I spent a good portion of Friday night working up an audio sketch for my latest composition, laying down vocals, adding guitar tracks, and even selecting some tasteful EQ and reverb to give it a hint of polish. I listened once, and again, and a third time, adding touches of nuance with each pass. With a stiff neck and tired eyes, I saved my work and climbed out of the basement.
My wife has the privilege (or duty as she might view it) of hearing my creative prelims before they are released in any form. Aware of my addiction to affirmation, she will often extend words of encouragement that stem from the blind love of a spouse but still mean the world to me.
As is her custom at the end of a listen, she removed the headphones as the scratch track concluded, cocking her head one degree to the side in the name of contemplation.
"Here comes the sugar," I mused silently as I smacked the lips of my soul.
"I don't know. It's fine, it just isn't outstanding. I mean, the song is nice, but I can't really remember anything specific about it."
Ouch. Not what I anticipated. However, as I listened from the vantage point of her comment, I quickly realized that she was dead on. My song lacked character and dynamics, but it was largely devoid of a memorable melody.
A melodic line is the essence of a song. The average person singing along to a piece of music on the radio will not connect with a bass line, guitar riff, or a unique texture element. People gravitate toward a good melody because it is something accessible, a point of entry into an art form that can be esoteric and intangible.
Today, I scrapped nearly all of the original audio sketch, commencing work instead on a new treatment to the same set of lyrics. Though yesterday's efforts initially felt like wasted time, the process presented a good reminder for today and the rest of the Redline Project. I am grateful for this opportunity to consider anew the importance of melody.
Thank you Margaret for the remarkable insight you shared. Your gentle honesty opened my ears.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
International Village
Those reading along already know of my work with the Communicycle Co-op in Chamblee, a diverse locale of Atlanta that is at once wonderfully unique and riddled with a complex web of issues. Chamblee is Atlanta's version of a Chinatown or a Little Italy, though its dwellers represent nearly every major culture from around the globe.
The city labeled this eclectic pocket the 'International Village,' hoping to leverage its strengths as a marketing point for tourists. Some think this is positive as it drives an influx of dollars into the local economy, and others consider it exploitive and ignorant of the delicate problems plaguing its neighborhoods. Wherever people land on this issue, it is difficult to argue the merits of the name itself. Chamblee's population heralds every corner all six populated continents.
I mention this in the Redline Project blog because it has inspired a thought for a piece of music. Syncretized sound, two indigenous musics coming together to form its own sub-genre, is in no way a new concept. I wonder what sonic possibilities emerge if indigenous tones from all over the globe came together in a single composition. Music formed this way would greet the ear as the fragrance from the Buford Highway Farmers Market's spice aisle greets the nose. Decadent, tantalizing, spicy, a bit over the top.
Definitely worth an exploration.
This brings up a host of technical issues. I am sure my attempts at playing such instruments would be an insult to those who actually know how. A better course of action would be to acquire source music, sample and rework it, and bring my own elements into the mix.
"Aha," you rightfully squeal, "Isn't that a case of copyright infringement?" I have learned in the last day that the issue of sampling someone's music, even as little as two notes in one documented case, is a point of contention that polarizes musicians and the lawyers that defend them.
Perhaps the earliest example of this: Some jerk ripped off the "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" melody and created a rival children's hit known as the alphabet song. A third punkazoid wanted his piece of the glory and penned the ever-popular, "Bah Bah Black Sheep." Okay, there is no legal case involving these three songs, nor does this paragraph have anything to do with actual history. Forgive the feeble effort to interject some humor into what I fear is a mundane topic, to which I shall now return.
One case that every child of the 1980s and 90s knows about is the instance of Vanilla Ice using primary instrumental material from Queen's recording of "Under Pressure" to create the undulating theme of his hit single, "Ice, Ice, Baby." If Wikipedia is correct, this iconic recording went without reference to Freddie Mercury and his crew until years later when pressure from the media forced a resolution.
Though the debate rages ad nauseam in countless pockets of the web, it is clear enough to me that avoiding this boiling water is the way to go for the Redline Project. If I am to accomplish a work like this, I will need royalty-free samples or written permission for their use if I am going to give this a swing. The former sounds expensive and the latter seems like a time eater, but it remains that the idea has promise and intrigue.
Stay tuned.
The city labeled this eclectic pocket the 'International Village,' hoping to leverage its strengths as a marketing point for tourists. Some think this is positive as it drives an influx of dollars into the local economy, and others consider it exploitive and ignorant of the delicate problems plaguing its neighborhoods. Wherever people land on this issue, it is difficult to argue the merits of the name itself. Chamblee's population heralds every corner all six populated continents.
I mention this in the Redline Project blog because it has inspired a thought for a piece of music. Syncretized sound, two indigenous musics coming together to form its own sub-genre, is in no way a new concept. I wonder what sonic possibilities emerge if indigenous tones from all over the globe came together in a single composition. Music formed this way would greet the ear as the fragrance from the Buford Highway Farmers Market's spice aisle greets the nose. Decadent, tantalizing, spicy, a bit over the top.
Definitely worth an exploration.
This brings up a host of technical issues. I am sure my attempts at playing such instruments would be an insult to those who actually know how. A better course of action would be to acquire source music, sample and rework it, and bring my own elements into the mix.
"Aha," you rightfully squeal, "Isn't that a case of copyright infringement?" I have learned in the last day that the issue of sampling someone's music, even as little as two notes in one documented case, is a point of contention that polarizes musicians and the lawyers that defend them.
Perhaps the earliest example of this: Some jerk ripped off the "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" melody and created a rival children's hit known as the alphabet song. A third punkazoid wanted his piece of the glory and penned the ever-popular, "Bah Bah Black Sheep." Okay, there is no legal case involving these three songs, nor does this paragraph have anything to do with actual history. Forgive the feeble effort to interject some humor into what I fear is a mundane topic, to which I shall now return.
One case that every child of the 1980s and 90s knows about is the instance of Vanilla Ice using primary instrumental material from Queen's recording of "Under Pressure" to create the undulating theme of his hit single, "Ice, Ice, Baby." If Wikipedia is correct, this iconic recording went without reference to Freddie Mercury and his crew until years later when pressure from the media forced a resolution.
Though the debate rages ad nauseam in countless pockets of the web, it is clear enough to me that avoiding this boiling water is the way to go for the Redline Project. If I am to accomplish a work like this, I will need royalty-free samples or written permission for their use if I am going to give this a swing. The former sounds expensive and the latter seems like a time eater, but it remains that the idea has promise and intrigue.
Stay tuned.
Friday, February 26, 2010
From the Ashes
Six semi-baked pieces of music sit in my sketchbook, my hard disk, or my brain that might wiggle their way onto the final recording of the Redline Project. The latest song now has a complete, if unrevised, set of lyrics.
________________________
Fall Down
Race around black top
Kids swinging, skipping rope
Soft spoken lady teach us the things to know
Green is the color of wintertime sky
Blue the shade of leaves
Chorus:
Minutes confirm what months deny
as years coax a different truth from passers by
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
We all fall down
Ten lines a theorem, its proof to find
When is a question the bottom line?
Truth bends as tall grass beneath the breeze
Swaying peacefully
Tender betrayal, a simple kiss
Lies spill like honey from open lips
Cracks in a bottle leak truths untold
She already knows
________________________
An acquaintance recently revealed an extramarital affair with which they had been involved for over a year. It is not news that harsh realities like this plague many families, but it is a different reality altogether to watch a couple sift through the wreckage firsthand.
This song deals with the unfathomable pain that comes from lying to ourselves and deceiving those around us. As kids, we are taught easy lessons like the sum of two and two, and the order of letters in the alphabet. Parents, teachers, and other role models also impart a simple morality. Be good, eat dessert. Talk out of turn, go sit in the corner.
The more time fills the void between my childhood existence and our present life, the more convoluted each situation becomes. I often catch myself missing the simpler days when work was play and when questions had one answer.
Though the readers of this blog will not listen to this song until the Redline Project album is released, you can hear a taste of the rhythmic foundation for it by clicking here.
________________________
Fall Down
Race around black top
Kids swinging, skipping rope
Soft spoken lady teach us the things to know
Green is the color of wintertime sky
Blue the shade of leaves
Chorus:
Minutes confirm what months deny
as years coax a different truth from passers by
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
We all fall down
Ten lines a theorem, its proof to find
When is a question the bottom line?
Truth bends as tall grass beneath the breeze
Swaying peacefully
Tender betrayal, a simple kiss
Lies spill like honey from open lips
Cracks in a bottle leak truths untold
She already knows
________________________
An acquaintance recently revealed an extramarital affair with which they had been involved for over a year. It is not news that harsh realities like this plague many families, but it is a different reality altogether to watch a couple sift through the wreckage firsthand.
This song deals with the unfathomable pain that comes from lying to ourselves and deceiving those around us. As kids, we are taught easy lessons like the sum of two and two, and the order of letters in the alphabet. Parents, teachers, and other role models also impart a simple morality. Be good, eat dessert. Talk out of turn, go sit in the corner.
The more time fills the void between my childhood existence and our present life, the more convoluted each situation becomes. I often catch myself missing the simpler days when work was play and when questions had one answer.
Though the readers of this blog will not listen to this song until the Redline Project album is released, you can hear a taste of the rhythmic foundation for it by clicking here.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Direct Box
Slim report today. The Redline Project needed to be momentarily shelved as I attended to pressing situations facing a few friends. In my travels, I swung by Ye Olde Guitar Centre to acquire a passive direct box. You may remember from a few posts ago that a direct box has a good shot at eliminating unwanted hum and noise from a guitar signal, a fix that my piecemeal recording rig desperately needs.
I plugged the little black box, 1/4" in and XLR out, up to the system. Strapped to a borrowed Guild hollow body electric, I played a few notes into Logic Express, then a few more followed by several others, until a half hour slipped through my fingers. This unassuming invention melted away nearly every trace of annoying sound. This newly found clean tone is good motivational juice for what promises to be a productive weekend of songwriting and recording.
I plugged the little black box, 1/4" in and XLR out, up to the system. Strapped to a borrowed Guild hollow body electric, I played a few notes into Logic Express, then a few more followed by several others, until a half hour slipped through my fingers. This unassuming invention melted away nearly every trace of annoying sound. This newly found clean tone is good motivational juice for what promises to be a productive weekend of songwriting and recording.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Knockabout
Tonight, in the bowels of Studio Redline, I had a basement knockabout with a handful of percussion instruments from the closet. Though the scratch recording below is largely unvarnished, I am just starting to know how to control my equipment to get better native sound. So far, I have smoothed out the rough edges with effects and plug-ins; tonight for the first time, I present more of the raw data. Though there are miles to go, the sound quality is starting to head in the right direction - a development that inspired an unfettered happy-dance.
Instead of filling a post with words, I will allow the music to do tonight's talking. If you have been following along, you will probably recognize the melody motive from an earlier post entitled, 'Pitch Correction.' What you will hear has been rekeyed, given a new meter and tempo shift, and supplied with rhythmic accompaniment. Ha - my first remix.
Instead of filling a post with words, I will allow the music to do tonight's talking. If you have been following along, you will probably recognize the melody motive from an earlier post entitled, 'Pitch Correction.' What you will hear has been rekeyed, given a new meter and tempo shift, and supplied with rhythmic accompaniment. Ha - my first remix.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Well
I returned home five minutes ago from the Communicycle Co-op. Tonight I learned what one youth is experiencing at home. Mom and Dad spew searing words at each other as the children pretend not to hear the shouts from their bedroom. The two separate and try to make it work, separate again and patch it up. They have decided to divorce, which will be the second time this youth has experienced this sort of brokenness in his short life.
Pithy paragraphs about my adventurous romp through a makeshift recording project would insult the weight of this kid's circumstances. I have nothing to offer except the sadness lurking in the deepest places. Below are a few lyrics that attempt to address this trying situation.
The Well
Tattered soul, a twelve year old
Pulled apart at the seams
Shattered windowpanes on the floor
Clasping on to vanished dreams
Wrap the hurt in cigarettes
Drown the tears in shouts of rage
Pound your fists into the wall
Lock the pain into a cage
Chorus:
Bite your lip; tough as stone
Severed heart; frozen cold
Plaster smile; no one knows
The well ran dry
The well ran dry
Pithy paragraphs about my adventurous romp through a makeshift recording project would insult the weight of this kid's circumstances. I have nothing to offer except the sadness lurking in the deepest places. Below are a few lyrics that attempt to address this trying situation.
The Well
Tattered soul, a twelve year old
Pulled apart at the seams
Shattered windowpanes on the floor
Clasping on to vanished dreams
Wrap the hurt in cigarettes
Drown the tears in shouts of rage
Pound your fists into the wall
Lock the pain into a cage
Chorus:
Bite your lip; tough as stone
Severed heart; frozen cold
Plaster smile; no one knows
The well ran dry
The well ran dry
Monday, February 22, 2010
Concept to Lyrics
A song is stewing in the slow cooker. I have a concept, a melody, and a chorus worth of lyrics typed up in Microsoft Word. I even scratched a few rough tracks into Logic Express, mostly so I would remember the flow of the music in my head.
Stemming from an idea dumped into yesterday's post, this song will reflect on the complexity of truth: how it is sought and learned, and how the realities that come with passing time shift our vantage points.
During college, I reached pride's peak, certain of how the world works and just as convinced of my ability to solve its most vexing dilemmas. Each of the eight years that followed my graduation has brought deeper awareness of exactly how little I know and understand.
A jubilant simplicity marked my childhood, a time when my world enjoyed the boundary of the front gate. Occasions for venturing past the property's edge would lead to blissful licks of ice cream or romps around the community center play structure. An abused but fitting summary: it was blissful ignorance.
Each spin around the sun would bring awareness of heavy topics like stranger danger and the evils of kidnapping, domestic violence, substance abuse, teen pregnancy, political divides, terrorism, and domestic violence. These perils never entered my sheltered world, but I can still recall specifics of how and by whom each topic was introduced to me.
We collect perspectives on the world as we go, every small event shaping us more than we like to admit. I am about to enter my thirties, and I have never been more confused about the way the world works - what is up and what is down. I observe the right side pointing crooked fingers at the left, who return the accusations with furious waves of their canes. Everyone is so convinced of their rightness, and no one is willing to open their ears to the other side of a matter.
Example: nearly everyone believes that the earth either definitely is or definitely is not heating up at an alarming rate, and both sides have their own set of bona fide scientists who back up their passionate stances with supposedly sound data. Those of like mind huddle up and furrow their brows in disbelief at the stupidity of their opponents.
I am left without a clue of what to think, except to long for a simpler way of living. The arguments are boiling pots with the tops left on, and all I want to do is run away from the scalding overflow.
That is the song. The struggle this time, as in all my other attempts, is to pen phrases that are worthy of this heavy topic. Up to this moment, most of my verses are sonic cheese; I have deleted more than I have kept.
I have posted the chorus below. These are the only lyrics that survive my otherwise fruitless writing session. There is a song worth singing here, I just don't know how it goes.
Minutes confirm what months deny
As years coax a different truth from passers by
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
We all fall down
Stemming from an idea dumped into yesterday's post, this song will reflect on the complexity of truth: how it is sought and learned, and how the realities that come with passing time shift our vantage points.
During college, I reached pride's peak, certain of how the world works and just as convinced of my ability to solve its most vexing dilemmas. Each of the eight years that followed my graduation has brought deeper awareness of exactly how little I know and understand.
A jubilant simplicity marked my childhood, a time when my world enjoyed the boundary of the front gate. Occasions for venturing past the property's edge would lead to blissful licks of ice cream or romps around the community center play structure. An abused but fitting summary: it was blissful ignorance.
Each spin around the sun would bring awareness of heavy topics like stranger danger and the evils of kidnapping, domestic violence, substance abuse, teen pregnancy, political divides, terrorism, and domestic violence. These perils never entered my sheltered world, but I can still recall specifics of how and by whom each topic was introduced to me.
We collect perspectives on the world as we go, every small event shaping us more than we like to admit. I am about to enter my thirties, and I have never been more confused about the way the world works - what is up and what is down. I observe the right side pointing crooked fingers at the left, who return the accusations with furious waves of their canes. Everyone is so convinced of their rightness, and no one is willing to open their ears to the other side of a matter.
Example: nearly everyone believes that the earth either definitely is or definitely is not heating up at an alarming rate, and both sides have their own set of bona fide scientists who back up their passionate stances with supposedly sound data. Those of like mind huddle up and furrow their brows in disbelief at the stupidity of their opponents.
I am left without a clue of what to think, except to long for a simpler way of living. The arguments are boiling pots with the tops left on, and all I want to do is run away from the scalding overflow.
That is the song. The struggle this time, as in all my other attempts, is to pen phrases that are worthy of this heavy topic. Up to this moment, most of my verses are sonic cheese; I have deleted more than I have kept.
I have posted the chorus below. These are the only lyrics that survive my otherwise fruitless writing session. There is a song worth singing here, I just don't know how it goes.
Minutes confirm what months deny
As years coax a different truth from passers by
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
We all fall down
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