I put off songwriting till Saturday morning for week 34 of #songaweek2021. The deadline to submit is Saturday night. After a band rehearsal in the afternoon I recruited my husband and bandmate Nathan to play along and we got-‘er-done for another week. Don’t look too hard for meaning in this one. But we had some fun!
I’m gonna go outside and listen to the news All the tweets and chatter and the cock-a-doodle-doos There’s a thousand stories In my own back yard
There’s no time like the present and there’s no place quite like this And if you feel you’d like it well I’d like to feel your kiss And just a few more things We could try after dark
We’re on a great big rock that keeps on rolling round the sun Just when we think it’s over well it’s only just begun It’s the most fantastic way To see the stars
This week’s song came together from so many influences. Here’s a non-exhaustive list:
Peace, please, peace.
Afghani woman on BBC Newshour, 13 August 2021
Won’t you knock down all the walls that we built stable? / Tip them over and restore them to sturdy dinner tables
Nate Crary, Messy Mass liturgy, “Only By Our Lonesome” song
“Once There Was” – a song and an album by Carrellee. It’s really only that phrase that influenced the line in my song, “once there never was.” Just playing with words.
“Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” by Pete Seeger
Blessed are the poor in spirit . . .
Jesus, Matthew 5:3
You think you know all the right things to tell a fool like me But I won’t hear you at all as long as this wall stands where a table should be
I am not so sure what we’re fighting for Where have all the poor in spirit gone?
Once there never was all that we tell ourselves there was back then Now is right where we are and right where we can begin to be again
I am not so sure what we’re fighting for Where have all the poor in spirit gone?
“Peace, please, peace . . .”
We are stars and mud, spirit and spit fire and flood, brawn and brain Ours are oceans unknown, deserts that patiently await the rain
I am not so sure what we’re fighting for Where have all the poor in spirit gone?
Emily Dickinson wrote this poem that’s been coming to my mind often lately. It feels more meaningful than ever right now, in our always-on-brand, everyone-pay-attention-to-me, social-media-saturated culture. Being nobody seems so very sane and wise in contrast. With enough nobodies we could change the world I think.
Time is a funny thing. I would say this song was inspired by my reading of this Brain Pickingspost detailing a letter Vincent Van Gogh wrote to his brother, except that I read the post after I’d already written the song. Here’s an especially relevant quote from it –
What moulting is to birds, the time when they change their feathers, that’s adversity or misfortune, hard times, for us human beings. One may remain in this period of moulting, one may also come out of it renewed, but it’s not to be done in public, however; it’s scarcely entertaining, it’s not cheerful, so it’s a matter of making oneself scarce.
Vincent Van Gogh
I don’t want to say a lot about this song. Just that in my 45 years I’ve come to know firsthand the immense value of the pause. Time truly can heal – but you have to give yourself to it, and sometimes that means removing yourself from the rushing river where everything else purports to be happening, and everybody expects something from you.
How long how long can you hold on to the pain? When when can you let go and open up again?
Can you go the distance with these rocks inside your shoes? Is there ever space and time to stop it all for a while? Life is bright with colors but you only feel the blues And everyone keeps telling you to smile
How long how long can you hold on to the pain? When when can you let go and open up again?
Everyone’s a critic, every dog thinks it’s his day Every day’s frenetic and a rest can feel like a crime You rest easy honey, feel the cosmic cradle sway Something good will happen in good time
How long how long can you hold on to the pain? When when can you let go and open up again?
I had a very frustrating couple songwriting sessions this week, with a tune/chord progression I just loved but try as I might I couldn’t find any inspiration for the lyrics. I spared the world a mediocre attempt at outlandish humor by calling it quits on a story song about aliens that may still eventually work out. (No wait, who am I kidding? Those lyrics will never again see the light of day!)
Then this little thing flitted in just about fully made, for me to catch and put on display for you. This is something I love about the song-a-week discipline. Every week (excepting dire circumstances or vacations), I will clear some time and space and see what happens with songwriting. And nearly every week, the shy wild muse shows up somehow, some way.
This is the second very short song I’ve written recently – I think I didn’t post the first here yet so I’ll include it below as well.
First, “Songs Left” for week 30 of #songaweek2021:
When the dust settles, when the smoke clears When you and I are all gone from here Will there be songs left for someone to sing When you and I are all gone from here? When you and I are all gone from here?
Next, “4:25” from Week 25 – a tiny song idea I had when the birds woke me up at 4:25 AM:
4:25 and the birds are singing Wonder what’s there to sing about? Go back to bed with a song in my head Maybe someday I’ll have to find out
Julia Bloom 