Small city boy, big city dreams
life
Inspiration from Michael Jackson
When writing music or lyrics, I always feel pressure to get it absolutely right the first time around. I guess a part of me has been conditioned to think that if it’s not a flash of inspired greatness, then my creativity just isn’t up to the task and shouldn’t consider myself a songwriter.
Writing sessions for me are nothing like a lightning flash. They’re more like cranking up an old generator one rotation at a time until there’s enough juice going to power things along. This was especially the case while writing for Byron Clarke’s album “Self Inflicted,” (especially on “How The Story Goes.”). I remember now how we sat for hours agonizing over each word, how it fit with imagery of the song, whether the cadence and timing was right and of course whether or not the emotion was genuine.
Below is a 1981 of Michael Jackson and Quincy Jones in studio working on Billie Jean. MJ doesn’t have the words yet, he’s just scatting, looking for inspiration inbetween the sounds and in the groove. And that’s what makes it so cool, he’s working on his creativity in a very non creative, almost academic manner. And that gives me some hope.
More often than not, the force is not strong with me and I need to drag every syllable out of the strange and fuzzy place in my head that my words come from. I can’t book a ticket to that place and just get what I need on a schedule, but listening to one of the greatest creative minds in music (at least in my opinion) do things in much the same way, makes me want to take a trip to my strange and fuzzy word corner.
How are you inspired? Does is strike like a municipal worker or bubble up like a minister’s salary?
The Corner
img src www.sxc.hu
It rained on that Friday night. But then, it always rained on Friday nights, These thoughts and not many others puttered around in his mind as he stepped out on to the sodden sidewalk. Why did it always rain on Fridays?
Home. Sleep. Alone. Peace.
What more could a man ask for after a hard week’s work? He lifted his gaze to plot his path home and then, he saw her. Or rather his eyes traced the slow sensuous path of her hips as she walked in the rain. Simplistically functional in her manner yet at once seductive and deliberate, he stared as she strode on. Swaying from side to side, effortlessly gliding forward. She turned to check for oncoming traffic and in the process unwittingly caught his gaze. Fleetingly and only for a second, but she had seen him. Or rather she’d seen him watching her.
His pace quickened almost unconsciously to make up the distance between them. The dull thud of his footsteps beating hard against the tar, surreptitiously closing in on the click clack of her heels echoing on the quiet street. She turned again as if to check for cars, but her eyes never quite reached the street. Again the hint of a smile, this time with a flash in her eyes – an invitation. He walked a little faster and fought a little harder to catch up as they danced along the drizzled roads, each breath punctuated by the staccato rhythm of her footsteps.
In the distance, a glaring light slowly approached. Low slung and menacing, the beams cut through the velvet darkness. The low pitched drone of an approaching engine grew louder and he turned to study the sweeping lines of the car as it drove by. It was everything he had ever envied – powerful, elegant, graceful and expensive beyond his means. Transfixed, he stared as it slid by, its black, serpentine lines soaking up the dim rays from the street lamps. If he’d been able to look a little closer, he might have seen the driver looking not for somewhere to go, but someone to be with. Might have seen the empty passenger seat. Might have felt the loneliness. As it was, the drone of the engine drifted off as he watched closely with envy, but didn’t see nearly enough.
Suddenly he turned, remembering the dance and the walk and the smile. But she was gone. His footsteps quickened, his pulse raced and his breathe stopped short as he took ever broader strides to try and make up the distance. But she was gone. At the next corner he swiveled to check the streets and made out her silhouette in the distance. Her slow, deliberate gait stalling for time, slowly inviting him to follow. He stared ahead at his route, his destination, then swiveled again. She had taken the road she needed to follow and he, well, he needed to get where he was going too. He had his own road, his own path.
His destination was not one he particularly wanted to visit, but rather the one he was expected to arrive at. The place he was supposed to be. He hesitated for the briefest of moments and wondered why he hadn’t followed her, but he knew why. He knew that if he’d only seen her smile again or watched the sway of her step just a little longer, he would have been captivated and would not be walking to his dark, empty house now. But he’d missed it, he had been distracted. The moment was gone. And so he walked on.
As he continued silently home, an engine roared dimly in the distance, drifting on the wind. The far off squeal of tyres desperately biting at the tar before the harrowing crunch of metal on metal.
And still her footsteps rang out like rifle shots, so far off in a distant direction as he walked slowly and alone.
Fuck Was I
Most days, I have a hard time figuring out exactly what is it that I’m thinking, feeling or doing at any given time. This track from Jenny Owen Youngs pretty puts out how I (think I ) feel.
(if you’re peeping on facebook, go here to read this)
Songs on mainstream radio
It’s a problem.
?uestlove interview on HipHopDX
After getting the new Roots album 
‘How I Got Over” I’ve been playing through my entire Roots collection (‘Duck Down!‘ is still one of my favourites) and reading up a bit more about the band’s latest activities. Here’s an interview with ?uestlove on Hip Hop DX about the new album(How I Got Over), the band’s move to the Jimmy Fallon show and the past couple of years making music.
Catching up with Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson is basically picking a genius’ brain. He ducks the term “genius” though and prefers “student”, explaining that being in a constant state of learning leaves you less prone to emotional meltdowns. He and his comrades are adjusting to their new lives right now, while welcoming longtime friend and fellow Soulquarian James Poyser into the fold. The band is employed by NBC, and despite being artists, they are still responsible for attending sensitivity workshops and other seminars hosted by most companies’ HR departments. They’re also not allowed to travel over 1,000 miles away on a Sunday, as they have to report to work Monday morning. The perks balance the corporate jargon though; while ?uestlove was holed up in the employee break room conducting interviews, Ben & Jerry’s delivered cases of ice cream to The Roots for mentioning them in a segment on Late Night.
