09
Sep
My wife has a strange fascination with birds. This is not a dabbling or a seasonal interest. It is a perpetual love, a sustained passion, an unfailing attraction to the avian world.
As her 25th birthday was fast approaching, I decided to write some new songs, and I’d cobble them, I schemed, into a prospective EP of sorts, a little project I called Songbird. This was supposed to become an EP of Courtney-exclusive songs, as Courtney had be asking for me to write more songs for her to sing. Admittedly, she wasn’t the only one asking for more Courtney songs.
During many post-gig discussions with audience members, very nice middle-aged ladies tell me I need to write more songs for Courtney to sing. These conversations always made me a little defensive, and I would jokingly suggest that if Courtney wanted to sing more original songs, she should try writing some original songs. Of course, this was never a wise counter. I always ended up looking lazy or jerkish - usually both.
I remember writing Bluebird in the car. No, I wasn’t playing a guitar with my hands while driving with my knees. I was just singing. That’s how I’ve been writing songs lately, singing on the way to work or while driving around town. For some reason it’s the repetitious, semi-brainless activities that get my creative juices flowing. The routine and monotonous elicit from me the exceptional and compelling. This explains why I (and many writers) often write better and more often when I hold a steady job and create a distinct routine than when I take a week and attempt to freeform my schedule and write a bunch of tunes.
I started with these lines, which I sang over and over:
Bluebird, what is it lately that you’ve heard?
I heard it’s gonna get worse before it improves.
Starling, what’s the last you’ve seen of my darling?
Heard she’s chasing some barfling, pretty soon she’ll have to choose.
That was all I had. I sang it over and over, trying out different birds, seeing what sounded effortless and what was clearly forced. The song’s not perfect, but it’s grown into a pleasant tune - one of Courtney’s favorites to sing.
I’m tempted to tell you, as I often tell other songwriters after playing them one of my songs, “I’m still working on it.” But that’s not true. I usually say that if I feel insecure about a song, a copout to avoid any critiques they might offer. This is the struggle of many writers: confidence in the work vs. cowardly insecurity. Part of you feels proud of what you’ve written, and the other part tells you everyone has written this song before, and they did it better. Ultimately, you’ve got to face those demons and be proud of your work. Don’t cop out by telling everyone you’re still working on it. Let a finished song be a finished song.
So, for me, Bluebird is finished. Perhaps it could use some more work, but I think I’m done. More than just being done, I’m proud. Even if no one else likes the song, I like the song. Even better, my wife likes the song; she’s a much harsher critic of my work than I am. So I’m proud of it.
Unless you don’t like it, in which case, I’m still working on it.