Think on thy soul, for once

The header, “Think on thy soul, for once”, refers to the line by “Othello” to “Desdemona” in William Shakespeare’s play, Othello, Act 5, Scene 2: “Think on thy sins.” As readers of this blog may remember, about two years ago I said that I will be slowing down the postings and updates, since I have very little time for writing decent reviews, due to my music production work.

I have always thought about writing a review, or an opinion piece, as making a thing, same as making a poem or making a painting. It’s a process. I wanted to do it well, for reasons that I’ve explained in this blog. Almost every day, I look at the new videos posted by vloggers on YouTube, or listen to their podcasts, or stream their new song, and wonder, Why do they do it? Why do they publish the things they make? Is it purely for the relatively small incomes from advertising? Or for promotion? Or to be heard and seen and therefore, to exist, to be real?

Don’t you ever wonder about that? If you are an artist, or a creative person, don’t you ever confront yourself with the question; Why am I doing this?

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And then this happened

This past month has been busy and stressful. I have been producing a steady flow of albums, using session singers for the vocals, for the past four years. Technically and aesthetically, these singers have all been superb. There’s been one recurring problem, which, this month, got the better of me: I have not been able to connect with any of these singers, directly. I have not been able to discuss with them or talk with them about how and why they fit into these things that I have made – these complicated things.

A conundrum of numbers

To illustrate what could lead to this problem: Let’s say that I wrote a song for the purpose of releasing it as a single, for worldwide distribution, streams and sales. Such a song, by industry standards, must be extremely short (average of about 2 minutes, 45 seconds, no longer than 3 minutes, everything included), consist of set parts (intro, verse, pre-chorus, chorus, verse, outro, etc.), and usually have a specific speed of beats per minute (around 130 bpm).

Within those constraints, there has to be meaning, emotion, expression, articulation, pauses, light-and-shade, build-ups and breakdowns in the composition and the lyrics. All in under 3 minutes. This is about 360 beats (or syllables). Divided into bars, in 4/4 time, that’s 90 bars of 4 words each, if you put a lyric on every single bar. This is the most condensed writing I have ever heard of. It seems totally impossible to do, and then even more impossible to sing.

So, if my aim is a commercial song release, then that is what I have to produce. Obviously it’s complicated. Professional songwriters and singers know how to do it. That’s their skill and talent. But if the vocalists are singing a contracted job for me, the composer, I could be giving them the wrong instructions, or the wrong composition, lyrics or arrangement, because I don’t have that skill.

Communication is key

As a result, I really, really needed to talk with these people while producing the songs. Anonymity, though, is the foundation of singers who work for hire, and who do gigs.

I came to the conclusion that I’ll never make better music, unless I could work with an artist, rather than them working for me.

Think of a writer working as a ghost writer: if the ghost writer just handles the so-called source (the person who needs the ghostwriting) at arms’ length, then the book will never be as authentic as when the ghost writer and the other party collaborate closely.

Dog catches bus. Dog in trouble.

Bearing this in mind, after sitting for weeks wondering if I dare to do it, I proposed a collaboration agreement with a famous lyricist and singer. I am bound by that contract not to mention his name. I am not exaggerating his celebrity. He is the most marvellous vocal talent I have ever heard, and an awesome lyricist. And, it turns out, he is formidably knowledgable and fiendishly clever. I really did not think he would sign the agreement, not in a million years, no matter how much it was worth, since I am nobody, and he is, well, him. I had actually given up on the idea. Then he texted. I guess he was amused by the prospect of this daft old woman trying to write songs, and him getting involved, and he signed it. (O.M.G., I am in such a lot of trouble.)

And then THAT question came up

I was the proverbial dog chasing a bus and the bus had stopped, and I’d caught it, and now what? Bitten off more than I can chew? With horrible prescience, the first thing he asked me was: Why are you doing this? Because that would determine what I do, and what he does on songwriting projects.

It was a cold shower moment. I could say, I’m doing this because a cat can look at a king. That’s not it. Or, I want commercial success. No, not it either. Or, I want to learn. Nope. That would be a damn expensive way to learn, and not his job. Or, I want to leech off your fame. No, not that either, ethically or legally. Or, I just want to get the songs out. Maybe, but no…

It took me a week, but I finally came to the conclusion that what I really, really want to do is make one truly beautiful song before I drop dead, go deaf or go broke – whichever comes first.

I may never get there, but I have to try, and to try means that I need help, and he is the help I need, two minds being better than one. Supposedly.

Getting to the crux of it

Then a reader of this blog, Fran, who is very astute about literature and music, commented on this post, after I’d published it, about the motivation underlying this search for aesthetic value. She hit the truth spot-on. And until I read her comment, I had not realized it. It is simply this:

I make music, because I must. Because I cannot do anything else. Because I cannot not do it.

This is the crux of it, and from what I was able to read up, artists have for ages given this as their reason for doing what they do. Alfred, Lord Tennyson, wrote in his 1908 poem, In Memoriam, no. 21 of 130 poems in that work, “I sing to him that rests below”:

“I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing…”

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

And even longer ago, the Comtessa Beatriu de Dia (Beatriz, Countess of Die), a twelfth-century trobaraitz (female troubadour) from the far south of France, wrote this in the lyrics of her song, “Chantar m’er de so qu’ien non volria” which is still performed today:

“Chantar m’er de so qu’ien non volria.”

(I must sing about it, whether I want to or not.) – Comtessa de Dia (link to the song, here)

Is this reason, “to make something beautiful”, even a valid reason?

Are there people out there who create things simply for aesthetic purposes? Art for the sake of art? Are they not all starving to death, mad as bananas, broke as hell? Because the world, the superficial, short-concentration-span TikTok world of today, does not want long, deep stuff. The mantra that my new songwriting partner told me, right off the bat, is: “Don’t bore us, get to the chorus.” Now that was a scary idea. That freaked me out when I thought about the implications.

After sleepless nights, and panic, and forebodings, I made a compromise with myself: To learn the discipline of modern song-writing, I will cut my Purple Prose and write songs of less than three minutes. Discipline, discipline, discipline.

I have a big But

But, but, BUT, to make sure my soul doesn’t wither and die, I will write some songs for the sake of making something beautiful, and disregard all industry criteria. It will be money straight down the drain, an irrecoverable sunk cost.

(It will, however, be a joy, and a thrill, and a mental challenge. Being able to do this – whether the songs are long or short – with someone who gets it, makes it worthwhile. )

Some people can do it

I’m not saying that beauty cannot be achieved in a super-short song. It’s just impossibly difficult to do for me. I’ve been trying, Lord knows. I spend hours and hours trimming and cutting and rearranging, with little success and much confusion.

Alarmingly, my new collaborator can do it. Moreover, he does it regularly as clockwork, and for him it’s normal (!!), to produce these miniature works of art that have meaning, depth, beauty and intelligence all packed into them, and at the same time meet the commercial specifications. He does it for a living. Oh, my sainted mother. I am SO out of my depth.

Then I remembered what other famous songwriters have said about why they make music, and what it means to them:

Nick Cave wrote this

Here’s what Nick Cave wrote long ago, when he turned down the MTV Video Music Award nomination for Best Male Artist:

“I have always been of the opinion that my music is unique and individual and exists beyond the realms inhabited by those who would reduce things to mere measuring. I am in competition with no one.
My relationship with my muse is a delicate one at the best of times, and I feel that it is my duty to protect her from influences that may offend her fragile nature.
My muse is not a horse, and I am in no horse race, and if indeed she was, still, I would not harness her to this tumbrel.”

Nick Cave

I feel that some songs that I write, are more than things that can be measured in seconds and number of bars. I feel they are my creations. Good, bad or indifferent, they are mine. I will not harness them to any tumbrel.

Chilly Gonzales says this

And then, there is what Chilly Gonzales (Jason Beck) wrote in his book, ENYA, A Treatise on Unguilty Pleasures. He had done a lot of things, wrote a lot of music, made a lot of compromises, and gained massive fame, at the start of his career. But he has regrets about the consequences of meeting the demands of record companies, agents, publicists, and the public. He has many existential-level regrets about that, and whole chapters in the book are about that.

“My songs are shepherded into existence, they contain traces of me, their creator. I feel an instinctive connection to my Solo Piano album, I could probably cuddle with it, I’m even convinced my life would have been worse off without it. I moments of extreme self-regard I even think it will outlast me.
“I am responsible for Solo Piano as it moved through the world. Back in the era of saying yes to everything, I came up short. Like dealing with a child, I should have set more boundaries. I should have been more like a good mother Enya, who holds her songs close and doesn’t let go.”

Chilly Gonzales, ENYA, A Treatise on Unguilty Pleasures, p. 54-55

I shall try not to lose sight of the thing that I want to do, while driven by this need to make music, which is to create something beautiful, even though it is a self-indulgent, airy-fairy, inefficient aim. Because I do not want to wake up one morning and find that my soul (which I still have, at my age) has died.

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