Songwriting . . . and Singing
I haven't written a song since "This Love," a musical toast I wrote for my older son's wedding in 2005 or 2006--I don't remember which. Before that I hadn't written a song since I co-wrote "She's a Wild One" with the Chesshir brothers early in the 1990s. I began defining myself as a songwriter back in 1970s, so I've now had several years of questioning and redefining my identity.
In 1989, I became a husband and the father of a 13-year-old boy. In January 1991 I started back to school, beginning the journey to where I am now, and in September 1991 I became the father of a baby boy. Not long after that, the band I was in dissolved and I quit making music altogether. I'm sure all of these changes required an intense degree of redefining in order to ward off--or cover up--a monumental identity crisis.
Although the writing of one song in 20 years is a measely achievement, I've continued to write other things--a novel, some short stories, a lot of academic writing, blogs, some poetry to be pitied. Some of this writing has stirred me nearly to the degree that my songwriting did for all those years. But nothing quite compares for me.
About 18 months ago, when I was 51, I decided that the song I'd written over the years didn't deserve to end up on both real and metaphorical shelves, ultimately to be lost. I have my fans, but my sons aren't among them. What I've done is likely to be over and done when it's left to them. So, I decided to start playing live, showcasing the songs and in the process trying to become a better singer and performer.
I'm most fully alive when I'm playing my songs. My written word becomes the sung word, words married to music for an intense elevation that is physical, emotional, mental, spiritual. I know of nothing exactly like it. I've experienced nothing exactly like it. Of course, the perfection of all this exists only in the rarest moments, when I'm not thinking about anything else. This often happens at home, and it seems to be happening more often in public performances, where it is helped along by energy from the audience and the degree to which I can let go my self-consciousness.
As I'm moving toward a career change--moving from mind-numbing administration back toward teaching and writing--I'm beginning to see little sparks in the mind. I remember these.
They kindle songs. Or they can if I nurture them into a flame.
In 1989, I became a husband and the father of a 13-year-old boy. In January 1991 I started back to school, beginning the journey to where I am now, and in September 1991 I became the father of a baby boy. Not long after that, the band I was in dissolved and I quit making music altogether. I'm sure all of these changes required an intense degree of redefining in order to ward off--or cover up--a monumental identity crisis.
Although the writing of one song in 20 years is a measely achievement, I've continued to write other things--a novel, some short stories, a lot of academic writing, blogs, some poetry to be pitied. Some of this writing has stirred me nearly to the degree that my songwriting did for all those years. But nothing quite compares for me.
About 18 months ago, when I was 51, I decided that the song I'd written over the years didn't deserve to end up on both real and metaphorical shelves, ultimately to be lost. I have my fans, but my sons aren't among them. What I've done is likely to be over and done when it's left to them. So, I decided to start playing live, showcasing the songs and in the process trying to become a better singer and performer.
I'm most fully alive when I'm playing my songs. My written word becomes the sung word, words married to music for an intense elevation that is physical, emotional, mental, spiritual. I know of nothing exactly like it. I've experienced nothing exactly like it. Of course, the perfection of all this exists only in the rarest moments, when I'm not thinking about anything else. This often happens at home, and it seems to be happening more often in public performances, where it is helped along by energy from the audience and the degree to which I can let go my self-consciousness.
As I'm moving toward a career change--moving from mind-numbing administration back toward teaching and writing--I'm beginning to see little sparks in the mind. I remember these.
They kindle songs. Or they can if I nurture them into a flame.
posted by mac | 10:54 AM
1 Comments:
Do it! You have a gift that few have and we're all waiting for the next phase of your songwriting. It has been an incredible healing process for me these past couple of months to put my thoughts back into song and I know it will be for you too. Restoration is needed and is promised. It's time to be restored.
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