The first time I saw La Joconde was 1999.  (English speakers generally know her by a different name.)  She was small and dark, but out there in the open, and you could get as close to her as you wanted.  Things have changed... she is still small and dark, but is now protected by some thick glass and special lighting and a railing, and you can't get close anymore.

A couple of years later I wrote a song about her.  By this time, I had learned some rudimentary bass skills, and I wrote a lot of songs.  Most of them were garbage, and were discarded as such.  This one, I liked enough to actually type it and print it... and I wrote the chords on the sheet in pen.  The song didn't have a name at the time.  It disappeared.

Many many years later... in fact, I don't even remember when exactly... at least ten years had passed.... anyway, I was doing some cleaning, and I found this folded up piece of paper.  I unfolded it, and behold!  Lyrics.  Chords noted.  I didn't have a song title, and didn't even remember writing it... but I knew who it was about because I had included an inside joke for myself in the lyrics, calling her "mysteriously jocular", a play on words with her name.  There is only one person I would describe that way.

When I finally got around to making an album, I felt like this song had to be on it.  This is really what drove me to come up with a title.  Why is it called "Every Last Time Is like the First"?  Well, like the lyrics say, I have come around again and again, walking through those marble halls... and she's always there with that sly little smile, surrounded by dozens of people taking pictures with their flashes turned  off.  The last time I saw her was in April.  (This was the first time for my wife.)  I stayed at the back of the crowd, I had no reason to attempt to get close... I'll never be able to get as close as I did the first time I saw her.  But every last time I get some small measure of satisfaction from being back in her home, in her city.

I am nearly 100% certain that I first heard this band in 1997, driving home to Xenia from my call center job in Kettering.  On Sunday nights, one of the local radio stations had a local music program.  I recently wrote about another local band I first heard on this program.  Today, I write about Shrug.  One of the songs in rotation just about every week on the program was "Diary".  I didn't know it at the time, but that's the lead track to Shrug's second album, Everything Blowing Up Roses.

I found out that Shrug was going to play at show at Canal Street Tavern.  I liked what I had heard from them on the radio, so I went to see them play.  This was my first experience with live local music.  I don't remember all that much from the show... I can't tell you who else was on the bill.  I don't remember how much it cost, though if I were to guess, I'd say five dollars.  I don't even remember which songs they played... maybe I heard "Diary" that night, maybe I didn't.  What I do remember was meeting the three members of the band... Tod Weidner, Dan Stahl, Adam Edwards.  They were nice to me.  I wandered into a music venue alone, without knowing anyone, feeling slightly out of place, and was well received.  Between that and enjoying the music, I decided to see Shrug again.  And again.  And again.  Eventually, as is the case in a tight-knit music community when you see the same face a few times, the guys in the band remembered my name.

Fast forward to now.  On 6th July, Shrug will release their sixth studio album, Easy is the New Hard. This is the first time they are releasing music on vinyl, and this one will be a double album in that medium.  If you want to pre-order it, you could do that here.

Like the sticker says, Shrug has been a band since 1994.  There aren't many rock bands in these parts who have been around that long.  They have had their lineup changes, their instrumentation changes (at one point they didn't harm any electric guitars on stage), and of course we are all much older... but they still play like they mean it, and they're still nice to everyone.

Personally speaking, this band has had two major influences on my life in general.  First, I have been introduced to a great deal of music through Shrug shows that I otherwise might not have listened to.  They used to do a fantastic cover of "Dancing Barefoot" (please bring that one back), and that's how I discovered Patti Smith.  They would cover a few Elvis Costello songs, and this moved me to check out a few of his albums.  Their blistering version of "The Seeker" made me pick up The Who's greatest hits album.  Second, I might not have ever gotten around to recording my own music were it not for Shrug.  I clearly remember Tod saying this brief phrase at some point about folks who are timid about sharing their music: "if it sounds good, it is good".  I threw away so many songs over the years, but sometimes I would write something, and think to myself "that sounds pretty good"...  eventually, I gathered the courage to share my art with others.

Of course, since I consider the gentlemen in Shrug to be friends, it's hard for me to be objective about their music.  That said, sometimes they make artistic decisions that I don't necessarily like.  A few that come to mind are the Wilco-ization of "Age Nowhere" (does anyone else remember the original version of that song?), the disappearance of any of their original songs written before 2000 from their live shows, and the fact that I don't own a recording of "Cling", "Media Blackout", "Frozen Gasoline", or "Cosmonaut".  It's ok.  I still love them just the way they are.

Do you like your music to feature intelligent, carefully chosen lyrics?  How about a serious approach to songcraft?  What is your feeling about a sing-along chorus that gets stuck in your head?  If you like these things, go find Shrug's music.  You won't be disappointed. 

Here's a brief progress update on album #2. I have the first mixes back for two of the songs, "Bright Ideas" and "She Speaks in Metaphor". At this point, I'm not sure if either one of them will even make the album, but I love the way these sound. Patrick Himes continues to do great work.

We are almost finished tracking the drums for all of the songs that are in consideration... I expect to get that done this week. As usual, Brian Hoeflich has been professional and brilliant at that task.

Between now and the end of the month, I have 4 studio sessions scheduled. The plan is for a great deal of bass to be played, and some guitar/keyboard parts to be added. Hopefully by the time July begins, I'll have a handful of other songs ready to be mixed.

As far as naming the album is concerned... well, I have some ideas on that. I'm not ready to share them yet, but maybe I'll make a poll and get some feedback?

Does anyone remember 1996?  That was the year I graduated from high school.  Shortly after that, on 17th September to be specific, I wrote what you see in this image:

I always intended for most of the things I wrote to end up as song lyrics... but at the time, I didn't play any instruments.  

Fast forward to spring 2017.  I had just finished my first album, and I was getting it ready to release.  However, when you write songs, you can't stop writing songs.  I started looking through some of my older writing to find something that would make a little pop song... and I found this.

So, I had to change the name.  "Television Love Obsession" became "Little Light".  I had to update some of the references.  "Letters" became "email"... and, well, you can compare the current lyrics to the old ones by watching this video.

I wouldn't visit the studio with this song until 20th January 2019.  On that date, the lovely and talented Jeremy Raucci was kind enough to play the guitar for me, community drummer Brian Hoeflich knocked out all of the drums, and all tracking and mixing got knocked out in an eight hour session at Reel Love Recording Company.  (Shout out to Uncle Patrick.)  The end result is a slightly creepy pop song.  Please click the link above to listen and watch the lyric video if you haven't already.

Johnnyswim is the husband/wife team of Abner Ramirez and Amanda Sudano.  I first discovered their music when they appeared on the Tiny Desk show on NPR.  Shortly after, I bought their album, Diamonds.  At the moment they are on tour in support of Moonlight, their newest album that came out this year.  I love their sound, and loved the energy they showed in the aforementioned Tiny Desk show, so really wanted to catch them on this tour.  Usually when I go see a show, I am familiar with the artist's entire catalog... in this case, I only knew one of their albums and I've heard a couple of singles from the latest one, so there was a great deal for me to discover.  

I was surprised at how long the line was for entry to the show.  Now, I am just about completely disconnected from the current musical zeitgeist ; other than the name of the occasional pop artist or rapper, I have no idea what is popular at the moment.  In my circle of musicians, friends, acquaintances, and family, Johnnyswim is rather unknown, so I was unprepared for the size of the crowd.  This is good, it reminds me that we need to step outside of our bubble every now and then... and also, these are musicians and songwriters who I respect, so it was nice to see that they are well supported.

Before I get into the music, let me discuss the visual aspect of the show.  I don't know much of anything about fashion, but this group of musicians took the stage with a look that seemed to be a mix of old and new.  See, the drummer, bassist/keyboardist/noise-maker, and guitarist who travel with Abner and Amanda were dressed in sharp three piece gray suits... white shirts, gray vest that buttoned up quite high.  (Of course, the drummer dispensed with his jacket and vest and rolled his shirt sleeves up about three songs into the set.)  This reminded me of pictures and video I had seen of Motown artists, where the band dressed in matching suits.  As for Abner and Amanda, they were both striking dressed in white... Amanda in a simple and elegant shin-length dress with spaghetti straps, Abner in bright white pants (that looked like a fantastic target for wing sauce) and white shirt, topped off with a wide-brimmed hat.  It seemed to me that white and gray were the colors they had chosen for their brand on this tour... and of course, I am not following them around the country, so I don't know if they are all dressed this way each night, but it wouldn't surprise me if that were the case.

To the songs.  I really enjoy the songwriting from Abner and Amanda.  Now, I must admit that I am not always a fan of their lyrics - although I think they are getting better at that - but I quite enjoy the music.  It is a mix of influences from multiple genres... folk, soul, rock, blues, latin sounds.  It features a great deal of male/female vocal harmony. You know the old adage that "you write what you know"?  Johnnyswim are a textbook case, as the vast majority of their songs are about their love for each other or their relationship. (There was even a song where Abner serenaded his wife alone onstage, appropriately called "Amanda".)  Abner spent most of the night playing acoustic guitar, while one of the gentleman in the back who tours with them filled in atmosphere or little lead licks with an electric guitar.  There were a couple of occasions where Abner played what looked like a hollow body Gibson with one of those Bigsby whammy bars, getting a reverb heavy surf-rock sound.  He tagged the intro to one song with the beginning to "Besame Mucho", and that one was played with an older-looking acoustic guitar that was not plugged into any amplification... they put a mic right in front of the guitar to pick it up... also, for that bit, the vocal microphone was a vintage-looking one of the style where the microphone is suspended inside a ring.  As I am not a microphone expert, I don't have the name or model number, but I think this is one of those ribbon microphones they used to use on AM radio back in the day... indeed, whether due to the mic or the effect that their mixing folks added, an old AM radio sound is what his voice came out sounding like.  I thought this was very cool, a bit more on this later.

Abner and Amanda have undeniably great chemistry, and this was on display often during the show, as they would share a microphone, forcing them to stand very close to each other.

This is clearly an experienced and savvy touring band.  After the first two songs of the night, Abner whooped "O-H!" into the microphone... there is probably no easier way to ingratiate oneself with an audience in Columbus than to start that particular cheer.  I counted at least three different styles of vocal microphones used during this show, possibly for different desired sounds on the songs.. also, Abner and Amanda were not static on stage, switching locations between stage left and stage right a few times, showing some fantastic stage presence, and not forgetting to acknowledge the folks up on the balcony.  They had been to Ohio before, and Abner remarked on two different occasions how there were "only 26" people there to see them the first time they had come here, and how they certainly didn't take this big crowd for granted.  In what is surely a memorable moment for many of the folks on the floor, after mentioning that they missed the intimacy of their previous visit and they wanted to get closer to the crowd, Abner and Amanda made their way to the center of the venue, accompanied by a couple of members of their crew, bringing the microphone along.  Abner sang from here, at one point accepting a beer he was offered by someone in the crowd and taking some deep gulps, while Amanda gladly accepted mobile phones handed to her by audience members in order to take selfies or quick videos.

The crowd was enthusiastic, gleefully singing along to just about every song.  Sadly, I could not participate in most of this shared experience, because as I mentioned earlier, I am only familiar with one album's worth of their songs.  Johnnyswim were expecting a sing-along on some of their hooks, and even encouraged it at various points... on a couple of occasions, they seemed genuinely surprised that their lyrics were being sung back to them.  (A brief aside: as a musician, I find it hard to even imagine how great it would feel to have a thousand people singing along to one of my songs.  This no doubt makes the hard work of touring quite worth it.)  Although the crowd was enthusiastic and supportive for the most part, there were a couple of moments that left me shaking my head.  During some of the more quiet parts of the show, a great deal of random conversation could be heard.  Most unfortunately, all of that conversation drowned out the "Besame Mucho" tag, at least the guitar part of it...  to their credit, several folks in the crowd made an attempt to hush everyone up, but it was to no avail.  Are you people not paying attention?  Do you not see that this guitar is not amplified, and he's playing it directly into a microphone, and he's playing it quietly?  This annoying moment made me miss the much better (albeit smaller) crowds we have at Yellow Cab in Dayton.

Two song encore,  the first of which was "Take the World" from the Diamonds album, one of a number of pretty songs about their relationship.  ("They don't make fairy tales sweeter than ours" is one of the lyrics.)  On the album, this song has some subtle drums with brushes and some strings... for this performance, it was just Abner and Amanda and a guitar.  After that, the gentlemen who back them up on tour came on down front for the last song.  I didn't know this one, and the setlist hasn't been posted anywhere online yet... but it was clear that everyone was enjoying themselves.

If Johnnyswim visits your area, go see them.  They know how to write a hook.  Their songs are bigger and punchier live, trading some of the studio prettiness for a bigger sound to stand up to the size of the venues they are playing.  (I noticed this most in the rhythm section.)  Abner and Amanda are both beautiful singers and energetic performers.  I recommend familiarizing yourself with the songs on Moonlight if you catch them this year, as they are playing most of the songs from that album on tour.

Hey, here’s another new theme for a series of blog entries.  This is the first Songwriting Story, in which I open the curtain and let you peek into my songwriting process.  Now, I won’t do this for every song, as some artistic ambiguity is sometimes something desirable, but on occasion I’ll share some information about how a song came to be.  Today we start with “North of Sixteen”, which is track 7 on Echo in the Crevices. 

This is a song I wrote a dozen times, several dozen times.  I had words, I would discard the words. I had music, I would discard the music.  I wrote this song over and over again, year after year, and eventually, this particular iteration stuck.  I tried to write a bass line cool enough to obscure the sadness of the lyrics… indeed, this is my favorite bass line on the album.  Do people even pay attention to the lyrics anyway? 

March 1995.  My junior year of high school.  I was 17. Like many high schoolers my age, I had a part-time job… I worked at a grocery store.  The store wasn’t in my hometown, so many of the teenagers who worked there attended different high schools in the area.  At that age, you spend a great deal of time with your coworkers… four or five days a week, a few hours a day… longer on weekends… it’s natural that you develop some camaraderie and bond with them.  As I recall, I got along well with all of the other high schoolers who worked with me… the public school kids, the private school kids… we all spent plenty of time socializing at work. 

Susan went to a high school in a neighboring town.  Cheerleader. Honor Roll. Student Council. Exemplary. Intelligent. Talkative. Friendly. Sixteen. She was part of a group of coworkers who I was especially fond of… we’d take the 15 minute work breaks together when we could… there would be laughing and stories and jokes… sometimes about school, sometimes about life.  I think one of the interesting things for all of us was the chance to interact with a bunch of peers that you wouldn’t see the next day at school. Below is a picture of her that I found online. Mind you, this is not necessarily the way I remember her, at least not this particular dress… but the smile is exactly the way I remember her.  She always had that smile. 

For safety reasons, one of the male employees would walk the female employees to their car if the shift ended at night.  We all did this for all of the young (and not so young) ladies that we worked with, but I seemed to end up walking out with Susan somewhat regularly… in fact, it was often enough that if she arrived at work after I did, she would try to park next to me, or at least tell me that she tried to park next to me.  She would tell me “I parked next to you again, guess you have to walk me out”. 

You came to me on a cool March night like any other 

I don’t remember what day of the week it was.  I remember it was March, and it was before the suicide, and I was at work.  I was, specifically, outside at work. See this particular grocery store had a carport where the customer’s groceries would get sent through a conveyor.  We young guys liked to work in the carport loading groceries into cars, because we got tips that way. This particular day, it was my turn to be outside. It was late enough to be kind of dark outside, this was before daylight saving time started back up.  Susan came to the store with her folks… they were going shopping. She walked over to where I was standing outside to chat. 

Your laugh for me was just a mask to hide the maelstrom 

At the time, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.  Ah, the power and clarity of hindsight. We had a nice conversation.  She smiled the same smile as always, and laughed at my occasional awful joke (usually of the self-deprecating variety).  I asked if she had to take care of anything work-related, and she said she might run into the store for a few moments, but that she had come specifically to see me.  I remember being quite flattered, because teenage boys feel flattered when intelligent, pretty young ladies say nice things to them. We talked about an upcoming Cranberries show that I was planning to attend… the show would be in April.  She expressed interest in joining my group. When I balked at that - not knowing how exactly to set that up - she made an offhand comment about maybe not seeing me ever again. Again, I didn’t attach any significance to this… until… you know. 

Didn’t hear what you meant to say 

She talked about feeling sick… like a cold was coming on.  I told her to keep her chin up and repeated the old adage about chicken soup.  She said that was probably a good idea. Looking back, this conversation was her way of saying goodbye… but it was also a cry for help.  I would like to think that I would notice that something was wrong if we were to have a similar conversation today. I would like to think that I’ve learned a bit more about reading people and empathy.  This is not to say that I wasn’t empathetic then, but I was 17, I was surely not emotionally equipped to do what I have always thought should have been done. Anyway, when she had to run into the store, she gave me a hug… she came out a few minutes later with her parents, and I ended up loading groceries into their car.  As they were pulling away, she turned and waved to me from the back, and I shouted “chicken soup!” in the general direction of the car. She flashed that smile in response. This was the last time I saw Susan alive. 

Bathed in exhaust / closed your eyes and went to sleep 

I found what I think is an archive of a newspaper article online… 1995 was so long ago that there isn’t much on the Internet about these kinds of things from that time period.  It’s not like I need any of the personal details, I remember all of those, and don’t think I could ever forget. It’s haunting. No, I wanted to look up some of the facts… find something official.  The article I found is here. This is an excerpt: 

The vibrant and popular Fenter, an honor roll student herself, placed frozen shrimp on the counter to thaw, fed her cat Dusty and walked into the garage. She then climbed into her car, turned the ignition and read a suicide prevention pamphlet she received at school. Three hours later, Barbara Fenter pulled into the driveway, opened the garage door and smoke billowed out. She found her daughter slumped in the driver's seat, dead of carbon monoxide poisoning - the pamphlet by her side. On her bed, next to a list of "final things to do," Susan left a suicide note. 

Since I didn’t go to the same high school as Susan, I didn’t hear the news during my day.  I found out when I got to work. I was actually up in the upstairs break area, early for my shift, and about to start.  My dad found me (he worked in management there at the time) and asked me “did you hear about Susan?”, but he had THAT look on his face… the one that speaks of no good.  If you read the article I linked to, you’ll notice that there was another suicide of a student in her school earlier in the week, and that story had gotten plenty of local media coverage, so it was on everyone’s mind, and when dad asked me that question with that look on his face, that conversation Susan and I had came flooding back and I KNEW.  I knew. I said “suicide”? Dad nodded and left the room. It’s hard to describe what that felt like… punch in the gut, kick to the ribs… something like that. My first reaction was angry. Anger at her for not asking for help, then quickly anger at myself for not realizing that she asked for help and also said goodbye. I punched a wall. My hand hurt for a few days afterwards. 

Somber day at work.  Grocery store where much of the staff was kids.  Everyone knew. It was on the news. Work was so perfunctory.  The customers noticed. The really regular customers knew she had worked with us.  Several of my coworkers spent most of their shift in tears.  I can’t describe how work itself felt for my coworkers, but for me, work felt completely pointless.  I wanted to scream with rage, I wanted to break things, I wanted to cry… but no, I went ahead and bagged those groceries and mopped those floors and faced those shelves and was polite to the customers.  As I talked to my coworkers, it became clear that Susan had carefully planned this. For instance, she had called someone earlier in the week to cover her weekend shift. She didn’t plan on being alive when the weekend came around.  Several of my coworkers had similar stories about getting visits… and when we compared our stories, the thing they all had in common was that air of finality. 

The article I mentioned previously has a sample from her journal. 

"My life is just one big nightmare. I can't get over how stupid I am," Susan wrote five months before the suicide. "Maybe I'm book smart, but I sure can't handle the things I feel inside....I think I'm going to die of a broken heart....No one can understand how I'm feeling...I can't deal with this anymore, with this pain and hurting I feel." 

That’s not the Susan I knew.  Ok, that is the Susan I knew, I just didn’t pay enough attention.  We were teenagers, we were all broken and messed up in our own ways.  Some of us still are.  I always thought that she had stuff figured out.  It happens that she apparently thought the same of the rest of us. 

I wrote “North of Sixteen” so many times… so many words, so many names.  This song you hear today is the one that made it, a testament to the profound and crushing guilt I have felt for more than 24 years now.  What could I have done? What should I have done? What if? This song comes from a dark and painful place.  Lyrically, it is as honest as anything I’ve ever written. Musically, it’s in a minor key… that’s appropriate. 

Never could you find your way north of sixteen.

I mentioned in a previous blog post that I am working on my second album.  I figured I would provide a brief update to current progress.

There are drums tracked so far for 13 songs.  Now, not all of these are destined for this album... in fact, two of them are for a different project.

I have tracked bass on 6 songs so far, and 3 of those have some guitar work done, but there is always room for more.

So far, I feel like this is progressing in a somewhat more organized manner than my first album.  Part of that is due to me being just a bit more experienced now.  A major contributing factor is also the pre-production session that happened before we started tracking... and I'm trying to be careful with making sure I document everything that happens and note all of the little ideas that come to mind during the sessions.  I can almost see the outlines of an album beginning to take shape.

Of course, I have many many more songs than will fit on one album, but this is a bridge to be crossed later.  For now, please be assured, dear reader, that I am satisfied with the current progress, and that some very nifty sounds have been recorded.  I think you'll enjoy this one, whenever I can get it to you.

How many of you remember the year 2000?  It was a simpler time. (Looking at you, Kent Montgomery.)  You didn’t have to take your shoes off to get past airport security.  As I recall, you didn’t have to pack your liquids in a clear plastic bag either.  Twitter wasn’t a thing. Facebook wasn’t a thing. Fountains Of Wayne were still a thing… they had been a band for five years and had already put out two albums, but were somehow still three years away from getting nominated for a Best New Artist Grammy. (?) 

I went to Paris in December 2000.  I had been before, and wanted to go back to spend time with the friends I had made on my initial trip… and also to do touristy things and drink wine and eat baguettes… as one does.  Paris in December is rainy and chilly (for them) and perhaps a bit dreary at times, but it’s still, you know, PARIS. 

One evening, my friends invited me along to drink at TGI Fridays.  That’s not what I understood at first… upon receiving the invitation, I was perplexed as to why any French person would set foot in an American fast casual joint, let alone wish to eat food that was frozen and shipped and microwaved.  “On ne mange pas là-bas”, I was told - “we don’t eat there”. No, apparently, this place had a happy hour with cheap drinks, and since it’s quite expensive to drink in Paris, some of the young locals liked to stop by for what we might call “pre-gaming” these days.  With that explanation in hand, I was more than willing to go along. 

We get to TGI Fridays.  We head to the bar. At the bar, there is a friend of my friends.  We greet each other, cheeks are kissed. This particular friend (who is still a friend and whose name is still Greg) has two English speakers with him… an Aussie and a Brit.  Their names are Cerys and Ruth, and they are cousins. Ruth has red hair. Now, I hadn’t spoken English in a few days, and while I could manage just fine in French, it was nice to get a little mental break and spend some time with fellow anglophones.  By the time I left the bar, I had new friends. 

I just looked at the neighborhood where this took place thanks to the bird’s eye view of Google Maps.  That TGI Fridays isn’t there anymore… it would appear that good happy hour prices do not make up for American fast casual cuisine… or, I’m probably wrong, because in the same location there appears to now be a Chipotle and a Starbucks.  Grumble. Things change. What has not changed is that Ruth and I are still friends and she still has red hair. What is more, it turns out that she is an extremely talented musician. 

I was thinking that it would be nice to have Ruth sing on my upcoming solo record, so I started sending her my home demos.  Eventually, I sent her a home demo that I had completed without lyrics or melody… couldn’t manage to put anything I liked to it… imagine… a completed song structure-wise… chord progression, bass line, verse, chorus, bridge, all of the parts… but no lyrics and no melody.  Shortly, she sends the demo back with great lyrics and a great melody and all right - now we HAVE to write together. So now we write together, despite living on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean. As of now we have 14 songs in varying stages of life from “demo complete and ready to track” to “idea so nascent that it can’t even be considered half-baked”.  What matters here is that it feels good. It’s nice to write with another person, as that can take a song to a place that otherwise it would not have been. It’s even nicer to write with someone who has been your friend for nearly 20 years. We are making art that I believe in. I can’t wait for you to hear it. 

Our band is called We Met In Paris.  It works because it’s true.

I saw Chelsey Coy from Single Girl/Married Girl mention something about a songwriting challenge.  It seemed interesting, so I went after more information. It seemed even more interesting, so I joined.  Today, I get to tell you about the 5 in 5 Song Challenge. 

This challenge is sponsored by Song Fancy, a website run by Nashville based singer/songwriter Sarah Spencer.  The website itself is designed to reach out to other songwriters, to help them when the obstacle of writer’s block rears its ugly head.  The site says it is specifically for the “contemporary lady songwriter”, but there are no barriers to entry for this challenge. Plenty of male songwriters joined.  Prior to this challenge, I had never stumbled across this website, so I can’t comment on the sense of community there, nor can I comment on the effectiveness of the songwriting tips shared.  I will say however, that I think this is a fantastic idea, and very altruistic of Sarah Spencer to share ideas that have helped her to be a better songwriter with others. 

What exactly is this challenge?  Well, it consists of five days… and it consists of five songs.  Those of us who signed up for the challenge are expected to write one song each day for five days.  That seems daunting, doesn’t it? If you aren’t feeling particularly inspired, it can be hard to write one song in two weeks, let alone a song each day for a business week.  The task is a little less scary than you might think, because each day comes with a song prompt. 

For Monday 11 March, also known as Day 1, we were given a list of ten words.  We had to use five of them in a song. For Tuesday 12 March, which was Day 2, we were given a phrase to use as a jumping-off point for the song.  For Wednesday 13th March, something that we call Day 3, the prompt was phrased as a dare… a dare to complete an unspecified action… but the song had to be written from a specific point of view. On Thursday 14th March, which as you might have figured out by now, was Day 4, we were given another list of ten words... but they were ten different words than Monday's list.  Finally, on Friday 15th March, which you surely realize was Day 5, we were given a specific two-word phrase to use as a song title.

Speaking personally as a songwriter, on the occasions I feel blocked, it is because I don’t have a place to start.  Maybe I’m not particularly moved by anything in the moment… no recent life tragedies, no recent life victories, and a general feeling of "meh". Some days I might have something to say, but can’t exactly find the motivation to write.  I found that this challenge solved both of those issues for me. Each day, here’s a new topic… something specific. Where to go with that topic, well, that’s in the hands of each songwriter. If you give 50 songwriters each a list of ten words and tell them to go write a song using five words from that list… well, you’ll get an incredible variety of styles and feeling.  The same can be said of the other prompts. In addition to the topic, having the expectation up front that YOU MUST COMPLETE THE SONG TODAY really helped me to get the songs finished. Nothing like a deadline to inspire urgency… 

Looking back at the challenge, I can’t say the songs I created were my best work.  (This means that you probably won't be hearing them, even if you ask nicely.  Ok, maybe one of them might see the light of day eventually, but not in its original form.)  Normally for me, I write and re-write and re-write a song before I bother recording a home demo of it.  Only the strong survive long enough to get recorded. When you are tasked with writing and recording a song each day, the ability to self-edit like that goes away.  That being the case, I didn’t come up with anything that I would consider “polished”... but there are some tiny moments in each of the songs I wrote that I think I will excise and use again somewhere else.  I think that having these songs be so raw and unpolished is part of the point of the challenge. The daily deadline forced me to step away from my natural tendency to immediately judge my own art, and to simply create. 

In order to keep us all accountable, this challenge came with a private Facebook group.  This is where we received the song prompts. This is where we shared our songs with the other writers.  This is where we gave feedback. This is where we got feedback. This is a good idea, but it is only as useful as the community involved can make it.  For the first couple of days, I tried to listen to every song that was posted to the community. On the first day, I think I left feedback on three of them.  On the second day, I left feedback on two of them. As the challenge moves on, trying to keep up with the submissions became overwhelming for me… especially since this challenge is happening in the middle of a normal work week in my daily life, and, oh yeah, I have to step back and CREATE something each day as well.  The challenge serves the two-fold purpose of (1) pushing us to write even when we might not be comfortable doing so that day, and (2) also getting us feedback from our peers. In my experience, the challenge was successful on point one, and not successful on point two. Even though it is art and a creative endeavor, a songwriter should treat it like a job and set aside specific time to work on the craft... this challenge forced me to do that.  As for point two...  the song I submitted for Day 2 didn’t get listened to even one time.  All of the others were listened to at least once, but feedback was minimal.  (Again, that's my experience.  Some of the writers in the group got plenty of feedback.  This may be related to genre.)

My final verdict… if you are a songwriter and you struggle with what to say or how to say it or where to start or how to get something finished… go visit the Song Fancy website and sign up for this challenge the next time it is offered.  It is a great mental exercise. It will enable you to stretch out your songwriting skills in a way you might not have considered before. Most importantly, even if you don’t come out of the challenge with anything you feel like keeping or sharing, I truly think this sort of thing makes us better at our craft.

The last time I went to Sri Lanka was 2014.  This was, like all of my visits to that lovely island, a work trip… long days in the office, then more work from the hotel later at night once the United States had woken up and gotten to work and started sending emails.  I worked hard. Too hard, it turns out. I came home… kept working… drinking a couple of liters of coffee a day, fighting the jet lag, trying to keep up with things, and not sleeping enough… then one day, it would appear that my mind and/or body decided that it couldn’t do this anymore. 

I remember having felt strange for a couple of days, but no more than strange.  On one particular day however, “strange” went to a completely different place. Chest pain.  The shakes. Racing heartbeat. I broke out in a sweat. I felt dizzy. I was convinced that I was having a heart attack, and asked my wife to drive me to the hospital.  We hadn’t even gotten a mile down the road when it got worse… shortness of breath… left arm pain… more chest pain… the feeling of impending doom… more shakes. I implored her to pull over, and we called 911.  I made sure to tell her that I love her, you know, because I was surely going to die. The ambulance shows up, I get on the bed with the wheels, I get loaded in, and away we go. The medic gives me nitroglycerin in pill form, immediately starts an IV, and then runs an EKG.  We’re not even to the hospital yet when he tells me that I definitely did NOT have a heart attack. He says that since he’s not a doctor, he can’t give me an “official” diagnosis, but he says that what I have had is a panic attack caused by stress. I ask him how I would be able to tell the difference… he says that I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, and calling 911 was the right thing to do. 

Overnight in the hospital.  Lots of tests.  IV in each arm… and I hate hate hate needles.  Lots of EKG. One of those CAT scans where they put dye in you that makes you feel like you have wet yourself, then wheel you into a machine head first.  A stress test, where you run on the treadmill. It turns out that I’m fine. Sure, I definitely need to lose weight, but my blood pressure is great. Blood sugar is fine.  Cholesterol levels are fine. Everything’s fine. Welcome to having anxiety. 

Starting from that day, panic attacks are a part of my life now.  They were most intense the first couple of months after the diagnosis.  It is most unsettling if I am driving. Usually these days when I get a panic attack, I am at home by myself, but I recently had one in a rather public setting with a lot of people watching, and that wasn’t any fun.  I guess this is part of my new normal… or maybe, this is something that I’ve always been dealing with, and now I’m old enough that my mind/body can’t suppress it anymore? 

After this - and I don’t remember when exactly, but it happened at some point - the suicidal thoughts returned.  I say “returned”, because I’ve had them before, but it’s not something I generally talk about. Maybe that’s genetic, as I know my dad had them too.  Anyway, here’s a secret… my first speeding ticket, back when I was 19… that was a suicide attempt gone wrong. I was having a particularly angsty time as a late teen.  I had recently lost someone who I was very close to. Work was particularly frustrating. I remember feeling that I couldn’t deal with it anymore. To get home from where I was working at the time, I had to make about a 25 minute drive, and much of it was on one of those two lane roads that cuts through the country bits connecting the Dayton suburbs.  I decided I was going to get going up to around 90 mph, take off my seatbelt, and jerk the wheel left as soon as I saw a car that looked big enough to make the destruction instantaneous. I never made it quite to 90, and I never got the seatbelt off, because I got pulled over for speeding. Of course, being a young black man, at that point, I was 100% frightened of the police officer, and all of the suicidal ideation went away, and the self-preservation kicked in.  I mean, death is supposed to be a release from pain, and getting shot is painful, so that’s pretty much all I thought about. 

The medication.  The first go-round didn’t work.  The doctor upped the dosage. The higher dosage made the room spin around for about an hour, starting ten minutes or so after I swallow the pill.  I stopped taking that. The insomnia got worse... something I had dealt with before, but it was back and worse than ever before.  When I did manage to sleep, I would wake up drenched, having sweated profusely through horrific nightmares... body wet, hair wet, clothes wet, sheets wet, pillow wet.  Ick.

Then I started having trouble concentrating.  Those that know me probably know I have perfectionist tendencies… I hate being wrong.  I’d rather say nothing than say something that is wrong. One of my personal points of pride in the past has been being efficient and effective at work, showing attention to detail, and getting things right.  Well, I started making mistakes… silly ones, when I should know better. Often, nobody would notice. Sometimes, someone would notice. I noticed them all, and each one ate at me… I would get more frustrated with myself.  Some days, I just couldn’t function. I would just lay in bed all day. I wouldn’t eat. (By the way, not eating for a few days is a very effective weight loss strategy, though most nutritionists would probably not recommend this.)  I got more irritable. Sometimes I would cry for no reason. More often, I just felt numb… everything was “meh”... no good, no bad, no up, no down, just IS. I’m sure I was a pain for my wife to deal with. I couldn’t remember things that I had read or seen… and again, those that know me probably know that I tend to remember just about everything I read, especially if I read it more than once.  Since all of this was beginning to impact my ability to do my job, I figured I should be more thorough about getting professional help. 

When I did this, my wife told me that she knew I was depressed even back when we were dating, many years ago.  That was an interesting revelation. Maybe I don’t even know what “normal” or “well-adjusted” is supposed to be.   

The therapy.  I went to therapy.  I didn’t like that. I should probably try it again, but sitting in a room talking about my feelings is not my idea of a good time.  I have been told to try it again, by multiple people. Sure, I’ll try it again as soon as I am done procrastinating. 

New doctor.  New medication.  It gave me diarrhea.  I didn’t feel better. I kept taking the medication.  I kept checking in with the doctor. I kept having panic attacks, albeit less frequently.  More medication. Higher dosage. The diarrhea stops. I didn’t feel better, but the doctor says he sees improvement in my ability to focus and have a conversation.  This makes me realize that I was affected in ways that I surely didn’t even notice. I go on a work trip to North Carolina, where one day I go to the lobby of my hotel around 4 in the morning convinced I am dying again.  New hospital. Still no heart issue. Yet another panic attack, a particularly bad one… and particularly expensive, due to the ambulance ride and hospital visit and the United States. More medication. Check in with the doctor. Higher dosage.  The feelings of worthlessness.  This is my new normal. Medication daily, try to fight off the very dark thoughts, try to stay busy, try to get work done.

I’m broken.  This is something I have come to accept. More often than I care to admit, I just don't have "ganas"... somehow this feeling makes much more sense in Spanish than in English... see, "ganas" means "want to" or "feel like" when it is a noun.... yeah, "se fue las ganas" is something you could quote me as saying regularly, except for I don't often actually say it out loud.  Some might reason that having faith should make everything better, but faith doesn’t work like that. Alexa, insert that meme that says “that’s not how any of this works”.  For instance, imagine that a person has lupus.  This person may have all the faith in the world, but that isn’t going to make the lupus go away, or even treat it.  This person needs professional attention… and while faith might help them to endure the condition, it is not a cure.  I have come to understand that anxiety/depression works in a similar manner. It’s something that I need to manage with professional attention, and while having faith might help me to endure, it is not treatment, and it will not make the issue go away. 

You know what helps me feel a little better sometimes?  Music.  Now, I do not mean that music is a panacea, nor is it treatment.  Indeed, there have been multiple occasions where I have had tickets to a show already paid for, and couldn't bring myself to leave home, so I skipped the show and was just out the money.  (The musicians got paid though, so there is your silver lining.)  However, quite often, when I am sitting at the piano or playing the bass, I can feel some of the stress peel away.  Writing songs is especially cathartic. I am not exactly a gifted musician by any means, but I like to play, and I like to continue learning about theory and how/why music works.  Indeed, music is a great confluence of my inner drive to read and learn and absorb, mashed into an art form that I find to be pleasing. In addition to making sure that there isn’t any weaponry readily available in our home, being project-oriented around music helps to keep the suicidal ideation at bay.  First, making suicide plans just seems to be too much effort… and second, I have a bunch of songs I want to record, and being dead would make it much more difficult to get that done.  It would be inaccurate to say that music makes me “happy”, but sometimes it makes me feel just slightly less broken.

I haven’t been very regular in keeping this blog updated, so it’s time to start a new habit. I am going to do this weekly. That’s right folks, I plan to post every Monday morning going forward. This will be a challenge at times… vacation, business trips, and other general life distractions may very well get in the way… but I’m going to try to stick to it.

Why in the world the sudden focus on regularity? I can think of three main reasons.

1. I always wanted to be a writer. No, really. From the time I was in elementary school, I was always interested in writing. If you look at my Twitter bio (https://twitter.com/mbankheadmusic), you’ll see that I’ve had the phrase “aspiring writer” in there from the beginning. The problem here is that I don’t have a good brain for fiction. I enjoy reading fiction, particularly science fiction… but am not that kind of creative. Ok, so a novel isn’t going to happen, let’s do this instead.

2. It’s probably good from a music business standpoint. Think about the musicians that you enjoy listening to… isn’t it interesting to get a little peek into their thought process and their life? I hope to give everyone an authentic look at my personality here, the kind of access that social media doesn’t quite reach due to its brevity. Also, maybe what I write here will help people to understand my music better, and don’t all artists really just want to be understood?

3. It will help with my mental health. Did you know I had a blog years ago? I’m not going to give the link here, but if someone were really interested, they could probably find it. This was in my early twenties. I wrote about some interesting things, I wrote about some mundane things… some of these posts were awful, and some of these posts might have been inspiring. In any case, I truly believe that writing a blog helped me to work through some of my issues at the time. Looking back with the additional experience of years of life, I see that I was probably anxious and depressed then as well. Now, I am indeed taking medication for this now, and if I can stop procrastinating, I’ll go to therapy too… but listening to and especially making music helps. It’s like a very talented Dayton musician sings, “that’s the solace that we keep”. So, just like songwriting, keeping this blog will probably help keep me on the saner side of deranged.

I know what you’re thinking… “Nobody wants to read this”. You know, you’re probably right. I’m probably talking to the Internet ether… but you know what? That’s just like making music. I make art that I’m proud of, and it’s hard to get anyone to listen to it. That’s ok, “l’art pour l’art, right?

The weekly journey begins this coming Monday 18th February. You’re invited.

This is going to give everyone a good idea about my age, but when I was first getting into discovering music on my own, I loved opening the cassette and pulling out the folded up liner notes.  I would read the lyrics without the music playing, I would read the lyrics with the music playing, I would read the lyrics and sing along.  When cassettes got replaced by compact discs, I would do the same thing... in fact, I would be disappointed if I bought an album that didn't have the lyrics included.

Fast forward to now, where music lives mostly in digital form.  It feels like modern music listeners may not be as concerned or interested in the lyrics as I was in my youth.  My intent here is not to sound curmudgeonly, nor to yell "get off my lawn" at folks younger than me... they love their music, but with the decline of music as a physical thing, it seems to be a bit harder to find the lyrics.

With that in mind, I have added a lyric page to my website.  If you wanted to know how to spell all of those French words in "Le soldat" or you were curious as to what exactly I am saying in "North of Sixteen", or if you didn't know whether I am saying "write away" or "right away" in "Soul of an Ode"... well, head on over to the lyric page and read away.  Please sing along.

Echo in the Crevices has been out for one year and two months.  I have been working on songs for the next album.  Some are complete, but many remain in pieces... it is up to me to pick up the pieces and put them together.

Recently, I've been working with a cowriter for the first time.  I had a song that was complete, but it wasn't good enough... I didn't like the melody, the chords, or the lyrics in the verse... but I thought I had something with the chorus.  I discarded the verses entirely and asked a talented songwriter for help.  What we have at this point is not yet finished, but it's already much better than the version I had written on my own.  I am looking forward to sharing it with the world.