I'm way up in Harbor Springs, Michigan at Lamb's Retreat for
Songwriters, a cool weekend 'retreat' where some of us are here to teach and
some are here to learn and all are here to write a song in 72 hours. John Lamb
gives everyone very evocative songwriting assignments and then we're off to the
races, in the time-spaces in between presenting (and attending) the classes and
the meals and the hanging and connecting and reconnecting and walking along the
lake as the sun sets and the sky explodes into pinks and greys. I was here
teaching 3 years ago. I'm happy to be back. But I'm a fairly slow writer. Some
songs fall into my lap quickly. They are rare. Mostly I wrack my soul in
torment over a song until its done, staying up late into the night if a song
catches me and puts me into a vice grip, not allowing sleep nor conversation
nor any coherent way of walking through my life until the damn thing is done
with me and I can emerge, spent, from my cocoon haze of writing. Even the sucky
songs do this. And believe me, if someone is challenging me to write a song in
48 hours, then 75% of the time it is gonna land on the suck side of the fence.
But those songs, the ugly children, deserve to come out too and I do my best to
finish them, warts, crap cliches, stolen melodies and all. This one is emerging
from the stone of my tired tired brain. I'm dragging on few hours of sleep and
so far, I've turned over 3 different styles of how to approach this song. I
started in 1930s Disney. Then went to 1970s Townes. Now I'm hanging out in
Grey's Anatomy-soundtrack land. I think I'll stay here, cause I don't tend to
write in the key of pop.
I should be asleep. But its taken hold, this damned song, hooky
piece of stinky pile of poo that it is so far. Like a soursweet mountain of
rubbage, I'm hoping if I keep digging, I'll find something useful.
Had
to write something other than rhyme for a bit to get me out of the lyric for a
bit. I'm reading to put on the fins and mask again.....
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