The Elements of Music Style

Photo courtesy of The Constant Gatherer

I am looking for new material. I am spending hours tolling I-Tunes, You Tube, Music stores, artists’ websites, my own personal sheet music collection, bugging  all my song writer friends  and doing anything and everything it takes to hunt down material that’s just perfect. Finding a great song is an art unto itself, it’s sort of like being a museum curator. You have a number of wonderful possibilities in your collection but you have to pick just the right ones for the given moment. There have to be just enough to tell the story, but not so many that your audience is overwhelmed. They must work well together but each piece must be a gem in its own right able to stand on its own.  I make endless lists of songs when I’m on the prowl. To put together an hour of music which is somewhere between twelve and fifteen songs I will usually start out with a list of fifty to sixty songs. With my tendency to over prepare sometimes it gets close to a hundred.

Starting this process for the umpteenth time has me thinking about what it is that, for me, makes a great song. I think it really comes down to three basic things that have to be there, if a song doesn’t have these three elements then I don’t want to sing it. I can’t list them in order of importance because they are all equally important. Take away one and the other two are meaningless.

Emotional Resonance: A song has to reach me on a visceral level, and have emotional integrity. I look for emotional honesty, because it’s impossible for me to sing a lie. By that I don’t mean that I have to have actually experienced everything that happens in a song to be able to sing it (that’s where acting comes in) but there has to be a core of truth to the story. I really REALLY dislike songs that attempt to manipulate the listener into feeling a certain way. A great tune stays out of its own way and allows the listener to have their own emotional response without pre-programming it. 

Fantastic Lyrics: It doesn’t matter how honest a song is if the lyrics aren’t good then forget it. I’m looking for a complete story not endless repetition of a single thought.That is not to say that all songs have to tell a story in a traditional linear fashion, many don’t, but that the lyrics have to leave no doubt that there’s an entire emotional journey there.

Wonderful Melody: This isn’t just about how the song sounds, but how it feels too. A terrific song physically feels good to sing. The melody should support the story the lyrics are telling and not work against it. Melody can be seductive though.There have been times that I was so enamored of the melody that it took me a while to figure out that the lyrics weren’t up to snuff. In fairness, this has happened in reverse with lyrics catching my attention and the melody being subpar, but not as often.

Tempos, keys, arrangements, all these other things can be worked out if the bones are there. Truly, this is all it takes to make me a very happy girl, see how easy it is?





Monday Music

I woke up this morning with Born to Run playing in my head.  I am not a lifelong Springsteen fan, I’ve always like his music and thought he was a great songwriter, but I never quite understood what inspired such fervent admiration from his fans.  Well, I didn’t until I saw him live. I don’t think I’ve ever seen another performer who could establish a rapport with an audience so quickly and so (seemingly) effortlessly.  Bruce is not out there going through the motions, he’s present and engaging and obviously enjoying himself.  He has that rare ability to make a cavernous arena seem like an intimate space where it’s just him and you and the music. He’s made a believer out of me!

Being a woman of a certain name, Born to Run has a special place in my heart.  One of the first things my mother in law ever said to me was that I could never be president because my name was too girly. Musically, at least, she may actually have a point, if there’s a Wendy in a song most likely she’s going to be sweet, perky and picking up the Lost Boy’s dirty socks.  This is why I’m partial to Born to Run. Springsteen’s Wendy is an adventuress running off with the hot bad boy. She may never be president either, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't care.

I'm posting this version of the song because it has some great footage of Bruce interacting sax player Clarence Clemons who passed away June 18th following a stroke. His music will be sorely missed.

I Could Read a Book

I’m not one for summer reading lists. I really think it’s sort of strange that summer is the declared “Season of Reading”. As a year round reader I see no need to restrict the pleasures of a good book to one part of the year.

There’s always a pile of books by my bed threatening to topple over upon me in the middle of night. The Kindle I got for Christmas this year has eased the clutter and threat of being crushed under an avalanche of literature, but hasn’t done much to calm my book buying frenzy. In fact, I think it’s made it worse. It’s so much easier to buy books with it. If I want a book, I have only to  open up my Kindle, go to the storefront and download it. Instant gratification at its finest.

There are currently a whole bunch of good things waiting to be read on my book pile. While I was out and about the other day I lucked into a wonderful sale and came home with a bagful of bios. I’m looking forward to spending time with several artists whose work I have always admired.

Somebody: The Reckless Life & Remarkable Career of Marlon Brando by Stephan Kanfer

I know Where I’m Going: Katharine Hepburn a Personal Biography by Charlotte Chandler

Ethel Merman: A Life by Brian Kellow

Spellbound by Beauty: Alfred Hitchcock and his Leading Ladies by Donald Spoto

On the virtual pile in the Kindle are yet more biographies, some history, some fraud and  a really old conspiracy theory.

Contested Will: Who Wrote Shakespeare by James Shapiro

America Aflame: How the Civil War Created a Nation by David Goldfield

Sisters of Fortune: America’s Caton Sisters at Home & Abroad by Jehanne Wake

The Man in the Rockefeller Suit: The Astonishing Rise and SpectacularFall of a Serial Imposter by Mark Seal

Of course, there’s also the distraction pile which includes my annual re-readings of Mary Kay Andrews’ novels, Ann B. Ross’ MissJulia Series, and Jennifer Crusie’s Maybe This Time.

These should keep me out of trouble for a few weeks at least…

Sweet Inspiration

Part of the Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty exibit at the Met's Costume Institute

I decided that I have spent way too much time with me, myself and I of late, and that it was time to get out into the world to search for fresh inspiration. I spent Monday tromping around a historic site in NJ (you know how I love a good ruin) the earliest parts of which dated back over three hundred years, which inspired the thought that my own constantly in need of attention eighty-three year old pile of bricks wasn’t so unmanageable.

On Tuesday I went to the Metropolitan Museum to see Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty. Even though McQueen, who died last year at the age of forty-one, left school at  sixteen to apprentice to a Savile Row tailor and went on to become one of the most influential fashion designers in the world this is not an exhibit about clothes. This is an exhibit about how an artist takes disparate influences from nature, politics, art, culture, history, and even Darwin and uses them to create singular masterpieces. Each piece told a story, and the variety of materials used was mind boggling. In McQueen’s hands Razor- clam shells, painted medical slides, burlap and even etched glass become tools to express his vision.

And what a vision! The exhibit is filled with colors and textures that just beg to be touched. Although, I wouldn’t recommend this as there are large guards stationed throughout to prevent a hands on experience.

Beyond being a visionary McQueen was a superb craftsman. He spent his youth studying with master tailors, and costumers. He understood not just how clothes should look, but how they should be constructed and how they should move. Every piece in the Met’s show is impeccable.

There is a quote from McQueen used in the exhibit that I love, You’ve got to know the rules to break them. That’s what I’m here for, to demolish the rules but to keep the tradition.  You don’t know what rules are worth breaking until you know what the rules are. Every good artist spends part of their early creative lives learning what the rules are so that they can make informed decisions later about what parts of tradition are worth holding on to and what parts don’t apply to them. This is where the fun is, every artist chooses to break different rules to come up with their own unique voice.


This was definitely a much needed jolt of inspiration for me this week. It gave me a lot to think about in terms of the importance of vision and craftsmanship, and making your voice heard. I am looking forward to going back to see it as much as I can before it closes on August 7th.

More images from the exhibit:

 

Good Morning Dolly

Photo by Ewing Galloway

Of course, the other sure fire cure for the Bad Day Blues is a good day at the salon. Yesterday as the colorist was troweling the goop onto my head I noticed he was wearing a button with letters BMW with a red slash through it. It was not, as I first thought, a protest against a certain motor company, it was a protest against Bitching, Moaning & Whining. I took it as a sign from the hair gods perhaps that it was time to shake off my grump and get on with it.

I woke up in a Dolly kind of mood this morning. It’s virtually impossible to be in a bad mood and listen to Dolly. Who needs Prozac when you’ve got Dolly, Amy Sedaris and Circus Couture?

Bad Days & Baked Goods

Photo Courtesey of Shorpy Photo Archive

Yesterday was a bad day. A hide under your desk in the fetal position clutching your teddy bear B-A-D , bad day.  So bad that my normally attention hungry felines, Lucy & Ethel, were steering well clear of me by day’s end. Pages stayed blank, songs unsung and no brains were stormed despite hours of stewing and fretting and spinning in my chair.

So, what did I do? Did I forge bravely onward in the hopes that a breakthrough was just around the corner? Nope. I gave up. I gave up because sometimes knowing when to stop is the better part of valor. When the ideas aren’t flowing and I feel depleted walking away is the best thing I can do.

I needed to reset so I headed for my drugs of choice, a delicious Mary Kay Andrews novel and a sizable cupcake. It didn’t cure all my ills or cause a sudden flash of inspiration, but it gave me just enough space to escape. The mental time out gave me the energy and optimism to get back to work the next day.  After all, as Scarlett O’Hara would say, tomorrow is another day.

Sweet Tooth

I'm off to the dentist this morning with this stuck in my head. Not the best thing for your inner DJ to be playing while someone is coming at you with needles and drills, but I suppose it's better than certain scenes from Marathon Man.

I absolutely adore Steve Martin's website. It'll be a great distraction while I'm waiting for the Novocaine to wear off!