This Could Be the Heart Of Something Crucial

Tonight I NEEDED to make music.  We'd had band practice for 2 or 3 weeks in a row, and for anyone who's been in a band that had the potential get in synch and vibe off each other musically, there are few things that are as cathartic and relaxing.  It was an especially hectic week at work, with less than maybe 20 hours of sleep over the last six days.  I slept more last night, but lost my wallet this morning, which sent the day into a downward spiral of frantic searching, up until I found it, and was free to go about my business.  Band practice was up in the air, which was bittersweet after spending all those waking hours without sleep listening to some great music.

The music I love the most is usually so well executed I can't hope to emulate it without sounding like mediocre mimicry.  Instead I rely on my writing from the past.  I spent my early through mid-twenties trying to find consistent employment and negotiating emotional stress and heartache through songwriting.  I learned my craft and instruments as I learned to live with myself and cope with life, with the ambition of being as prolific as Ani Difranco.  In the span of 3 years I wrote nearly 200 songs.  From those I culled 10 albums, and I never stopped writing, but I reserved writing to being without goals.  No more album projects, just songs for the sake of songs, for the of sanity.  I fully embraced music as a therapeutic device and let go of the idea that it was going to be a trade I could ply into any sort of means of income.  Shifting from the pursuit of getting people to listen to me learn to be the musician, the artist, I believed I had the potential and talent to become allowed me to get on the path to get a decent job that had enough going for it that if it's my career for the rest of my professional life, I won't have any regrets.  The stability that came with that put me in a position to return to music with a clear head, and I'd like to think a certain level of maturity that lets me appreciate the inspirations that fueled my best work early on in the songwriting process when I had fewer skills and resources.  This song is one of those inspired moments, that I am finally competent enough to record and not be embarrassed by the ineptitude of the results.  This is by no means the ideal recording, but it's a good enough representation of the song that I feel joy listening to it, my idea having come to life finally.  It's especially fitting that this song about existential loneliness and the lack of recognition of one's potential came to life when the same things that had me down at the time continue near 10 years later.  Now, instead of writing about being without constant companions to help me fulfill my dreams, I work to create the space and means to fulfill them on my own and share the results of my pursuit with those I care about.  All that said, here's a very important song for me, the guitar melody originated in 1999-2000, and the lyrics were rewritten and the melody of the guitar part altered in 2003.


This could be

Who dares walk on water That resides among us
No one has the power To stride upon the sea
Is that feat required Proof one can enlighten
Those of us encumbered By the lives we lead

This could be the start of something beautiful
This could be a part of something useful
This could be the heart of something crucial

But does it even matter to you


Prayers for the answers Cast into forever
Infinitely pleading Humbled and then emptied
Do they fall on deaf ears Is there someone, something
Listening intently That never will stop loving me

This could be the start of something beautiful
This could be a part of something useful
This could be the heart of something crucial
But does it even matter to you


Are we as the flame is When it is extinguished
Snuffed out of existence How’d it come to be lit

This could be the start of something beautiful
This could be a part of something useful
This could be the heart of something crucial
But does it even matter to you

It Will Only End In Tears My Friend

So, I had this melody from a dream that compelled me to work it up in reality.  When that happens and it comes out sounding like a legitimate song and not just a sketch, there is no better feeling as a solitary musician.  There are usually good lyrics and memorable lines in the dreams as well, but I usually forget them.  Words are so much harder than melodies.  I am a lyricist not because of natural talent, but because of constant practice. I'm not great, but I think I'm solid.  My best work is inspired, but it only shows when I ply myself to the task of editing and revisions.  Most of my phrasing and choices can be improved and the songs that stay in my repertoire are ones that held up lyrically and melodically.  When I luck up on the right pairing of words and melody to suit the tone and mood of a song, it's a bonus.  That happened today.  I started with a bit of a chorus and built the song around that.  The thing was, it almost came off as an eulogy, full of resignation.  I could sense a bit of the message I'd been getting from things I'd been watching, a sort of reverse psychology, affirming life by embracing the potential that that's all their is, and nothingness awaits.  That doesn't jibe with me emotionally, because death can come at any time, and for those who cherish life, letting go is not something that comes naturally.  That being the case, having the notion that "you're done" when this life is over crammed down your throat as the only reality, and thus a reason to "live"  (YOLO for example, live for the moment being another) is contrary, and damaging to your peace of mind.  You've got to let people take life as they see and feel it, keep your own existential revelations to yourself.  It's a personal, the most personal, internal dialogue and bit of perspective any of us could hope to have.  Asserting our own egoism over another person's to validate your own frame of reference is disrespectful.

So with this song, the writing of the lyrics became an opportunity for me to blend the purely emotional with some overarching philosophical meandering, which is my wheelhouse.  I decided to make it a critique, but not of the broad existential crises I normally deal in.  I tried to drill down to a specific struggle in life, one that is a material manifestation of the mental and spiritual crises.  So, with that in mind, this is what I came up with.
 

Only End

All their hollow words, empty promises
shattered into shards, it wasn’t in the cards
nothing left to give, after so much waste
toiling in the past, it wasn’t meant to last

It’s ashes to ashes again
try as we may, we just can’t win
if this is all we’ve got, don’t pretend
it will only end in tears my friend


all we do is work, laboring in vain
punishing ourselves, fussing as we strain
to earn and honest wage, we volunteer our all
they bleed us till we're dry, nudge us till we fall

It’s ashes to ashes again
try as we may, we just can’t win
if this is all we’ve got, don’t pretend
it will only end in tears my friend


all it does is hurt, barbs they hurl
feeding at the troth, oysters bathed in slop
wallowing in bile, swallowing our pride
choking on the truth, this living is a lie
 
It’s ashes to ashes again
try as we may, we just can’t win
if this is all we’ve got, don’t pretend
it will only end in tears my friend

Alone twice over.

The word alone seems to inspire good lead off tracks for albums or ones that feel like they could be.  Here are a few from days gone by that I love.

Ben Harper Gives it the Somber Treatment, and with it being a waltz, you know I love it.

Foo Fighters put their own spin on it  and crank it good, for another fave.  since the title isn't simply "Alone", i don't count it, hence "twice over".

King's X gives it the Aggro Treatment as only they can, without sacrificing the groove.  The Video Vixens always threw me off though...

All that said, it's funny that songs about being alone that appeal to me the most are the ones turn the subject on its head and channel the energy of that frustration outwardly.  I'll admit the Harper song is a little sulky, but, eh, that's Ben Harper in a  nutshell anyway.

Beyond that there's a couple more that broach the subject in their own way that are killer tunes only one of which I could find streaming so far Tea For One

In a perferct world I'd find a stream of I Ain't Goin Down This Dirt Road by Howlin' Wolf off of Disc 3 of his Chess Box, which is one perfect bit of brooding blues, but it's not out there, just an acoustic version that lacks the menace and vibe of the Chess Box version that plays like a meditation.  Here's the Amazon Snippet of the MP3, it's worth the $.99 if you ask me.

I Woke Up In A Strange Place

A song I love, just love, by an artist I was already inspired by, that displayed a depth to his melodic ear that I didn't anticipate, but rang so true to me.  Needless to say, this kind of Rock is my wheelhouse.  Beyond that, the narrative of this story speaks for itself.  Tread carefully out there tonight, and all nights, my party going, substance abusing friends. In the words of the Late Chuck Rinehart, "Don't get too wild."

Me, I'm content listening to this song, as sober as ever.

Welcome to the Cruel World

I never took to gospel when I was young, mainly because I had a heart for slow mournful hymns, those pained slow waltzes people might associate with Southern Funerals, that are closer to Irish ballads than they are to Southern Soul music.  It's just something in my make-up that shaped my ear, my taste, in the core of me.  It just so happens that Ben Harper would be the one to nail down the ideal sad song for me as well as I could ever hope, for these modern times.  This song, on the album bearing its name, is, to my heart and soul, a masterpiece.  The album was a mixed bag for me as far as the feel of all the songs when taken collectively.  I was coming straight from a diet of strictly hip hop, and a good share of grungy alternative stuff back in 97'-98'. The country and folky leanings of some of these songs was just beyond me, but not Welcome to the Cruel World.  That hit me like Amazing Grace at the time.

It was in that school year that I would discover "singer songwriters" and immerse myself in the kinds of music that would redirect my entire existence from that point forward.  Ben Harper was an artist who bridged the divide between the best of the past and the best of the then present, in said genre.  He connected with the contemporary agony of existence that had settled into my generation, who were spending their late teens and early twenties watching our cultural trailblazers die or be killed every few months, while our friends self-destructed or wasted away trying to either find, or lose themselves in response to the alienation that seemed to come part and parcel with our existence.

Now we're in our late 30s, and our surviving heroes from that time are in their mid to late 40s in most cases.  Things have changed, and contrary to what they tell you, the world hasn't become a better place, just a different one.  There are less of some things, and far too many of others.  The things that captured my imagination or corrupted my character 15 years ago seemed like rarities, strange synchronicity at work, and now they are as common as a payphone used to be.  The darkness that loomed overhead has descended and lingers like a perpetual fog now, muting our senses.  Altruism and idealism are a hazy muddy muck.  We've been played for fools and worked and handled to the point where there isn't any legitimate fortuitous left in us that isn't supported by some manufactured mold meant to fashion us into a product for consumption.

The world is an organism, a machine, that mangles what it can not use.  It's proven over aeons that those it can not use it will end.  The memory that remains will be massaged to fit the purposes over the production line.  People are ok with that.  All the alternatives have been co-opted.  We quibble over the petty, shudder in the face of the substantial, and are silent when the inevitable stares us down coldly, silently, emptily.  We have embraced escalation and destruction and will be our own undoing, violence need not be a part of it.  Our fatalism has rooted itself so deep that we have all become nihilists in action, but in denial of it in our thoughts.  We live in a world that has built itself on a schism.  Life is a gift, but we destroy it in the world we have made, perpetuate, and take part in.  And yet we are told to celebrate the share of it we get.  In reality, you show how valuable a thing is by cherishing it consistently in its every incarnation. Instead we are taught to selectively covet the things we relate to above all else.  It's an implicit part of enculturalization.

When I drive down a paved road, embracing the convenience of it, I think about how nature tries to reclaim itself, and how we literally mow it down.  I think of these mazes of roads we've laid out, how they scar the world, the same way I have scars, unfortunate reminders and harm I've been done from whatever might have torn my flesh asunder.  Should something ever remove humanity as we know it from this world, the plants won't stop growing, they seemingly grow in spite of us now.  The animals will continue to mate, live their lives, again, possibly flourishing in our absence, as there will be so much more habitat to occupy, less resources hoarded.  People get worked up over the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but don't often recognize that it's a microcosm of the greater struggle for existence taking place on this planet, where we see creatures facing extinction due to human material expansion, with no regard for the consequences because we simple do not relate to that form of life or put as high a value on it as we do our own.  It's no great leap to understand why we have no problem killing each other over valuables and perceived needs and wants.

This sinful covetousness is a part of the machinery, part of the overarching contemporary human identity.  To be born into a world of ravenous consumption, devouring itself, there is something very dark and sad about that.  It's a blessing to be alive, but a curse to be born into this life somewhere it will be a struggle from the moment you take your first breath until you take your last to remain so. This truly is a cruel world in that regard.  It's precisely the world humanity has shaped it to be.  That is tragedy of it.  It is because of this that I can say with conviction, that it will take a miracle to right humanity from its path, something greater than and beyond what we now are, because we are so far gone collectively.  The only hope most of us find for peace in this world, rests on our capacity to transcend aspects of it mentally or spiritually.  To find peace in the midst of embracing all that the world is now, all that humanity embodies, denies fundamental morality, and I can not deny what I am. I am emotional, and I perceive good and evil, innocence and corruption.  I cling to the hope of being Humane, and not simply Human.

Free Will

Do something or nothing.  Either way Free Will exists whether you choose to believe it or not.
It's called making choices.  Even if you think you are avoiding making them, that in itself is a choice. Free Will is inherent in Consciousness.  Simple as that.  It is one of the essential and most powerful intellectual aspects of our humanity.  It's also why we can be our own worst enemies.  The denial of Free Will's existence is a perfect example of that very problem.

Giving Up

Since the 90s I've seen a lot of people put on the hats, the leather coats, take a seat at the piano, but they haven't captured the pained and mournful emotion that Donny Hathaway conjured up.  It's not their faults for wanting to be inspired amidst mediocre times.  The dark shadow that hovers over Donny Hathaway's legacy might be why he wasn't someone who's name I heard a lot of as a child.  There's a stereotype of the emotionally unstable artist, that's self-destructive.  Most people acknowledge it when they have to, but dealing with it as an active reality when someone they are fond of is unraveling seems to be a taboo.  Looking back on it in retrospect never helps. Maybe that's what happened with Donny Hathaway?  Is it not unlike the way I feel about so many of the artists from my youth in the 90s who died young as a result of reckless or self-destructive behavior?  Nevertheless my generation found our way back to Donny Hathaway through samples, and staples the same way they rediscovered Roberta Flack through the Fugees.  Maybe the latter beget the prior in this case?

The song itself, starts off like a eulogy, but takes this epic turn, that turns that ominous vibe around and though still pained, gives it a vitality fitting of the subject matter, a love that just won't seem to die, an attachment that can't be let go.  Romantically I've been there, but I am so far from that place now, that I don't relate to the song on that level.  Instead I find myself taking the song to an existential place, as strange as that may seem.

In growing closer to the lover who is no longer with me, I grew further apart from the other people in my life, the other passions and dreams I had that were in conflict with pursuing my relationship with her.  When I came through the darkness of the break-up so much time and experience had come and gone that all the things I let go of to embrace the relationship didn't matter as much as I thought they might now that I was free to focus on them.  My attachment to them was irrevocably altered.  Moving on from the past was a wholesale purchase.  Giving up on  my life configured around a future with my ex really meant giving up on my life because I let my relationship become the crux of my existence, my frame of reference.

The result of being open to moving forward meant reconfiguring my life so that it wasn't constantly full of reminders of a past I had so many regrets about, was an embracing of my current moment.  What became the constant in the absence of the push & pull was my occupation, and the social relationships I'd neglected or under-appreciated there.  There was ample means to find a purpose in living, the beauty of life there that I didn't feel the need to actively adopt a surrogate relationship to replace what I'd lost.  It didn't hurt that what I'd lost turned out to be of much less worth than what I'd ascribed it and committed to over the years.

People have a way of broadcasting how little value they place on their own actions when their own desires for gratification are unmet. One of the ways the do this is by giving up on people, things.  Sometimes all you can do to move on is meet them half way and accept it and give up as well.  This can sometimes complicate matters if the person is feigning those feelings as a means towards having a need to be pursued met.  Part of my maturation has been recognizing I gave up on those kind of mind games a long time ago.  If your way of getting me to take an interest in you is by acting disinterested in me, I can not abide.  I am doing my best to express exactly how I feel, no more coy ambiguities.  If someone doesn't react, I may wonder if they're just trying to draw me out, see what I'm going to do next, or they're just not interested.  I go with the latter more often than not, because I just don't have the patience or wherewithal to get all mixed up in the crazy making that is modern courtship.  It really has gone down the tubes.

I've become lukewarm as a result, and that does upset me.  Muting my reactions to people was something I actively did, as a matter of saving face, playing the game, but I don't really have to do that  most times.  I just don't really have many things I react to in a positive way, outside of acceptance or acquiescence.  All this coolness of emotion is a little disheartening by nature, but every so often I get a surprise burst of emotion.  Finding someone attractive is an intellectual experience more than an emotional one, like sizing up a leap.  Yeah, she's pretty, yeah, if he and I approached the same woman, I'd be out of luck etc.  Being attracted to someone, that's visceral, it's all feeling, and sometimes it's a one-way feeling, which is a horrible predicament to be in.  When it's mutual and fully realized, it's an otherworldly force drawing you closer to someone and tearing you to pieces all at once.  It should be a rare occurrence honestly.  The thing is, the way things are nowadays, you never really know how people process their emotions, their relationships, their sense of connection to others.  For some people attraction is an expected response to how they carry themselves, just a sign that their "working it" is working, and nothing comes from it.  For others it's just a pretext for casual intimacies and nothing more, like being hungry and actually in the mood for a particular thing.

When our bodies and personalities become a means to and end, in this case some sort of relational or physical gratification of a interpersonal sort, emotionally and/or physically honesty and sincerity can get in the way of results.  To truly be honest and sincere you have to be considerate, which requires reflection and forethought.  The absence of those mental processes before a person acts on an impulse is a sign that they lack commitment to their choices.  For those of us looking for love, that should be a Red Flag if we are in the market for something we want to hold on to.  The way I have lived, I want things that will last a lifetime, that I feel my efforts to take care of and maintain will not be in vain.  I don't want to put my heart and soul into something I'm going to be forced to let go of because it has a will of its own, that will leave me longing.  That's too much like torture, and I wouldn't wish that upon most people when I'm in a good emotional place.

Before my last relationship I remember fielding my Father & Stepfather's questions about having a woman in my life, knowing how my mother and stepmother could give them the blues, and I said, "I can do bad by myself!" and I was doing bad at the time to be truthful.  Now is a different story, a different time, and all I know is when you don't care for so long, when you find yourself wanting to care, it's confusing.  When you recognize what is attractive, but don't feel a strong attraction to anyone, having someone literally making you jump inside, by nearly brushing arms, is a little much.  To say I didn't know I had it in me is one thing, but to experience butterflies in that moment after all this time is supremely profound.  The experience changes the scales by which all the previous estimations of my emotional capacity are measured.  It was like a burst of Technicolor in Pleasantville, which I still haven't seen.  It brings a whole new meaning to shades of gray, none of the 50 popular ones, I have a more refined personal palette.  That moment was so striking because it came to pass in the midst of a pedestrian occurrence that happens everyday.  That's also a good sign that my reaction was an internal miscue, a deep longing creeping out independent of the other person who was the object of my internalized affection.

Where I am now in my life, this place of acceptance, which also becomes a place of complacency, can not afford to be disturbed by delusional fantasies, miscommunication, and fools errands brought on by flight of fancy and fits of passion.  What's requisite is reciprocity.  If I, or whoever the she may be, fail to create an environment where that emerges, it's probably best to leave things be, let those thoughts and feelings go.  It's much healthier to embrace those that embrace you than seek warmth from the cool, peace from the chaos.  Those are compromises that don't reconcile themselves.  I've had enough unrequited love, enough unsolicited drama, so why entertain or foster it at this point in my life?  We all have better things to do with ourselves, and maybe at some point, with others who are eager to join us.  The trick is, sometimes people aren't honest, or just not sure about what they think or feel.  Other times they just don't communicate it in a way you understand.  Of course, people tend to only understand communication they Want to hear, and omit or augment what they don't want to hear so they can allow themselves to continue on thinking and feeling the way they are inclined.  I don't want to, can't allow myself to be that person.  It's a balancing act to know when to care enough to embrace hope in the face of an opportunity, or give up on illusions you've grown attached to.

Faced with that, and all that is fleeting in life with friends, family, culture, and time, giving up on things doesn't seem so bad after all when you've got other things to hold on to that never seem to fail.  Inspirations like those, the ones you can put some faith in, will get you through.