Friday, September 02, 2005
Writing Music
I like to listen to music when I write. I guess the idea is that if I'm listening to music then the writing will be musical, which is always nice. Sometimes it's just good background. Either way.
The thing about listening to music is it can't be too noisy. Noisy has its place -- driving, shows where you have to stand, drinking PBR. But noisy's distracting if I'm trying to concentrate. And it can't be too soft. I don't want to be put to sleep. Or made to feel heavy, which means no sad songs. (And certainly, under no circumstances except for the writing of a suicide note -- because at this point I'll be so far gone it won't matter -- should I hear any of the following: Michael Bolton, Celine Dion, Creed, Kenny G, Mariah Carey, Kenny Chesney, Limp Bizkit, Matchbox 20, the country guy who sings of America's evil-doers: "we'll put a boot in yr ass!". I could go on forever. Not like those are controversial choices or anything. I'm just saying, hearing that shit kicks my creativity in the nuts).
Lately, I've had the perfect mix. There are 4 CDs I can't take out of rotation. I highly recommend for everyone. They are excellente. To the max.
Sufjan Stevens, "Illinois"
Sort of like an indie orchestra. Sufjan Stevens arranges all the parts himself. The songs jump around and pause to reflect, sometimes at once. And they're all totally warm and likeable, without being cheesy. I dare say "Come on feel the Illinoise" is the best song I've heard all year. The CD features some rad art work to boot.
Smog, "A River Ain't Too Much to Love"
At times the simple, hypnotic songs almost get too lulling, but Bill Callahan's voice keeps it alive. It's rich enough to deserve its own record contract.
The Decemberists, "Picaresque"
Their songs are stories, usually. They range from the point of view of a mariner who's stuck in the belly of whale, to a reality show about military wives, to a high school football player who's flubbed embarrisingly on the field. It's mostly tongue in cheek, and damn catchy.
Andrew Bird, "The Mysterious Production of Eggs"
Jeff Buckley minus the melodrama? A less, um, flamboyant Rufus Wainright? Whistle-rock? Atmospheric, literate, and despite multiple instruments, played by two guys who, I'm told, do it all themselves live. Also includes some rad art work.
There you go. Now get it done!
I like to listen to music when I write. I guess the idea is that if I'm listening to music then the writing will be musical, which is always nice. Sometimes it's just good background. Either way.
The thing about listening to music is it can't be too noisy. Noisy has its place -- driving, shows where you have to stand, drinking PBR. But noisy's distracting if I'm trying to concentrate. And it can't be too soft. I don't want to be put to sleep. Or made to feel heavy, which means no sad songs. (And certainly, under no circumstances except for the writing of a suicide note -- because at this point I'll be so far gone it won't matter -- should I hear any of the following: Michael Bolton, Celine Dion, Creed, Kenny G, Mariah Carey, Kenny Chesney, Limp Bizkit, Matchbox 20, the country guy who sings of America's evil-doers: "we'll put a boot in yr ass!". I could go on forever. Not like those are controversial choices or anything. I'm just saying, hearing that shit kicks my creativity in the nuts).
Lately, I've had the perfect mix. There are 4 CDs I can't take out of rotation. I highly recommend for everyone. They are excellente. To the max.
Sufjan Stevens, "Illinois"
Sort of like an indie orchestra. Sufjan Stevens arranges all the parts himself. The songs jump around and pause to reflect, sometimes at once. And they're all totally warm and likeable, without being cheesy. I dare say "Come on feel the Illinoise" is the best song I've heard all year. The CD features some rad art work to boot.
Smog, "A River Ain't Too Much to Love"
At times the simple, hypnotic songs almost get too lulling, but Bill Callahan's voice keeps it alive. It's rich enough to deserve its own record contract.
The Decemberists, "Picaresque"
Their songs are stories, usually. They range from the point of view of a mariner who's stuck in the belly of whale, to a reality show about military wives, to a high school football player who's flubbed embarrisingly on the field. It's mostly tongue in cheek, and damn catchy.
Andrew Bird, "The Mysterious Production of Eggs"
Jeff Buckley minus the melodrama? A less, um, flamboyant Rufus Wainright? Whistle-rock? Atmospheric, literate, and despite multiple instruments, played by two guys who, I'm told, do it all themselves live. Also includes some rad art work.
There you go. Now get it done!
