentle smile. It wasn’t your typical rocker grrrrrrl snarl. There’s nothing wrong with rocker grrrrl snarls, pouts or whatever else. Let me just clear that up. Rock on metal sisters of all facial expressions. RAWK ON!!
The Chosen One
Once I committed to Mishel being “The Chosen One”, I had a long night prior to the delivery day. I was very nervous and restless. My courage was wavering. Home Economics wasn’t until later in the day. I think it was our fifth period class. There were a million ways to talk myself out of this. By the time I got to class, I never reached the millionth excuse. I anxiously handed over my first completed works.
I was elated when she told me she liked my songs. She wrote me a note that was complimentary and encouraging. What a relief. I was exhilarated. My immediate thoughts were, “Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can write decent lyrics.”
As much as I would like to tell you this launched me into a prolific writing regimen, it didn’t. It did, however, provide ample confidence for me to continue the process.
Dragon Tales and Innuendo
The next round of scribblings were still a convoluted mixture of dragons, faith, clunky innuendos, and “baby oh baby” songs. Looking back, I realize all my pining lyrical themes of “baby won’t you love me” were, in actuality, “baby won’t you like me”. The cold-hearted world of life shattering, debilitating adult heart break wasn’t known to me at the time.
I was too young to understand the nature of writing. More life experience was required. I also failed to understand that it is impossible to choose what type of writer any of us will be. The style finds the writer. The life we live defines what we write about. That’s when our gifts are unlocked.
Fall Backs and New Tracks
After high school graduation, I dedicated myself to sharpening my music chops. New melodies started to form. I found myself digging deeper into the Rolling Stones and, to a lesser extent, Bob Dylan. That’s when I started to pull some things together that would, ultimately, lay the foundation for my writing.
When I started college, it didn’t take long for a chain reaction to occur. I met a dude who asked me to record some guitar tracks. I had the freedom to add my own style to his songs. I placed some Rolling Stones inspired chord inversions on top of his guitar parts. Then I added slide guitar parts on another song.
Now if anyone reading this knows my guitar playing style, they are scratching their heads at the notion of me playing slide guitar. Slide was a technique I was heavily studying at the time. I used a stainless-steel slide so I could fall more in line with the sonics of Joe Perry (Aerosmith).
After I recorded the rhythm tracks, I did some guitar solos and fills. The next thing you know, I am in a band. Well, I thought it was a band. It was presented as a band. It wound up being me, that guy and a revolving cast of people.
Math and Muse
While my new band was evolving, I found the next piece of the puzzle in my Business Math class. It is the only math class I ever enjoyed because it’s the only math class I could understand. I can’t do “theorems” and all that jazz, but if you need compound interest and depreciation ratios, I am your dude.
This beautiful blonde woman sat at the desk next to me. She was soft spoken with a bit of vulnerability in her voice. She was about seven years older than me. We began hanging out almost every day after classes. Soon we would find ourselves deeply in love.
This was far beyond anything I had experienced. My creativity was unleashed by a jolt of electricity that brought life to the gurney strapped monster. Suddenly words began to flow. Fully realized songs were pumping out of me. My muse had arrived.
The songs weren’t “baby I love you” tunes. The situation didn’t allow it. Although we were deeply in love, there were gut-wrenching complications with our relationship. It was doomed from the start. I won’t go into the details, but in the end, all that was left were broken hearts and hospital bills. It remains my only relationship where there were no heroes and or villains. It would take many years for me to meet anyone that could make me feel the way I did with my first true love.
My Mishel
The writing on the wall was quite clear regarding my patchwork band situation. We recorded five of my original tunes. We also re-recorded one of the other dude’s older songs. He wrote one new song the whole time we were working together. If I was writing all this stuff, I felt should be in a situation where I was building something new and not operating under someone else’s band name.
I had whole batch of new songs already written, but I didn’t want to make them part of that decaying band arrangement. I wanted to record these alone. If I could pull it off, then I wouldn’t need to wait to join someone else’s band. I brought in my old drummer from my short-lived high school band “Electric Gypsy”. We recorded five songs. I handled all the guitars, bass, lead and backing vocals. I added two additional songs that didn’t require drums.
I was pleased with the results, but questions lingered. How do I know if it’s any good? Who could possibly listen and let me know? If I could only reach somebody with an open heart and mind. It had to be an artsy person. It had to be someone I could trust with my vulnerability. Someone who wouldn’t hurt my heart if my words were garbage. Someone who “gets me” on a different level. The same questions brought the same answer, Mishel.
Judgement Tape
My wonderful friend had moved to a different state while we were still in high school. We kept in contact through the ancient art of handwritten letters. People that see my handwriting now would assume Mishel is still trying to decipher my letters from 30+ years ago. Rest assured, my handwriting took some time to degenerate to its current horrendous state.
I sent Mishel a cassette tape. Side one included the songs I recorded with the degenerating band situation. Side two featured the new batch of songs with just me and my old drummer. It didn’t take long for her to write me back. My heart pounded as I opened the letter. What did she think?
I read every word of that letter intently. She told me that side two was her favorite. I was elated. I thought, “I can do this. I can really do this!”. That was the push I needed to get myself moving forward, with confidence, and a new vision. This was the catalyst that eventually manifested in formation of the band Southside. My favorite personal contributions to the Universal Song occurred with my fellow rock’n’roll marauders in Southside.
Angry Words
As Southside started moving forward, I continued a very prolific writing period. It was aided by a new relationship. Like my previous relationship, this person was older than me. She came to some band practices and gigs. We went to different places, parties, and concerts. Her mom and I got along smashingly.
The wheels started to fall off the whole thing as it got more serious. This was full contact heartbreak. I was dumped. She even went to another state to bang an old boyfriend. Once our relationship ended, she immediately hopped in bed with a friend of mine who was younger than me, which meant he was way younger than her. Oh snap, it took me this many years to see a pattern. On top of that we all worked in the same place. There was no walking away from it. It was in my face all the time.
This resulted in the bulk of my angrier lyrics (All Ready Dead) That anger would carry over into my post-Southside writings. I will be posting some of those lyrics in the near future, the song titles include; “What the Hell is Wrong with You”, “Jezebel Me” and “Suicidal Love” . I think you can get the gist of that situation. Recklessness was my way of coping with heartbreak. She was the harshest harlot in the world.
No Bands
The next chapter of my life didn’t generate many songs. Worse yet, I wasn’t motivated to be in a band because I was exhausted from the Southside experience. There was no motivation to put stuff to music. No band, no performances, no songs.
Some amazing memories were made in the relationships that followed. Sure I had my share of heartbreaks during this time too. The great times often have a tragic ending. I also broke a couple of fragile hearts
What If
If I had cranked out a few lyrics or poems, perhaps, I could have bled out some of that poison of guilt and rejection that was eating me up. Internalizing everything almost killed me. I opted to just drink more alcohol. It wasn’t the best choice. It would take many years, and a little more heartbreak, before I realized that I didn’t need a band in order to write.
Get Back
In the ensuing years, I would find myself less inclined to write, especially once I found a very long run of fulfillment and happiness. Marriage and family introduced a new level of understanding and inner peace. There were many years of growth, learning, sharing, conquering fears and overcoming doubts.
My wife did a phenomenal job of cleaning up the scar tissue from my non writing period. My lady was determined to place me on the road to regaining my songwriting confidence. One morning she woke me earlier than usual. She was all smiles.
We travelled to a music store. Her orders were clear. “Get whatever you need to start writing music again.” How could I refuse her demands? We picked up a Fostex 8-track recorder, a sound module for drums and keyboards, and a Shure SM58 microphone. The uphill climb was underway,
Unfortunately, I write my best lyrics when everything sucks. Although the words weren’t coming out, I created more music. I was playing more guitar than I had in many years. My wife’s support and encouragement got me back on track. She nurtured my creativity.
As our family expanded, writing wasn’t a priority. It’s hard to write rock songs about PTA meetings, Hot Wheels, Legos and how much makeup I let my daughters put on my face. Then again, I am a product of the 80s rock music scene, so what’s a little makeup?
The combination of fatherhood and a strong marriage, thankfully, squashed any writing flair ups. I had my own little Camelot. It was a magical time. Problems and tribulations arose, but things didn’t linger long enough to click my writing buttons.
Play Guitar
After playing the same riffs for ten years I decided to push my guitar skills to a higher level of proficiency. My riffs were heavier. I picked up my notebook and began to write lyrics that would suit the more aggressive attack. On paper, it was pretty good. To my inner voice, it seemed like diet heavy metal. It lacked an authentic edge. My life was satisfying and fulfilling. It was hardly suited for genuine fist pumping metal maelstrom.
Real Words Return
About six years ago, I started working on writing poetry instead of relying on song compositions. This allowed me to express positive thoughts.
Opening the door to poetic expression was a game changer for me. My poem, “The Rose” incorporated my love of Gothic romance. This piece guided me in the direction that would, ultimately, define much of my current era.
No Song to Sing
One of the things that troubled me was my inability to write songs about my wife. We were best friends and confidants. Unconditional love united us. I wrote so many songs that were inspired by heartache and terrible people, but I couldn’t put together anything for my wife. I had written tunes about other relationships, but I couldn’t serenade my wife with her own songs. What kind of jerk am I?
Then one night, as solitude surrounded me, a complete song dropped down from the heavens. The bulk of it was done in less than thirty minutes. It took about another twenty minutes to tweak the phrasing and synchronicity of my voice and my instrument. This song was all hers. Our hears were intertwined in the art of songcraft.
Comfortably seated on the hardwood floor in our living room, with my acoustic guitar in hand, I summoned my wife to my makeshift coffeehouse. My voice began to quake as I attempted to sing directly to her. Overcome with emotion, I stopped and joyfully cried. Her eyes filled with compassion. She sighed. With a calming smile, she reached out, and touched the back of my left shoulder. With softness in her voice, she coaxed the rest of the song out of me. The trembling stopped.
Once my performance concluded, tears puddled in her beautiful brown eyes. She had a bright glow all about her. We embraced. I finally conveyed my love for her through song. This was a breakthrough moment.
There were a couple of other happy songs. One was an ode to us travelling as our own little family pack. My kids wrote another song with me about the Minecraft video game. That was so much fun. I will post the lyrics to that one in a future post.
Changes : Welcome to Now
Now I am in an era where change is all around me. My creativity has come barreling in full force. This creates a paradox. I am delighted that I can put my thoughts into a poem or song lyrics, but I do not care for the head space that comes with the creativity. I desperately wish I had nothing to write about.
Some may wonder why I feel the need to share my words with others. Wouldn’t simply writing them down get them out of my system? Am I craving attention? There are many different personalities among those who toil in the world of words. Some people are content with simply getting get the words out of their bodies. They extract their thoughts and privately and lock them away.
I’m not content with my words being buried and forgotten. I don’t want to shout alone. My private shout would help me for a fleeting moment, but how does that unify me with others? I want to share a connection.
My Wordsmiths
So many artists, poets and writers have eloquently reached into my heart and spoken to me when I had no words to say. Where would I be without Jim Croce, Stevie Nicks, Anna Nalick, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Bob Dylan, Concrete Blonde, Mother Love Bone, Edgar Allan Poe and countless others who have pulled me through a restless night when I stared into my own world and wondered, “Why does it hurt so much?”.
Connectivity
I do not have the talents of the artists I just mentioned. Nevertheless, if one person finds a kinship in my poetry, that’s good enough for me. If one person reads a song lyric and it speaks to them, I am thankful. Maybe my words will provide focus and clarity to someone. Maybe it will help them examine their own reality. Maybe they will realize they are not alone. Perhaps they will find their own voice.
Cranialcircus.com has opened another door for my creativity. It’s not all poems and songs. My random scattered thoughts are now commonplace along with music, anecdotes and anything else that pops into my brain space. I am happy to provide a chuckle, share a tear, or introduce you to some of my favorite musicians. It’s all about a shared experience with me and the people who glean something from my writing.
Soul Tribe Sister
To my dear friend, and Soul Tribe Sister, Mishel, thank you for being the catalyst that pushed me to express myself though words and music, my only tools. My sister and I share a deep bond with the great Andrew Wood, of Mother Love Bone. In the spirit of the Universal Song, I will leave you with his eloquent words.
“Words and music, My only tools
Communication
Lets fall in love with music
The driving force in our living
The only international language
Divine glory, the expression
The knees bow the tongue
Confesses”
Man of Golden Words, Mother Love Bone
Written by: ANDREW WOOD, BRUCE IAN FAIRWEATHER, GREG A. GILMORE, JEFFREY ALLEN AMENT, STONE C. GOSSARD
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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