The Importance of Song

From my first days sitting at a piano, with my kindergarten-sized legs swinging around unable to reach the pedals, I have always been moved by the sounds of the different instruments. As this fascination developed into a love, I became continually more serious about studying instrumental music. Matter of fact, I did not stop until I had a bachelors degree hanging on the wall and a masters degree tied in a neat roll on the counter.

A quick tangent and a true story worth telling: It was not more than a few days after I received my official masters degree from Fedex that I left the house to run a brief errand. When I returned 20 minutes later, I found a guilty-looking beagle, my pooch Daisy, slunk across her pillow. When she wouldn't look me in the eye, I knew it was time to survey the damage. Sure enough, I found what remained of my diploma on the floor. Daisy had consumed most of it, including the official school seal and the presidential signatures. Pffft.

For every moment I am working on these posts or researching musical gear, I am finding at least five more to contemplate my approach to creating an album of music.

The main problem: I can't sing. Not an underestimation, I know how I want the emanations of my mouth to sound, but my vocal chords refuse to cooperate. My voice is wispy and feeble, and hardly ever squarely on pitch. Hence the instrumental bent I suppose. It only follows that I have no experience writing lyrics or composing song structures.

A quick jostle through the radio dial reveals the truth anyone could have guessed: music that connects with most people has lyrics, tells a story, is sung.

Big questions loom. As I begin to put together an approach to the product of this project, will I somehow include singing and songwriting? Stick with my instrumental comfort zone? Some combination of the two? And even larger, what is the story I am trying to tell here? What is the picture I am trying to paint?

Just for giggles I sat with the blinking cursor yesterday and scribbled out a few verses. Instead of my custom of being embarrassed, I am going to make a practice of putting my scratches out there for everyone to dissect. If there are any poets or lyricists out there, feel free to dig your nails in.

Who are you? Lost around the world.

Without a face. Without a trace.

A lonely space echoes back the silence.

Years slip by without a word.

Lost into the past.

Just dial tone on the telephone.

The mailbox rattles in the wind.

Come home. Who are you?

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