Martin Newell on songwriting

Just thought I'd post this excellent bit by one of my great heros Martin Newell (and if you haven't got The Greatest Living Englishman in your CD collection yet, what the HELL is the matter with you? Seriously, one of the great albums of the last century) discussing one of the things he knows a bit about.

Martin on songwriting...
A good way of starting a song is with a title, especially one that's been misheard. "I had too much to dream last night" (Electric Prunes)How could you not be onto a winner with such a title? "Eight Days A Week" Fantastic.You need a chorus. It's got to be your best idea. But then make it into the verse and try to write something even stronger. Try to make your songs about 3 minutes long. Nearly every piece of music that anyone ever remembers, including classical favourites are usually about three minutes long..the salient bits of Bach and Vivaldi for instance.When you have a tried and trusted chord sequence, deliberately go and throw an unmatching chord in there, instead of one of the regulation ones and see if anything good happens.When I was 17 a kindly A and R man called Fritz Fryer told me that if a song is any good, it will usually work with just one voice and one instrument.Does your song stand this test?It is much harder to write a fast cheerful song which makes people want to dance, than it is to write a slow and soulful slowie. This is a fact.When the great Kimberley Rew for instance, wrote Walking On Sunshine for Katrina and the Waves, he was holding pure gold in his hands from the minute he found the first chorus.There's something to be said for well-plumbed misery too, however, or Len Cohen would still merely be a great Canadian poet.You have to be a songwriter because you want to write songs...even if they never discover you.Sonmeone, either Vaughan Williams or Vivian Ellis once said, "Only write the tunes that won't go away."Do make sketches of songs...but don't go making demos of everything. If a tune's really good, it refuses to leave your head and will even crop up years later on another instrument.Great songs often possess holes somewhere in our collective consciousness (If I may be so esoteric)which they wait to be placed in even before they are written. Paul McCartney's "Yesterday" is a prime example of this. When he found the tune, he went around hunmming it to people and asking who'd written it. This is because it already existed in the future somewhere. Both he and the public already knew it. It was just waiting for him to execute the formality of writing it. This converges with a Socratic principle of learning which borders on the occult...that is to say, we already know everything, but we need to relearn it.A really great song, like some really great babies just come out in one pop..a painless delivery...some, however require a long labour and caesarian.Conversely, my title song The Greatest Living Englishman took about 12 years.I wrote the verse part in 1980 on the piano and left it lying around the workshop because I couldn't find anything to go with it. The chorus came to me in 1992. After that I simply constructed a bridge to weld them together and hey presto, another great non-hit was born.When you begin to write a song, ask yourself about its general atmosphere. What season are you in, for instance. Is it summer? Is it autumn? This is an established element of Haiku poetry (not my favourite thing but I admire some of its principles) A good haiku nearly always has some allusion to or sense of its season.If I were to write the title "An Autumn Flower." it would be okay. "An Autumn Tower" would be less pretty and more of a challenge and might tax my imagination more, too.Sometimes though, a common catchphrase will do the job.. Queen's "We Are The Champions." Still sung by drunk boneheads at football matches and business convention parties all over the world.I guess the only rules are that there are very few rules. Just don't confuse a hit record with a great song, though.

The Mirror

Last night, in the mirror, I saw the devil.
I tried to stare him down, but my eyes fell,
Avoiding the level gaze of that prince of evil
Where he left off and I began I could not tell.

- William David Perkins

I started this post with a poem by my Dad, which seems to relate to some of my feelings recently. It's been a long time since I've done any writing really, certainly since my last blog. I think a lot of it's because for me writing is a way to see into myself, a mirror if you will, and lately I haven't wanted to look in that mirror too much. Many of my deeper feelings have been so dark that I haven't wanted to fess up to them, even to me. Maybe especially to me. Staring into the glass...man, I don't know...I don't know if I want to see what I've become.

A lot of this is of course colored by my ongoing work helping to take care of my folks, and the continuing frustration and despair as I watch those good souls struggling to keep their lives together against the various slings and arrows shot them by time and entropy. Some of it is related to Cyn and I, and our struggles with life and finance and our difficult lifestyle choices...and some of it is just me fighting my many personal demons. Hey, I'm a bucket of fun, eh? But some days are harder than others, and it seems like I've just had a few months of 'em all together.

All bathos aside, it seems like I'm turning another corner. I've been writing again, and actually spending time in the studio (I literally had to dust off the console!), and playing music for fun a lot more. That last has been really important, and I have to thank my friends who've been playing with me for getting me back into it again. Playing music just to play is something I haven't been doing in a long time.

So am I really ready to look in the mirror again? Hell, I don't know. Will I see Satan there staring back at me? Most probably, along with other faces I'm probably gonna be uncomfortable with. But at least there's signs of life in my reflection...and perhaps another and better world on the other side of the glass.

The Last Hummingbirds Of Summer

You can really tell around here that Fall is nigh...the colors of the trees are starting to peer out from under the green, the air is cool and crisp, and now and then you'll see vast flocks of birds flying overhead, starting their journey south. Our barn swallows are long gone, alas, off to Argentina and presumably Argentinian barns. For a while, I thought all the hummingbirds had split as well...the ones at the nectaries were getting really fat, like flying ping-pong balls, and then they disappeared. Those little guys are really tough, and feisty too...they fight each other for territory, and the nectaries are prime real estate. All Summer you'd see little dogfights as hummingbirds would slam into each other in these tiny turf wars.

These guys are too fierce and independent to migrate in flocks (but just imagine if they did...a cloud of buzzing tiny birds), they go individually on an insane migration, first down to Louisiana, and pretty much non-stop from here in Michigan. That's why they feed so much before leaving...they double their body weight for the trip. Then, they feed up again down south before the final leg of the journey, ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE GULF OF MEXICO!!! That's like 500 miles over open water. Crazy. Then in the Spring they do it all again in reverse.

So I thought my hummingbird watching was over for the season. But just as I was getting ready to pack the feeders up, a new, slimmer bunch of birds started to show up. I've seen this here and down by my folks place too this year...apparently these are the younger, smaller hummers that were getting pushed away from the nectaries earlier. Now they're getting a chance to feed up, hopefully they can get ready before the cold weather hits. They seem to be making up for lost time!

I was out on my upstairs back porch, making a phone call to Cyn, leaning up by the bird feeders, when I heard a buzzing right by my ear...I turned and there was a tiny female ruby-throated hummer, totally ignoring me and taking full advantage of the nectar there, about 2 feet from my head. She and I hung out for quite a while together, and I got a chance to really observe her feeding from a vantage point I'd never had before. Amazing!! Hope that little one makes it safe across the Gulf to sunny Mexico, and back here again next year...

Up From The Deep Water

Once again, swimming in darkness, deep in the downbelow, pressure in my ears, my chest, I can't see to find which way is up. Slowly rising, a little light above, maybe I can make it to the surface before my lungs burst or I just give up and drink in the black water all around. If I do that I'll just sink back and that'll be that, no more struggles, no more pain, no more nothin'. But for some unreasonable reason I keep rising, lighter now, I can start to look around and see bright colored schools of fish swimming beside me, beautiful things. The water becomes transparent, and warmer, and suddenly I break the surface, sputtering, sucking in lungfuls of blessed air, sun on my wet head as I look around. The sea is everywhere, green sea and blue sky. I'm a long way from anywhere, but hey, I can breathe again.

Inspirations (and Intimidations)

I've had a couple of very inspiring (and kind of intimidating) musical moments this past week. The first one was seeing Junior Brown in concert! A good friend and client took Cyn and I to see him at the Ark this weekend. Amazing guitarist! The guy plays everything from Hendrix to Honkytonk to Segovia, all brilliantly...and then switches to his steel guitar and plays that brilliantly. Plus, he has a great singing voice and writes excellent songs. For a while after seeing him I was considering just throwing the guitar out the window and hanging it up. I think that would upset Junior if I did, though, so I won't. But Man! Get you over to YouTube and check him out. Beyond belief.

The other very inspirational event was watching a movie documentary of percussionist Evelyn Glennie called "Touch The Sound". Glennie is a Classical percussionist who does unbelievable improvisatory work, from walls of sound with the Kodo drummers to amazing delicate bits playing with chopsticks on plates, and much more. A very strange and almost mystical thing about her is that she is effectively deaf...her ears register very little sound at all. Somehow she has taught herself to "hear" sound using her whole body, and it seems that the experience is very rich and beautiful to her. The movie is a fabulous experience in itself, a dialog about sound and perception, and a treat to watch. Her duets with guitarist Fred Frith are worth the price of admission, seriously! Easily found at video rental shops and worth the time for anyone who ever enjoys music and sound.

So I have a gig tomorrow with my band The Mobsters...will I bring any of this inspiration to the table there? Well, I still don't have Brown's chops or Glennie's sensitivity, but having experienced a little of that kind of artistry sure won't hurt me. Knowing that there are far frontiers to explore, vast horizons to travel toward...music is an endless quest, a toy that keeps changing shape, an infinite journey into yourself and out into everyone else in the universe. And a lot of fun besides!

The Ever-Shorter Attention Span

Is it because we're all just really busy keeping the hamster wheels moving? Our communications with each other keep getting less and less with all this groovy info-sharing tech we've got going. In the Victorian era people's letters to each other were epic...long, beautifully written, insightful and informative, many of them still worth reading even now by strangers to those long gone friends and lovers. The Brownings correspondence was incredible...later, George Bernard Shaw had many epistolary friendships, long ones (like decades of intense communications) with people, some of whom he never met in the flesh. Ol' H.P. Lovecraft, that shy and crazy guy, seemed to communicate much better by letter...not to mention our old pal Vince Van Gaugh and his bro.

These days we seem to only have time for a brief cellphone call, or perhaps a few words in an email, but most of my emails are pretty darn short! We're a rushed race racing towards a future that's unknown, but we're getting there darned fast. Now we have things like Twitter and MySpace's Status Reports...summing up your life in a sentence and broadcasting it out to the world! Perhaps that will save some time, I dunno. I'm supposedly on Twitter (well, I'm supposedly on a lot of things but really I'm mostly lying on the couch reading comics) and I do fill out my Status Report now and then for a laugh, but I just wonder where all this leads. Will we get to where we just put up One Word every day on some site, and have that represent all our communication to our friends and family? Maybe just One Single Letter. "Yes, I think I'll go with 'Q' today, I'm sure 'X' is already taken"...Man, I just can't say. Maybe I'm overreacting a bit...but if you write me a letter I'll sure write you back.

Mink

Another day of rain in Spring...watching the puddles sprinkle themselves full, the little creeks run with fresh water, and my lawn get high as my knees...things are beautiful and lush this time of year. The wetlands are full of frogs singing their courting songs, and full of herons and cranes eating the frogs, and turtles coming out of hibernation to snarf up whatever it is they snarf. The other day I was driving down the dirt roads to my rehearsal at John's house, and I narrowly missed hitting a MINK! I hadn't seen one before in Michigan, but unmistakably a mink. Cyn says she's seen one too by that same swampland, so I'm guessing that there's a little minky community out there. This one had caught a vole or something and was carrying it across the street...presumably to its lair, perhaps to feed its little minklets. Very cool!

I'm aware these days of being pretty bipolar, and that's reflected in these posts I know. It's like being trapped in a black hole in space...the gravity of the hole is very strong. Sometimes I'll make my way out for a while, then get sucked back in. The good thing is that even in the worst of it I have the perspective that there's a better reality that I'll eventually get to. The bad thing is that even when I'm out of it I know that there's that black hole, exerting its gravity, ready to pull me in again. All I can do is try to keep positive as I can, stay healthy and all, and hope for the best (St. John's Wort helps a good bit too). But little things like mink sightings are very helpful for me, they show me a world outside of my head that is amazing, constant and beautiful.