In the not-too-distant past – say five years ago – I was an ardent investor. I read lots of books on the subject, bought and sold quite a few stocks, lost money, made money, lost money, all in the misguided hope of getting rich someday. I say misguided because if you had asked me back then why I wanted to be rich, I would have answered with some drivel about not having to worry about money anymore. Well, not having to worry about money – or anything else, really – is not a good reason to be alive. Worse, money is like subtraction soup, in that the more you have, the more you want. And for what? To count? To buy baubles? To eat fancy meals?

Yet there I sat day after day, scrutinizing schwab.com, my portfolio tracker on Quicken, Yahoo Finance message boards, the Wall Street Journal. I even subscribed to an investment newsletter (still do, two actually!). I read them all and I discussed their content and implications on stocks with anyone who could put up with me. I made bold predictions and I put my money where my mouth was. I was obsessed. But again, if you had asked me why, I could not have answered in a satisfactory way, because deep down, while I might have had a reason, it was not a good one. Actually, let me rephrase that: it’s not that my reason wasn’t good, it’s that it was only half a reason. Here’s why: I told my myself I didn’t want to have to worry about money anymore, but that was it; I couldn’t answer, “Then what?”

And then I fell and hit my head.

As I recovered, I started to look at the world differently and several of my obsessions faded, including investing. I think the reason is that the accident separated me from my everyday life and let me observe it from the sidelines. As such, I was much more objective in my judgment of my values, and I did not like what I saw. I was spending all my doing things that brought me no joy. What to do instead? I had no clue. But one day, maybe three or four months after the accident, I started watching a DVD of Tom Petty that my friend Toby had given me. When it was over, I headed out for a cup of coffee and on the way back home, I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself when suddenly a lyric idea popped into my head. When I got back home I was fueled up with caffeine and Petty and that lyric, and so I picked up my Steinberger and hummed “too many demons and too few saints”. A chord progression materialized (Petty MIGHT have had something to do with it), then more lyrics, then more chords and before I knew it I had a roughed out tune. Here's the final version:

It took awhile, but I finally realized that I had something new to invest in. Songs. And nowadays, while I still check stocks daily (okay, multiple times per hour, while the markets are open), and I still read my investment newsletters and even an occasional book, my new obsession is songs. And when I get ahead by a few bucks (rare these days), I plough the money into making music. If this investment doesn’t pay-off in dollars, it will be my second biggest investing loss, eclipsed only by the money I have sunk into private placement securities (over $75K, poof, gone, just like that, although someday, one or more might pay out, someday…). But here’s the great part: whether I get my money back or not, it will represent my biggest gain ever. Because writing songs gives me one thing investing never has: joy.

Oh, and here's the final version of Demons and Saints:



Anyway, one person who has held my attention is Kim Vermillion Boekbinder. I can't remember how I came across her blog, but into my Googe Reader it went and there it has stayed. Over the past year, maybe a little longer, I've read her posts, as she wrote about her music and her life, and the few musical things she posted were always pretty cool. Well, today, she's posted something REALLY cool, a preview track from her first album, which is called The Impossible Girl. Give it a listen, if you have a moment, you won't be disappointed.

 

No such luck.

But I do think it helped. Mainly, I notice that my stamina is a little better. Now, if I work for a few days or go into the recording studio for several hours, I am not a headache-ridden, twitchy, slightly nauseated mess afterwards. I still don’t feel my normal, robust 53%-self, mind you, but I can at least be productive without being overly destructive.

The best part about HBOT? To pass all that time, I watched every last episode of the original Star Trek series. I’ve seen them all numerous times before – when I was a kid, Star Trek was My Show – but it was, as Spock would say, fascinating to see them one right after the other. The overall themes just SHOUT at you – reason wins, human beings need to be creative, emotions are the most human of our qualities, race doesn’t mean a thing, women can work right alongside men, hate gets you nowhere, love gets you everywhere. All these years later, we can still learn a lot from Trek.



After writing a note to my friend Dave Tutin, who is the co-writer of the tune, and explaining what was going on, I waited with a little apprehension to hear back. As is so often the case, all my apprehension was for naught. Dave’s attitude could be pretty much summed in the phrase I trust you. How great is that?

So, fears put to rest, I have set about reworking the song in time for a session coming up this Thursday with drummer Andy Korn (who has been my go-to drummer for almost every song I’ve recorded because he is simply the most musical drummer I have ever worked with). To get myself into a proper writing mood, I used to pour a small glass of scotch and take it into the living room, where I can sit comfortably on the couch and look out over the lights of the San Franciso Bay. But I’ve given up scotch and cut way back on my other favorite libation, wine, so for the last two nights, I just poured myself a glass of Hetch Hetchy’s finest and knocked back a few slugs as I noodled on the guitar. And I think I have a fix (couldn’t resist) for the song.

Today, I’ll put my solution to the test by creating a rough demo. Wish me luck!

Studio C at Hyde Street is probably not what you would imagine a pro recording studio to be. There are no black leather couches, no assistants asking if you would like anything to drink, no platters of cold cuts to nibble on. The equipment, while all top end, does not scream, “I’m expensive, don’t touch me, don’t even look at me.” The carpet is stained.

And yesterday, several hours into a song called Borderline Love, I’m pretty sure Hyde Street’s relaxed vibe went a long way toward saving me from having a brain aneurysm. Here’s what happened.

We were about ¾ of the way through the song when vocalist Josh Fix, who was laying down harmonies, entered the control room for some listenbacks. I was sprawled on the couch, Jaime Durr was at the board. Jaime pressed “play”. We all were all listening intently as the song rolled and as the second guitar solo commenced after the middle 8 Josh waved his hands and said, “Whoa! What the hell?” At first, I thought he was simply blown away by the solo -- which, honestly, he kinda was – but then he pointed out how that the song’s structure was, um, deconstructing. I tensed up. I mean, I could feel my jaw clench, my lips lose all expression, my lower back spasm slightly, heat. Worse than all this, though, was that I knew deep down that Josh was right. I had fooled myself into thinking that the song’s structure was innovative and different, when in fact, I knew it was a mess.

Worst of all, the true source of my resistance to Josh’s insight emanated from my Lazy Gene. Yup, I just did not want to have to do the hard yards of fixing the song, which would mean, at the very least, rerecording it. I had waltzed into yesterday’s session confident that putting harmonies on Borderline Love would be a fast, easy process. Sure, deep down there was a gnawing feeling that the song needed more work, but I was doing a very fine job of keeping my unease comfortable.

Then things got really bad. Josh pointed out that the second guitar solo probably had to go. NO. I LOVE THAT SOLO. IT’S MY BABY (even though I’m not playing it). I resolved to simply lop off the last verse and pre-chorus and just redo the song with the end chorus coming out of the precious solo and I said as much. Josh agreed. Woo hoo! So I left Hyde Street, feeling certain that while the day had been hard, the song could be saved – solo and all! Back home, though, reality set in. The music in the solo just did not transition well to the chorus. The solo would have to be thrown out. Have to.

And so it will be.

I think.

Fact is, Borderline Love is a song I co-wrote with Dave Tutin, so I can’t just change it on the fly. I have an email into Dave outlining the issues and I think he will agree with me. Stay tuned.



“You’ve done the bulk of the run,” it intones.
“What difference would it make in the long run to stop now?”
“Bored.”

But when I ignore my mind and make it to the end of the bleachers, which I mostly do, I am always glad for it. To stop short never leaves me with a good feeling. Ever.

I’m keeping this simple fact foremost in my thoughts as I near the finish line for my album. This is the month, I am at the metaphorical “last hundred feet” of the process and all I have to do is push on for a few more moments.

Just a few more sessions.
Some I’s and T’s to cross.
A couple of decisions about the design of the cover art.

I. Will. Finish.



So, what’s the answer? How do the world’s greatest songwriters do it? As with so many of life’s finest pursuits, there is no set path. But there are commonalities among the various ways to go. And here they are (obviously, this list is not definitive, merely my takeaway from Zollo’s peerless interviews).

1)    Be receptive. All this notion means is to keep your antenna up, so when those song ideas float by or bubble up from within, you capture them.

2)    Be disciplined. Songwriting is art, to be sure, but it is also craft, and you get better at it the more you do it. Some folks in Zollo’s book write every day for several hours, others work more sporadically, but all of the work a LOT.

3)    Be fearless. Sounds corny, I know, but all this idea means is to TRY stuff. Got a weird lyric that somehow feels like a real direction? Go for it. Got a chord that defies music theory but sounds good to you, go for it. Got a melody or a rhythm that feels strange, but right. Go for it. You have nothing to loose and everything to gain.

4)    Be respectful of the greats. Sure, you want to march to your own beat, but don’t ignore those who have gone before you. After all, how will you know whether you’re onto something new if you have no clue about the old?

5)    Be relentless. Many songwriters in the book talk of songs that took them YEARS to write, so if a song is proving to be a tough nut to crack, but you think it’s worth cracking, keep at it.

6)    Be selfish. All I mean by this observation is put yourself before others as you work. Because if you’re not happy with your output, does it really matter if others are?

Over the past few days, I’ve been working on a freelance ad job and today was the Big Presentation. Sadly, I just heard that the idea my art director partner and I came up with did not prevail. When I first heard the news, I wasn’t that affected, but within minutes the Disease of Defeat spread through me. I felt a little sweaty, on edge, anxious, and then came the requisite flood of self doubt: I suck, I’ll never do anything great, I suck, why do I bother, I suck, and so on.

Now, losing a creative shootout hasn’t happened to me in a long, long time -- most likely because I haven’t been working much! – so why should today’s news get to me so? I should be able to tell myself, “Well, can’t win ‘em all,” but I do want to win them all. Always have, always will.

At least the idea that did win was good. I first saw it yesterday, and I remember thinking at first that it sucked. But I took a closer look and, I admit, it was cool. And I’m sure it was even cooler today, given the polish it received into the night.

Obviously, I wonder if I hadn’t had to leave early several times becasue of headaches, dizziness and excess twitchiness, would I have come up with something better? Would I have pushed harder at the internal meetings? Who knows? Probably. But the days of working 10, 12, 14 hours are behind me, I just can’t do it anymore. Maybe someday, but certainly not someday soon. I'm lucky to make it to six hours.

Here’s the question, though: why doesn’t this Disease of Defeat course through me after a song of mine gets rejected? I mean, for the most part, when I have received rejection notices, I have brushed them off easily, knowing I didn’t write a treacly ballad sung by a whiney vocalist who sounds like a parody of American Idol performances! But with ads, it’s different. I look back on my creations and suddenly see all their flaws, all the ways they suck, how wrong I was, what a fool I was to ever think the idea was a good one.

And that’s what I’m doing today. I know tomorrow will be better, and by Saturday I will struggle to remember what I was so upset about, but right now, I’m wallowing in self-pity. And will be for the next several hours.



1. Techniques for identifying creative talent.

2. Whether a culture or environment can encourage creativity.

3. How to evaluate creative ideas.

I will want to read the book and I wish Mr. Vogel well in his endeavor, but I wonder if he isn’t chasing a chimera. I, for one, don’t believe there is any definitive way to reliably be creative. And if there is, it’s competition. I come from the ad world, so I base this observation on creative departments I have known, but I can comfortably say that the more competitive the group the better the outcome. Once some creative ideas had sprouted into being, then a more collaborative environment was good, because the talent of the full group could be brought to bear on the ideas showing the most promise. But to get those raw seeds of brilliance discord was better than concord. I wish this weren’t so, I truly do, but its truth has been demonstrated too many times. Especially in music.

Whenever I read that a new album just “came together”, that everyone involved was on the same page and ideas just flowed, I can be pretty sure it’s going to suck. Whereas the difficult albums (Axl Rose’s Chinese Democracy being a notable exception) are the great ones. Competition doesn’t always have to be ugly, either. Think back on the Stones and Beatles. They weren’t slinging mud at each other, but they sure as hell were trying to outdo each other. Even within the bands there was competition. Lennon vs. McCartney, Jagger vs. Richards. These guys weren’t all loveydovey. They were hell bent on being the best. Now consider a band that used to be competitive but is less so today, Metallica. I watched “Some Kind of Monster” with utter dismay, knowing that a creative process in which everyone has an equal voice is sure to result in mush.

No, the truth great creativity only happens when the individuals involved feel something is at stake and want to win and are willing to fight like hell (civilly, of course) to prevail.

More to come one this, but right now I gotta go be creative!

So in my woe-is-I state this morning, I sat down at my computer to read whatever, and noticed a post in my reader titled “Lean forward.” It was on a site called Please Feed the Animals, which bills itself as “a blog for the recently unemployed advertising professional”.

The post tells the tale of a whitewater rafting trip almost gone wrong. The author, Erik Proulx, recounts how a boat he and some friends were in got hung up on a rock and he panicked and hopped out of the boat to stand on the rock. The rushing water drowned out all voices, so as he stood there wondering what to do, the cries of the guide and other rafters to get back in the boat did not make it to his ears. Finally, he finally figured out what the guide wanted him to do: GET BACK IN THE BOAT AND LEAN FORWARD. It was counterintuitive, to say the least, as there were big, jagged rocks straight ahead, but get back in the boat and lean forward Proulx did, and all ended in beer-soaked revelry (Erik doesn’t write this last bit, but I figure it’s a safe bet).

The moral of Erik’s story, of course, is that stasis is deadly. You just can’t stand still, you have to do something, and often that something is the very thing you least want to do. My situation is not as desperate as Erik’s was. I mean, I’m not facing imminent death if I don’t move forward. But I have been feeling that sense of being frozen, a damned-if-I-do-damned-if-I-don’t sensation. Recording is a typical scenario: if I book the session and head off to the studio, I will most likely feel more bad on return. Plus, the session won’t be fun, in that I don’t’ get to really rock out and all; instead, I sit on the studio’s couch and rally toward the mixing board only when necessary. However, if I don’t book the session, I can avoid all the discomfort, but obviously make no progress whatsoever on my album. Sigh. 

So, to quote Townes Van Zandt, recording, for all of its miseries, is still “easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die”, which is why starting today, I am re-motivating myself to finish my album. I have already sent out a few emails, and after sending out a few more, I will have put the wheels in motion to finish my very first album, which has been a dream of mine ever since I first heard The Beatles Second Album way back in the very early 70s.

Lean forward, indeed.