the best songwriting you've never heard
james lives on fenton street down the block from the empty lot that once held the 7-11. a firehouse is going up slowly.
he’s a teenager, but you’d only know it from the library books in his backpack:
salinger, the autobiography of malcolm x, arthur c clarke. his looks would place him in elementary school, his placement test would have him in high school. but he’s trapped in the middle world, the boiling limbo of junior high.
darkness attracts light.
the contrast can be thrilling.
but it’s always and forever darkness.
and over time, the light gets tired of doing all the work.
a couple sits on opposite sides of a dinner table, food mostly gone. muted explosions and a pumping soundtrack pulse from the basement. no one speaks.
they’ve been together for many years, each shaped by lifelong contact with the other, a complex jigsaw of additions and subtractions. the cracks are becoming evident, but neither wants to lift their eyes to see.
twilight, late summer.
an almost sixth grader living in a small house out past dearborn.
Continue reading “monday song #39: the i inside the hurricane”
a beginning.
the spark before the flame. the inhale before the exhale. a moment’s peace, balanced on the edge of the unknown, and then tumbling forward, falling, plummeting down, eyes tight closed but catching glimpses all the same, flashes of recognition, but they’re gone too fast, like a torch thrown down a well, lighting everything, but showing nothing.
this is the first straight love song i’ve written in a long while. i usually steer clear, but i just finished a wonderful book called “brooklyn” by the irish novelist colm toibin, and it apparently left me with a romantic longing that i needed to work out. monday songs to the rescue.
couldn’t get an original done as i was cranking out this year’s holiday song. since i have nothing original to offer, figured i’d share the results of my work – a cover of a cover, featuring my son and daughter on vocals. we’ve been doing this for the past six or seven years, and they never disappoint.
just as a side note, this song marks the intersection of two of my favorites: david bowie’s “hunky dory,” the album this version apes, and paul williams, who wrote the lyric.
after last week’s breakthrough to the brighter side, i was excited to keep my eye on the positive and deliver some more upbeat music. but when i heard that vic chestnutt had committed suicide, i just couldn’t get it off my mind, and figured i should pay tribute.
with number 35 i’m taking a break from my manic suite and breaking many of the rules of monday songs, perhaps retiring them permanently. the song has overdubbed instruments, vocal harmonies, and has nothing sad about it. it’s the most fun i’ve had doing a song in a few months.
with number 34 i begin the second year of monday songs. i hope to be a bit more consistent in 2010: in songwriting, in many things…
another in the “mind on fire” cycle. mostly speaks for itself, in that it says very little, and suggests less. and more.