tag:brucemadole.com,2005:/blogs/the-confused-muse-thoughts-about-songwriting?p=3The Confused Muse - Thoughts About A Writing Life2021-09-23T17:02:49-04:00Bruce Madolefalsetag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/67536152021-09-23T17:02:49-04:002023-10-16T10:45:27-04:00It must be progress... <p>OK. I confess -- this is no way to run a blog. Writing an entry once every couple of months, or even less frequently (alright, it's actually been just under four years)... that's just not how this whole blogging thing is supposed to work. I get that. But life happens, and as it turns out, I've still been somewhat busy. And I do have some news to share, finally. </p>
<p>For starters, I finished that fourth novel manuscript -- <strong>The Assassin's Guide to Water Colour</strong> -- including an intensive cycle of editing and workshopping and beta-reading. I've begun looking for an agent to represent it. And then, I got stuck for a time. I had started a sequel to Assassin's Guide, and then I paused to work on some other stories until the sequel (and its characters) began to assert a need to be heard. So now, I'm in a workshopping and beta-reading cycle for manuscript number 5, titled "<strong>Gallows Humour In a Season of Mercy</strong>." </p>
<p>At the same time, I did some re-writing and song-writing for a musical-in-progress (A Revolution of Birds) which is probably now in about its twentieth revision, while I think about what the next steps might be to get any part of it heard, by anybody. </p>
<p>Stay tuned, if you would... I'm trying to make some kind of progress, always. Trying to get better at whatever it is I'm doing, the process can feel so slow. </p>
<p>Looking back, though, the day-by-day slog to make time for such things (while you also do what you can to earn a daily crust), the time passing can feel as rushed as the scenery passing outside the window of a high-speed train. We're always having to get the balance just right. First this, and then that. Both... and... breathing in and out, living ... while you try to hang onto the fleeting image of a red-tail hawk hunkered down on the branch of a skeletal tree, overlooking a golden stubble of weeds that poke through a layer of early snow, his sharp eyes alert, and beak and talons, poised, waiting for a tiny mouse-shaped opportunity. Meanwhile, the scenery blurs past... our motion through time can feel like progress. Or not. </p>
<p>Sometimes, all I see is change... but I keep hoping for progress. And I'll wish the same for you, whatever your creative dreams may be. Do what you do, and believe in yourself. </p>Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/49038712017-10-30T11:57:54-04:002017-10-30T11:57:54-04:00A Writing Life<p>You may notice that I have changed the title of this infrequent blog, from Thoughts About Songwriting, to "Thoughts about a Writing Life". I haven't stopped writing songs -- far from it. But I have been writing a number of other things: short stories, a musical (in progress), and long fiction. I've been writing novels, albeit, unpublished novels, so far. Three of them, and a fourth underway.</p>
<p>It's been an interesting process. </p>
<p>To begin with, there's a real gap between writing a song lyric that averages 18 lines in length, and then shifting gears to write a story that needs to exceed 70,000 words before one feels there might be an ending in sight. That's just the first draft... with all the rewriting and workshopping to follow. The sense of creative pacing, the development of a narrative voice, the use of dialogue -- those were just some of the elements that a long-fiction form demands. I'm getting better at it. I think. </p>
<p>All this to say, going forward. I might occasionally write about other kinds of writing. Or even, to share some news. For instance: <strong>this past Saturday evening, I won the John Kenneth Galbraith Literary Award for 2017, for a short crime story called "How To Make a BLT".</strong> I'd had three stories in the semi-finalist list, and two of them made the final three, It was an honour to win, and an unexpected pleasure. Somehow, despite a lifetime spent writing a wide variety of things, and working professionally as a wordsmith, I felt just that little bit more vindicated for the hours spent staring off into space, with words and thoughts swirling around and trying to take some kind of useful shape. </p>
<p>So if anyone reading this has been entertaining thoughts of a writing life, my advice is: tell your stories. Write your songs, if that's how the muse leads you. Life is short, and it's too short to waste time doubting your own dreams.</p>
<p>Cheers for now, from The Confused Muse.</p>
<p>Bruce </p>
<p><br> </p>Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/41140622016-03-31T08:55:52-04:002016-03-31T08:55:52-04:00Pow. <p>There is a moment, in the life of a great song, when the world gets to hear it for the first time. I've witnessed it a few times, and read about it too. Picture this: a songwriter (or an artist, in service of the song), with an instrument, and a microphone, and an audience. It could be a small room or an intimate club, or a circle of musical peers sitting cross-legged in the lobby of a hotel at 3 am in the morning, doing a little song-swap and guitar pull. Every audience everywhere has expectations ... but mostly, they've got hope. Hope they'll hear something truly special. Most of the time, that's all it is, hope. </p>
<p>And then it happens. The singer sings, the song lives, and whole room just gets breathless and quiet. "Holy Bleep" they're thinking. "Did you HEAR that?" For a roomful of people, the world just wobbled on its axis, just a tiny bit. Lives are altered. </p>
<p>There's the silence, after. It can feel like forever. Like the silence I've read about, the very first time after Billie Holiday sang "Strange Fruit" in a club in New York City. We can probably all point to songs that did that for us, and to us. It could be Sunday Morning Comin' Down, or The Song Remembers When, or The House That Built Me, or Where've You Been, or Atlantic Blue It could be He Stopped Lovin Her Today, or Jubilee, or Go Rest High On That Mountain. It could be Perfect, or Red Dirt Girl. Whatever great song did that to you, in the first moment of its flight, you will remember it. Great songs, all different genres, essentially the same. Pow. </p>Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/39567862015-12-09T11:15:00-05:002022-05-23T00:16:49-04:00Refocus and restart ... Getting to progressWow ! Turns out, it's been months since I had anything new to say in this space. Well that isn't going to continue. In the intervening time, I've finished the first draft of a first novel, and gotten two thirds of the way, approximately, toward the end of another first draft for another novel.. All that, and I wrote some poetry, finished some short fiction, and managed to reach the semifinalist stage for the John Kenneth Galbraith Literary Award. Oh, and I managed to write a new song or two. <br><br>That's the life outside of work. One of the reasons I'm pleased about it is that both of the novels in progress were started off around 2001. So while that fact might make the eventual completion of a draft look less like an accomplishment, it still feels great to be finishing this stage of a long process. And I can tell myself .... You didn't give up. Patience and persistence, even from the impatient. I managed to refocus, restart, and progress. Only time will tell if the result will endure ... Will I find a publisher? But meanwhile, I feel pleased that I didn't give up. <br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/35671502015-03-01T21:00:21-05:002016-03-31T08:55:12-04:00Songwriting workshop - moving ahead on March 21<span class="font_regular"><strong>I can't put it off any longer: I'm going ahead with the first of my own songwriting workshops.</strong> It's not the one I thought I would offer first, and for which I wrote a nifty little workbook -- currently sitting at around 70 pages or so. Because that version of the workshop, like the little book that keeps on growing, has outgrown my ability to deliver it in a weekend session, much less a one-day version. So with urging from my better half, I decided to tackle a related topic: I've called it <strong>Finding Your Inner Songwriter .</strong> <br><br>When: One day: March 21, 2015. In the Glen Williams Town Hall, where we usually hold our Source of the Song concerts. From 12-5 pm.<br><br>It's about the things that drive us, and the knack for discovering where our true strengths and uniqueness lie! <br><br>For anyone who's interested, full details are listed under the Events page on my website. However, I suppose my point is that I decided to just do it, because I grew tired of making excuses, or saying that I would do one "someday". When the time was right. It may not be perfect, perfectly timed, or perfectly delivered ... but never starting at all was beginning to feel like a great big FAIL. An opportunity to meet with my fellow writers, just thrown away and wasted. So I'll have no more of that. I'm looking forward to the dialogue, to sharing thoughts and experience with others who are trying to make their way forward in this strange craft.<br><br>There's room in the hall. Let's talk. Let's talk songs. Let's talk about you. </span><br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/35145702015-02-08T09:44:24-05:002015-02-08T09:44:24-05:00Time to Get Moving I had two poems included in an art exhibition this weekend -- they'll be hanging in the gallery and hallway for another week or two -- and that's fine with me. It felt good to be doing something with those aspects of my creative abilities. <br><br>I've realised that my love of songwriting does not mean that the rest of my creative life has to remain on permanent pause. There's only so much energy, so much daylight, so many evenings, so many weekends... but if I do nothing with that time, there might as well not be any.<br><br>I am more conscious than ever that time slips away from me while I'm agonising about what to do with it. If the water we craved evaporated before we could drink it, well we'd be dreadfully thirsty ... and terribly upset. But not so much when it's life itself that slips away? Well, maybe that's just me. I'm not preaching here, just sharing.<br><br>I wrote a song earlier last year, titled Beyond His Reach, about this very subject.<br><br>Someday ain't today, that's all I'm saying. So today, I'm planning to take one small step further toward another dream of mine. It's time to get moving. <br><br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/34984372015-02-01T12:52:42-05:002015-02-01T12:52:42-05:00A Poem - Out Loud (Title: For Colleen Peterson)So ... long before I was a lyricist, I wrote poetry. For most of my years in high school and university, that was what I expected to be: a poet. <br><br>This particular poem, titled <strong>For Colleen Peterson, with Thanks</strong>, I wrote about a singer/songwriter whom I greatly admired, and who died too soon. I've decided to include a reading of it today as a kind of experiment. In a way, it's me saying that this too is what I do, and who I am. For whatever that's worth.<br><br>Life is short, and too damned short to spend it pretending to be something you aren't, or hiding the creative spark God gave you. <br><br>I hope you enjoy the poem -- I plan on sharing more of these, as time permits. <br><br><br> 1:06Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/31507432014-10-12T10:56:25-04:002021-06-15T11:49:39-04:00Narrowing the Funnel The point of a funnel is ... the point. It's a big, wide (-ish) catching basin that narrows down to something that fits into the tiny bottle, or whatever. Funnels are about focus. <br><br>Oddly enough, so is songwriting. Big, long-reaching stories, grand emotions, history, lust, angst, rage -- all brought down to two or three verses probably, and a chorus, and a hook. Focus, focus, focus. Oh - and repetition. Because you need room to repeat the really important stuff, like the hook. <br><br>Writing songs is like staging a ballet in a phone booth: there's such a lot to be done in not so much room. <br><br>So ... the funnel. <br><br>I have a few other thoughts about that. For starters, despite the broad catch-basin at the top, it doesn't take that much to fill a funnel. The little channel at the bottom backs everything up, and it spills. So you have to be careful how much you put into the funnel, in the first place. You have to pre-select how much you put into the funnel, even before you start narrowing things down. And when you think about it, it could be said the funnel is the ultimate symbol of the music business -- which seems always to be about narrowing the many down to the few, at every turn. But I digress. <br><br>Our task as songwriters is to narrow down whatever big thing we're trying to write about, and reduce it to a careful distillation of song elements -- images, device, plot, story, character, words, words, words -- that you will use to construct your story in a very small space. If you have excess -- use it in another song. Before you start filling the funnel you have pre-filter and pre-focus what you want to work with. That's the point.<br><br>Many times, I have found myself in a state of "ready to write" without knowing the slightest detail of what I would like to say. (The inarticulate grappling with the inexpressible. Just perfect.) What I do then, always, besides procrastinate, is to search for some kind of a focus: a story focus, a character, a situation or a plot, in which those feelings align. Maybe I'll play an instrument for a while, and look for some music to flow, like lava, from the inner ferment. <br><br>I look for focus. Though I don't always find it. Focus is, for me, the start of everything that separates a song from a bad mood. (Ladies and gentlemen, start your funnels.) But once you have focused on something, and you have something to write about, you still have to filter and funnel. I've found that too. Filter and funnel and focus. And get to the point. On occasion, it has taken me years to get there, with a particular song. It's funny how that happens: feels like driving to the West Coast, just to get directions for Halifax. <br><br>Happy Thanksgiving, all! Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/31507692014-09-18T20:42:03-04:002014-09-20T17:23:04-04:00So ... what? - The Verse-Chorus pairingThere's a funny kind of relationship between a verse and a chorus, in my opinion. The idea is that a verse leads to the chorus, or alternatively, to the hook line at the end of the verse, in an AABA song. So the verse doesn't really stand entirely on its own. Think, the Zen of verses -- one hand clapping. You need the chorus, or the hook for verse to really make its full impact. Which also makes verse one uniquely vulnerable, because you haven't heard anything about the chorus and the hook yet.<br><br>For every verse that follows the first use of the hook, you have that chorus in the back of your mind, which provides a little extra seasoning for the meaning of the verses. Before that? Those initial lines carry a lot of extra weight and responsibility, because they have to hold your listener's ear and lead them to the chorus and the hook, to sweep them along, like an unexpectedly strong river current, as you move from "So..." to "What?" As in "So What?" Why should I care? What are you saying to me?<br><br>Sound of two hands clapping. Or many hands ... if we're lucky.<br><br>Every verse in this little model carries the So. As in ...So? (What happens next?) So? (What are you gonna do?) So? (Why should I care?) And the chorus slams the meaning of the verse and song home.<br><br>So ... what? So ... (That's) What! ! Like that. Every time we work through a verse-chorus pairing, it's like pounding in a nail: the meaning gets clearer, and the message sinks deeper. By the time we reach the end of the song, we've said what needed saying, repeated what needed repeating, and shed fresh perspective (or provided a musical palate-cleanser) via a bridge. Bang. Bang. Bang. So-what? So-what?. So-what? <br><br>My theory? At the end of the day, everything in your song has to have a purpose. It serves the "So?" Or it serves ... What ?<br><br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/31507802014-08-31T19:43:21-04:002022-02-16T11:21:04-05:00Get Yer Silly On ! I take songwriting seriously. Very seriously. Really, I do. But sometimes, you just have to get yer silly on. Or your whimsy. Cut loose. Sometimes, it's important to just ... lighten the heck up! A lot! <br><br>There we are, industriously scribbling away, trying to write a song that will change the world. (I know I've even said that! What a pretentious twit!) But sometimes, the world is just in need of a really good laugh. Or a snicker. Or a sly smile and (with tip of hat to Monty Python), a "nudge, nudge, wink, wink". Ya know?<br><br>In fact, the world of blues music pretty much thrives on double entendres, in addition to the merely explicit. Even though our world has now pretty much pushed all of its acceptable boundaries way way past that (would they have even understood what "twerking" was?), there's still something amusing and fundamentally human about the Itsy, Bitsy, Teeny-Weenie, Yellow Polka Dot Bikini ... if only as a piece of musical history. Or Jerry Reed's "When You Hot, You Hot" . And it might be worth reflecting on the fact that Chuck Berry's greatest single of his career was not, as you might expect, Maybelline, or Johnny B Good. It was his cover of a novelty song, My Ding-A-Ling, with a full cargo of double-entendres.<br><br>How many people know Lyle Lovett more for his songs like "She's No Lady, She's My Wife" or "Ugly", than for "Walk Through the Bottomland" or "Nobody Knows Me Like My Baby". Even the Beatles managed to fit in "Yellow Submarine" and "Maxwell's Silver Hammer". And the list goes on. Think Harry Nilsson's "Lime In The Coconut" (which will make you feel better, if you can get it out of your head). Or Maria Muldaur, who had a couple of classics in "Midnight At The Oasis", and "Don't You Feel My Leg". Sometimes you just gotta write what you gotta write, and it doesn't have to make sense to anybody else. Although it likely will!<br><br>And by the way, I believe that if you don't write them, if you suppress your silly song ideas, they will burst through where they're not wanted, like water into a mineshaft, right in the middle of a perfectly serious song. <br><br>But there, too, is the proof positive that I'm definitely not in a publishing deal, with a publisher to satisfy, and commercial considerations (like a level of investment) challenging me to think about what radio might play. Though, as we've seen ... radio might play a little bit more than we're currently giving them credit for. (Or not.) <br><br>But I stand by my heresy: Get yer silly on, and be proud of it. Among other things, music is meant to be fun! Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/31507992014-08-22T18:59:06-04:002014-09-01T13:45:21-04:00Moving from Mood to Music So. You're moody. That's strange. And you call yourself a musician. What kind of a mood is it? A songwriting mood? Well, most of them are. <br><br>What to do? Play something. Sing something. Write something. Listen to something. Any of the above. All of the above. Try to impart a little "forward motion" to your mood by engaging your own active, personal musicality.<br><br>Momentum applies, in particular, to boats and to songwriters. The more you get something moving, the easier it gets to do something worthwhile.<br><br>Sometimes a mood is just a mood. But sometimes ... it's an opportunity. It's the voice of your muse, prompting you to "Rise up out of Egypt (or the couch) and go -- NOW." (Or translated into songwriting terms: grab a pad, and a pen, and a guitar, and GIT!!! ) <br><br>You will learn with time and experience when and how to be attentive to those inner creative promptings. When and how to find some peace and quiet so you can cultivate the opportunity to listen to the voices in your imagination. But you can plug into another dimension, the world of possibilities, in which stories are lurking like fossils buried in a rock, and there's you, with a hammer and chisel. Or pen and paper.<br><br>You might forget the pen, or the paper, or the instrument. But the one thing you -- the one vital, irreplaceable thing -- that you always have with you is ... YOU. You are the centre of your music. Go for a walk. Sing to yourself. Talk to yourself. (That's normal, for musicians.) Pray, even. But if you're in a mood, "git on up, get outta Egypt" (unless you happen to be, you know, in Egypt), and listen to your muse. <br><br>See what you find. Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/30732802014-07-13T09:29:14-04:002014-07-13T09:29:14-04:00Be Hard on the SongWhen I was a workshop coordinator for the Nashville Songwriters Association International (NSAI) we used to organise "Publisher Critique Nights" in which a music publisher would come out and critique songs for our workshop participants. It was a rare and valuable opportunity for aspiring songwriters to hear about how their material would "measure up" against what the publishers were seeking. Invariably, these were also the most heavily attended sessions by members of the general public -- writers whom we had never seen in the workshop sessions would crowd into that little school library, filling up the sign-in lists. Most of them had the eager, expectant look of a songwriter who is mere minutes (or an hour or so) away from having their genius discovered. They were frequently disappointed. However, the publishers were generally kind, and perceptive, and remarkably tolerant: much of the music they were hearing ... needed work. But the publishers were gentle but honest, pointing out the major flaws, but always stopping short of brutality. The more brutal the song, the less brutal the critique -- and where a writer showed signs of really promising material, the publishers were more detailed, more specific, and harder on the song itself. Because it was close, and they knew that the writer would probably pay attention to real constructive critique. This brings me to one major lesson I took away from that process.<br><br>As a writer, I tend to go through several different phases about stuff that I write. When I'm writing it, and if I've just "finished" a lyric or a song, I'm usually quite thrilled with it. It's a beautiful baby. But give it a little time in the drawer (or guitar case), and start looking at it with fresh eyes ... maybe not so much. As I notice the flaws, I'm trying very hard to learn to distinguish between two different attitudes, one helpful (This song needs more work) and the other, immeasurably destructive (I'm a lousy songwriter). In my better, more rational moments, I know that I am neither as good nor as flawed as those extremes would suggest. <br><br>I am trying very hard to learn how to be hard on the song, but not the writer -- learning how to cut myself some slack, as a creator, and concentrate on improving the song. Because attacking oneself, as a writer, does absolutely nothing to advance your craft, whether in general or the particular instance of it that may be staring back at you from the page. If you want to be hard on something or someone, be hard on the song. And if this one's not working out entirely as you might have hoped, carry on. Keep trying. Come back to it, if necessary. Some songs can take years. Songwriting can be a long, slow curve to improve, but if you allow yourself to persist, you WILL improve. The more you focus on improving the songs, the more you will progress. <br><br>Cut yourself some slack ... and go write your songs. Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/30431522014-06-26T22:18:22-04:002022-04-04T03:10:19-04:00Boy In The WindowI wrote this song -- called Boy In The Window -- with my friend and co-writer David Joseph, after several long conversations about the basic idea (and some of the inspiration for it). It was his original hook idea. Sadly, it's too much rooted in reality -- but we really wanted the song to be more reflective and contemplative. And positive. We were really aiming for positive.<br><br>This performance was taken live from Source of the Song 27. It's just me and a guitar (and a little bit of Ken Whiteley on percussion.) <br><br>If you like it, please share it with someone else you think would like it. Let the song do some good.<br><br>Best regards<br><br>Bruce Madole 4:02Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/28815142014-04-18T14:17:54-04:002016-03-17T13:52:45-04:00Songwriter's Circle on May 7 with Dan Hill and Grainne RyanHello all: There is news ! <br><br>I will be host and MC for an evening songwriter's circle at the Nottawasaga Inn, in Alliston, Ontario, on May 7, from 7-9 pm. Joining me in that lineup are two fabulous songwriters and performers: <ul>
<li>the legendary <strong>Dan Hill </strong>(hit songwriter, performer, author), and </li> <li>
<strong>Grainne Ryan</strong> (first name pronounced "Grawn-ya"), Celtic singer/songwriter </li>
</ul>Tickets are $20, and more details available at the website: www.cast-canada.ca <br><br>cheers,<br><br>Bruce <br><br><br><br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/25442562014-02-08T10:31:13-05:002022-02-25T02:18:22-05:00After the Ice Storm ... SnowWell it's been an overly eventful month or so, with Christmas and New Year's and ... oh yes ... no heat or power for a few days thanks to a surreal ice storm that dropped almost an inch of ice on our neighbourhood (as with so many others). It was just ... strange. And disorienting. I've seen violent thunderstorms, tornados (and near-tornados) and blizzards and even the tail-end of a hurricane or two, but never seen anything like the damage caused by that ice storm. It was just rain, a gentle rain, that kept falling, and freezing, and falling, and freezing -- and then there were trees collapsing, exploding, everywhere, and the electrical transformers blowing up, and whole world subsiding into a frozen darkness. Our beautiful old neighbourhood, heavily treed, has resembled nothing so much as a brush-pile over the past few weeks, as the debris was getting shuffled together and cleared away. Never seen anything like it. Such damage. <br><br>And so, of course, I'm trying to write a song about it. Struggling with that one, a bit, since I don't like what I've come up with. And about the snow that just keeps coming. (That one, I've made better progress.) But that's what we do as songwriters, isn't it? Take the content of our lives (and other people's lives), and try to make some sense of it, or how we feel about it, in song. OK, that's what I do, anyway. Some people write hits. <br><br>And we're organising a couple more of the Source of the Song concerts, with some more great special guests. Keep an eye on the events page, and please sign up for the mailing list, if you would like to be kept informed ! Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/22381682013-12-16T22:02:45-05:002013-12-16T22:02:45-05:00Starting from Silence I recently had the opportunity to speak to a small but attentive group of fellow songwriters on a snowy night in Guelph, part of the Guelph workshop of the Songwriters Association of Canada (SAC). It's been a few years since I used to do this regularly, so I prepared for that meeting by jotting down a few notes -- conversational nuggets, really -- that I could reference in organizing my thoughts. Afterward, I realized that in the process of doing so, I had really taken a real step forward. Not so much with the 15 pages of notes, but just in getting started. In print.<br><br>You see, for several years now I've been telling myself, and others, that I would finally get started on my own songwriting workshop. And I didn't. I wasn't getting started ... I was just talking about getting started. Maybe, persuading myself that I could start. Or maybe, giving myself permission. <br><br><strong>No shortage of opinions:</strong><br>It's not that I'm short of opinions on the subject of songwriting. Far from it ... get me started, and see if I will ever shut up. I'm passionate about the subject. However, I've also tended to be somewhat reticent about putting myself forward as any kind of authority, without a history of writing hit records. Still don't have that. Maybe I never will, and what then? Should I never share any of the things I have learned, or experienced or felt, because I have not yet qualified as a hit writer? But that's not where I'm coming from anyway -- I'm just trying to be a tad helpful to my fellow songwriters. <br><br><strong>Stepping out:</strong><br>If we wait for fame to tell us what to think, who to like, and what to support, then all of life becomes one massive "me too" ... and where does the creativity and originality come from then? <br><br><strong>Useful resources:</strong><br>Let me tell you: there are some great writers out there, and some of whom have written books about it, and some of whom are offering workshops or mentoring and teaching: Ralph Murphy, Harriet Schock, Steve Leslie, Steve Seskin, Jason Blume, James Linderman, to name but a few whom I know and respect. By all means, track their work down, and learn from them. Sheila Davis' book on The Craft of Lyric Writing, and Ralph Murphy's book Murphy's Laws of Songwriting are two very excellent works that I strongly recommend. <br><br><strong>Starting from Silence:</strong><br>In a recent blog, I suggested that a national songwriters day ought to be preceded by a day of complete silence, if only to drive home the point that music is a relief to silence, like birdsong is a relief to twilight. But there’s more to it than that.<br><br>To me, silence is a well to drink from, as well as a page to write on. It’s the deep breath before the song starts, or starts to take form. It’s the moment before the strings are caressed or the keyboard struck, or the ink begins to flow. Maybe it’s the moment where you wave a lightning rod at the approaching storm, and pray for more than lightning bugs (thanks to Samuel Clemons) to answer the call. It’s also the asking of a question: how do I feel? What do I feel? Who do I feel like becoming today? <br><br>Typical introvert – I often don’t know what I mean until I’ve written it. So for me, the process of writing is often about the process of watching some kind of meaning (and story) emerge and unfold. But then, writing is more than “channeling” – it’s about using craft to shape what I’m doing. Storytelling is more than story-finding.<br><br>So if we start from silence, we still move forward with craft, and deliberation, and a passion to let the world hear how we think and feel, and what we have to say. <br><br>Cheers,<br>Bruce <br><br>PS ... Life is short: write your songs ! <br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/20960072013-11-22T11:59:27-05:002013-11-22T11:59:27-05:00Just a songwriterIf I had my way, a national songwriter day would be preceeded by a national Day of Silence. No music of any kind allowed. Just to kind of ... make a point.<br><br>It's amazing how many people used to take offense when I described myself as "just a songwriter". It is as as though, in using those words, I was speaking ill of this great profession, demeaning my own passion.<br><br>What I meant to say, what I generally mean by that, is that "I am not <em>also</em> a recording artist. I do not regularly tour, and visit radio stations, and do all of that work also." <br><br>I sit at home, in the early morning hours, listening to the clock tick, waiting for the kettle to decisively whistle so that these grounds will become coffee, and a waiting sludge of thoughts, inarticulate intentions and seething memories may begin to take shape as a lyric. Or something else.<br><br>The guitar is still safely under wraps. My sweetheart is soundly sleeping. If the lyric is not good, no one will see or hear it, unless I deceive myself into thinking it's good, and write a melody, and then play it for someone. Just to see. <br><br>I could just as easily say that I am "just a lyricist", if that were true, though it isn't. I'm mainly a lyricist, and though I do write melodies, I love it when I can partner with melodic, musical genius, to relieve me of that additional challenge. I still tend to think of my own melodies as plain, which isn't always true.<br><br>What is true is that I seldom see myself clearly, as others might. Or I see too much else, remember too much, fear too much. I lose focus on the fact that words can move people. Words can hurt, but they can also help to heal. They give us the power be fully human and expressive. I want you. I need you. I miss you. I love to see you. You hurt me. All simple expressions of humanity, with songwriters looking constantly for a richer, more lasting form to say those things. Something original.<br><br>There's magic in it, done right. Lasting magic. It can be hellishly difficult, it can emerge like a sculpture out of chiselled stone, or it can drop onto your page shocking as a spider off a roof beam. But there is nothing "mere" about it. <br><br>So ... go ahead. Break your radio. Toss the iPod. Destroy all your speakers. See how much silence you can stand before you begin to hum something, or whistle, or start to tap out a sloppy paradiddle with your fingers. Sing nothing that you haven't written yourself. .... Or ... just think about all the music in your life and how somebody wrote that, starting with a blank page, the intimidating static of their own brain, and the urge to say something to the world. <br><br>Cool, isn't it. <br><br><br><br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/19076552013-10-22T22:46:59-04:002013-10-22T22:46:59-04:00Trouble with TruthAre you going to write the songs that matter to you, with your own unique voice? Or will you create something that is only commercially crafted, chasing the perceptions and needs of some music marketer’s fondest demographic fantasy, and having the lasting literary value of a grocery jingle?I understand there’s been some controversy of late, down in Music Row, about the nature of the music being released as “country music”. This is scarcely news, any more than it is news that parents will disapprove of how their adolescent children choose to dress. (You’re not going out like <em>that </em>… ) But I’ve been reading comments from various artists who are polarized about the outcomes of these recording decisions. <br><br>How do you know when you’re about to step over some line that you can barely see, and which varies from person to person? Well … it’s your line. If you step over it, step back in a hurry.<br><br>A lot of what we’re hearing these days is the product of a country music industry that has learned to parody itself: its voice, its messages, its clichés, its own sounds and rhythms. And yet, at the same time, it borrows its clothes and its clues from a more popular sister – from rock, or hip-hop. These are not “fusions” or “influences”, but the brazen attempt to sneak into a public consciousness using borrowed ID. However, it may be that the market these chameleons are chasing doesn’t really know what it wants. It’s sure a long way removed from Harlan Howard’s “three chords and the truth”. Because they seem to be having trouble with the truth part.<br><br>You have songwriters writing about front porch swings, moonshine, and fishing with cane-poles (when your basic bass fisherman of modern vintage goes out with enough technology to make NASA smile). In fact, Pam Tillis released “Betty’s Got a Bass Boat” back in 2002, more than a decade ago. So … cane poles? Really? <br><br>We need to ask ourselves if the current market for country music is the same as the market for Clearasil and teenybopper apparel? Whose reality do they think this reflects, anyway? Just because Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber began stellar careers while they were very very young, has it escaped notice that even they, the teenage wonders, have turned into grown-ups? That Hannah Montana turned into Miley? And is twerking the new line-dancing? (Don’t tell my part, my achey-breaky part?) <br><br>Those sure aren’t the realities I’m writing about. And as a songwriter, I’m looking to mine the realities that touch me, or that I can observe and write about at least somewhat truthfully.<br><br>On the other hand, doesn’t pop music freely ignore such “precious” concerns? Maybe it’s ok to just simply rock out, to entertain, to have a little fun? Even for the country or roots artist. I’ve written my own share of songs with no greater intent than to make folks smile or laugh. Maybe that’s what music is about?<br><br>Except, except … if you wanted to write the next “Live Like You Were Dying”, or “I Hope You Dance”, or “Where’ve You Been” or “When Fallen Angels Fly?” or “Whiskey Lullabye” or "Whiskey and Wine"… and oh how I wish I’d written any one of them … you’re probably going to have to dig a little deeper than cane poles and front porch swings.<br><br>But here’s the other point … even with a ditty, I’m trying to be truthful with it. Trying to be creative, even if I don’t always succeed. Anything else is insulting to an audience, and demeaning to the artist. And it’s a wasted opportunity.<br> <br> <br>Bruce<br><br><em>Life is short – write your songs!</em>Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/16158322013-09-14T09:52:17-04:002013-09-14T12:31:44-04:00Who wrote that song ? Take your favourite songs of the year so far -- or the past month, even -- and ask yourself: <strong>Who wrote that song?</strong> Of course, in some genres of music it's mostly the performer/artist. But ... do you know ? Awareness is everything. <br><br>Songwriting associations, like Songwriters Association of Canada (SAC) or the Nashville Songwriters Association of Canada (NSAI) keep on making the point that popular music begins with a song. But ... I recently saw a poster promoting a show about "The Music of Glen Campbell" , which is a great concept for a show -- but I couldn't help but notice that Jimmy Webb didn't get mentioned. You know, the guy who actually wrote a good many of those songs. Today's commercial music industry does all that it can to build the profiles of the performing artists, and the general public goes through life often without knowing that a songwriter was at work behind the scenes. So be it. <br><br>I once conducted a campaign of correspondence with a music video network, asking them to list songwriter credits at the end of their music videos. They did it too, for a year or so ... before the ownership changed. And I heard, via the grapevine, that the network had designed contracts to absolve themselves of any responsibility for the failure to acknowledge songwriters, among other issues. If an indie video was going to be aired, without credits, there would be no come-back to the network. <br><br>Our <strong>Source of the Song</strong> concert series was originally created to make a small change of emphasis: somebody wrote the songs, and sometimes, you've not heard their names. <br><br>So ask yourself, whenever you hear a song that you really love, that really moves you: <strong>who wrote that song? </strong> <br><br>Every day can be National Songwriters Day ! <br><br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/15758282013-09-12T09:42:12-04:002013-09-12T09:42:12-04:00A Breath of Inspiration<strong>1. Prepare to be inspired</strong><br><br>I don't know where inspiration comes from. In my experience, I have to listen for it. And I have to prepare to listen for it, too. Inspiration does not always come clomping into the house like a kid wearing Daddy's work boots. But it's no good scurrying around looking for pen and paper or recording device while some great and luminous idea grows increasingly dim and shapeless in the imagination, like grey dishwater circling a drain. I need to be ready for it. <br><br>Once a great idea is neglected, other lesser ideas come muscling in, with louder and more populist voices, like importunate pan-handlers and those me-too guys you've probably run into at business meetings. Pretty soon, you find yourself pouring a drink (of something) and wishing the first idea would just come back and explain itself again, while you promise to listen more closely. Please. <br><br><strong>2. Be Responsive</strong><br><br>Great ideas are more like hummingbirds than vultures -- they visit quickly and they tend not to circle around my head waiting for me to die, or pay them some attention. You may experience things differently. <br><br>So, inspiration. Take a deep breath. Try holding it. You can't help breathing out ... but responding to the idea is as undeniable as the need to breathe in or out. Jot something down, so you don't totally forget. <br><br>I always feel like a bit of a fraud to talk about an idea, when I don't really know where they come from. It's like, if some total stranger walked up to you in the street and handed you a winning lottery ticket, would you take credit for it? (Apart from cashing the ticket?) For me, since I tend to think of songs as a form of story, most ideas when they arrive in my head are born naked, waiting to be clothed in details, and motivation, and back story, and emotion. <br><br><strong>3. An example of the process </strong><br><br>I thought, as an example, that I would walk through the process for a song that arrived as a gift. And finished that way, as I will explain. <br><br><strong>The genesis and growth of the idea:</strong> to begin with, when I was a very small boy, my Dad got me a small wooden sailboat, with a real linen mainsail, and a stand to put it on, when it wasn't sailing. That toy sailboat currently stands on its rack, on a shelf in our kitchen, where I could see it from the dining room table. On the warm summer evening when this song was born, I was sitting at the dining room table, pen and paper before me, and I noticed how a breeze had caused the linen sail to stir. <br><br>And then I had a passing idea: what if, I asked myself, you could talk about the breeze that was gathered up from the last breath of every dying sailor lost at sea? Too complicated, I decided. And then, I thought, I should be working with a character, make him ... ummm ... a condemned man, who is going to be hanged, and who simply wants the wind to not blow until he has breathed his last breath. And it would be a period piece, set in the age of sail. I needed to think of it cinematically, to provide a visual perspective. <br><br>But, I asked myself, why would a listener care about a protagonist who did something bad enough to be hanged for it? The answer, I decided, was that he had to have done something sacrificial, like killing to defend a lady, that could lend some nobility to his situation. And that became the story: all he wants is for the wind not to blow and not to carry the young lady away, until he has breathed his last breath in her cause. In almost no time, an hour or two at most, I had a lyric that told his sad tale. <br><br><strong>Enter, a melody -- please: </strong>The melodic question had yet to be solved. This was never going to be a country song, nor a pop tune, nor a blues, or a bluegrass. The question then urgently became, what was it? Inspiration stopped there, for many weeks, while I struggled with several melodic approaches. They definitely didn't work. <br><br>And then one night, my wife and I were attending a music event at Hugh's Room in Toronto, and I happened to bump into David Leask. David Leask is a fabulous (and award winning) singer-songwriter, of Scottish heritage, and I had the sudden conviction that David could be asked to lend his Celtic wizardry to the song. I said as much -- and he said that he would "have a look", to see if anything inspired. Three days later, David emailed me a beautiful, haunting melody that gave the song wings. We talked about a few lyrical tweaks, and the song was done. David produced a lovely acoustic-vocal demo, with a touch of cello added by Kevin Fox.<br><br>I still can't explain where the ideas come from, or when they'll arrive, but this is the history of how one idea got written, and then co-written; you can hear David's demo on this website: <strong>While I Still Breathe</strong> (Madole/Leask). <br><br>Best regards<br>Bruce<br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/15769592013-09-10T11:29:46-04:002013-09-11T06:09:57-04:00Songs from close to the boneOne of my most long-standing musical friendships is with a musical mentor and collaborator, JK Gulley, a fabulous guitarist/producer and songwriter. There is a song of his that will always be one of my favourites, called In My Father's Field. I know there's a great recording of it by John Cowan (of New Grass Revival, etc). I've heard JK perform it live, on several occasions. The song makes me cry because it is siimple, emotional, powerful, and truthful. Just hearing it is like the deep heartfelt sigh of contentment and relief when you finally arrive home after a long journey and settle down into your favourite chair, or a long hot bath. I hope someone will play it at my funeral someday, so I'll rest easy. It's that kind of a song -- written from close to the bone. Here's a snippet:<br><br><strong>In My Father's Field</strong>, by JK Gulley<br><br><em>In my father's field, that's where you will find me<br>at the end of a winding road<br>by the shade of a lonely tree<br>the home of his childhood and sweet memories<br>in my father's field <br><br>I go there for comfort, I go there for peace<br>I go there for freedom, I got there for me<br>and it does my heart good to touch my roots<br>in my father's field. </em><br><br>etc<br><br>You can find the John Cowan performance of this on YouTube -- I recommend it. <br><br>In my own experience, these songs are the hardest to write, and the most worthwhile. They're hard to write, because it can be so difficult to get past all of the personal baggage to the song itself, in a form that actually communicates and evokes emotional response from others. As I have written on other occasions: if a song makes you cry, that's catharsis -- if it makes <em>other </em>people cry, that's craft. If you can do both, it's probably magic.<br><br>I have tried, many times, to finish a song called "After The Shooting Stops" -- I shared a rough acoustic version of this song once, in the Acoustic Guitar website. The song is based on a long-ago experience of a shooting in our local high-school. I wasn't even in the middle of things, and yet it profoundly affected me, as it did so many of my friends. I will probably record this, someday. <br><br>Iris DeMent's song, My Life, is another of my favourite examples of this kind of song, written from a place of introspection and feeling of insignificance. But her chorus is about small comforts that may be the most important of all:<br><br>Chorus from Iris DeMent's <strong>My Life</strong>: <br><br><em>But I gave joy to my mother<br>and I made my lover smile<br>and I can comfort my friends when they're hurting<br>and make it seem better for a while. </em><br><br>Wow. How simple and profound can you get?<br><br>Some years ago, I lost a dear friend, an agent that I had worked with for years. Her name was Morgan (Sandy) White, and she died suddenly, of cancer. One minute she was feeling not well, and within a couple of weeks, it seemed, she was gone. She was buried on a hilltop, near Lake Simcoe, and I remember the details of that day, how the sky looked, the clouds of soaring birds overhead. At her wake, I promised her family that I would write a song for her, which I did. I wrote it on the drive home that night, and the song was called <strong>So Rudely Interrupted</strong>. I had it demoed a few years later (with vocals by Jay Riehl, guitar from Wendell Ferguson. You can hear it on the website.) It's a truthful song about a lifelong conversation, interrupted, and there's a little bit in there of an honest reflection of how even a person of faith may struggle with coming to terms with loss and grief. And there were echoes and feelings there from the loss of my own mother, some years earlier. So whether that song ever serves any other purpose, I wrote it from a deep emotional place, which is what I mean when I say "close to the bone". You know ... deep down, where it hurts. <br><br>With every kind of song that I might choose to write, and love to write, and to perform, these are the kinds of songs that I will always be proud of having written. Maybe, they are a part of what gives our work meaning. <br><br>cheers<br>Bruce<br><br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/15753542013-09-09T13:19:36-04:002013-09-10T08:24:38-04:00Life is short - write your songsI think everybody starts writing songs in their own way, from their own place. Most of us face a giant learning curve in doing so -- Ian Tyson's first song was "Four Strong Winds." A classic. How does that happen? I don't know, but it didn't happen that way for me. I've had to learn, and to make matters more interesting, I started late. I learned slow. Looking back, an objective observer could be forgiven for wondering why I didn't put the clues together sooner. But it took me years to discover that I was a songwriter. And more years to learn what that means.<br><br>To begin with, I was a poet. From early grade school, up to and including my university years, that's what I planned to become. I wrote poetry. I loved music, with a passion. But I was a poet, if you had asked me. <br><br>I loved music. I loved to sing. I loved to improvise for hours at a time on the common room piano (though usually, in the small hours of the morning when no one could hear and be driven away by accidental music). I constantly borrowed my friends' guitars, to plink painfully away, just as I had frequently borrowed my Dad's guitar. I never actually bought a guitar ... I just borrowed them. (But if anyone had asked, I was a poet. I even wrote poetry ... about music. ) <br> <br>OK ... so I didn't actually own a guitar of my own yet. My very first guitar was a wedding gift from my beloved, around our first anniversary, because in that first year of marriage, we were poorer than dryer lint, but that's another story. But eventually, after I actually owned a guitar, I got involved in trying to write a song or two, at church. And eventually, it dawned on me that the love of words and the love of music did not have to be mutually exclusive; they could converge, and did, in an increasingly undeniable urge to write my own songs. Following from that conclusion, it dawned on me that I must also be a songwriter. I was already writing for my daily crust -- journalism, technical writing, public relations and so on -- but I could clearly see that my early lyrical efforts were nothing like the great songs I'd grown up listening to. I did not yet know how to begin following in their footsteps, much less defining my own path, or finding my own voice. <br><br>So I set out to study the craft of songwriting. I joined groups that offered workshops, like the Canadian Country Music Association (CCMA), Songwriters Association of Canada(SAC) and the Nashville Songwriters Association International (NSAI). I bought books about craft, I read articles, and I began to pay closer attention to evidence, before my eyes (and in my ears) about how songs worked. <br><br>The most important decision I made, starting out, was never to let the challenges and frustrations of this path deflect me from continuing to learn. <br><br>What I discovered is that songwriting is an identity, not just an activity. You may or may not be writing at any given moment, but if you write songs, you are a songwriter. You are a songwriter when you are <em>thinking</em> about writing, when you are desperately procrastinating, when you are sad and depressed and crushed at some failure to really nail what you thought was a great idea. And you are a songwriter when you are struggling to exercise your craft, and actually write. At all of these times, and with or without success as it is commonly measured, you are a songwriter. It's probably not your entire identity, but it's still an important part. It matters. <br><br>And if that is your situation, as it was mine, we are walking down the same path. If you are stalled, get started again. Join a workshop, and find the company of others who understand this. <br><br><strong>Life is short -- write your songs!</strong> <br><br>Best regards<br><br>Bruce<br> Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/14962822013-08-27T20:36:35-04:002013-08-27T20:36:35-04:00Fresh Thoughts and Expression I am constantly being reminded that it is possible to break out of a musical rut, or a mental one, and to create something that is fresh and powerful and memorable. There is always that tension: the desire to observe forms and respect traditions, to create something that is in some sense recognizable as to its genre and its style, and the contrary desire to break out with some work that is wildly creative and unfettered by any sense of normality. I hear something that takes my breath away, that brings a tear, or triggers a big broad grin -- and I encounter a little voice that says to me: you see! It IS possible to be creative and fresh. <br><br>
One of my favourite examples goes back to the video by Paul Simon about the making of the Graceland album, in which he talks about his process. He says, in that video, that he did not set out to "write hits", and that he was just trying to write songs that he was going to really like and feel satisfied with. And what he wrote was possibly the greatest music of his career ... or arguably so. <br><br>
There are other examples who shine for me -- John Prine's great quirky simplicity, Lyle Lovett, Iris DeMent (whose song "My Life" remains one of my all-time favourite examples of writing simple and close-to-the-bone). I loved the Blue Shadows, and Beth Nielsen Chapman, and Pink's "Perfect", and a South African band called Juluka, and a great many other fine examples of musicians who found their way to a fresh and original place. The sweet thing is, every time I encounter those examples, wherever they are and whomever they may be, in whatever genre, I end up feeling just that bit more liberated, and empowered to take musical or lyrical chances. But especially, I find that the more ruthless I am about trying to write with my own true voice (and not some oughta-be or wanna-be derivative), and about things that really matter to me, the closer I come to doing fresh work. <br><br>
Just one of those thoughts that makes me go "hmmmmm". <br><br>
cheers all<br>
Bruce<br>
Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/14559732013-08-22T04:01:20-04:002013-08-22T04:01:20-04:00The People Who Said NoI wanted to thank the people who said "No". <br><br>
We always remember the people who said yes to us, who opened a door, made an introduction, agreed to cowrite, agreed to listen, to publish, or even to cut a song. Any list of milestones is a product of so many people who helped us take one step forward, or even stopped us from taking a step back. My deepest thanks to all of you who have been a part of that progress.<br><br>
Early on though, before <i>any</i> good things could happen, there were people who needed to tell me -- gently, humorously, bluntly, firmly, or with words of encouragement: No. Or even, not yet. Not yet there. Not yet good enough to be great. Needs more work, more inspiration, more perspiration. More ... something. Keep going. Work at your craft. I need to thank those people, all of you, for words of encouragement as well. Because I'm still working at it. <br><br>
Thanks to all of you. I'll be knocking on the door again soon, God willing. <br type="_moz">Bruce Madoletag:brucemadole.com,2005:Post/14511952013-08-21T13:13:45-04:002013-08-21T13:13:45-04:00Introducing "The Confused Muse - Thoughts on Songwriting"I've been a songwriter for a long time now. And I've been a student of the craft, and once, a fair time ago, I was an NSAI Workshop Coordinator for pretty much an entire decade. And I've been guided and helped and "straightened out" on occasion by some great mentors and friends. Lots of people have been really helpful to me. So, yes, I have thoughts and opinions and news to share from time to time. <br><br>
Now that I've got a website, wisdom has it that I also need to communicate a bit of what I am doing and thinking, in a space just like this one. Which I have decided to do, right here.<br><br>
I have been working on developing my own spin on a songwriting workshop, so stay tuned for more news about that, or even snippets of content. <br><br>
Why did I call this, The Confused Muse? First, because I wanted to find something mildly humourous. Secondly, I chose it because songwriting requires both craft and inspiration, and the inspiration part is both deeply unpredictable and impossible to bottle. <br><br>
So I hope you enjoy reading my thoughts in this space, and will tune in to see what happens next. I'm looking forward to it, myself. <br><br>
Bruce<br type="_moz">Bruce Madole