how not to write a song (part 1)
regarding the long gestation of 'lessons for a son'
February 14, 2019: ‘Genesis’
It’s 6pm in the Southland. I’m on the cheap Washburn acoustic (a h.s. gift from my brother), ‘singing’ into my Pixel 2. Television’s on in the background, broadcasting the second half of The Road with Viggo Mortensen. You can hear it sometimes on the recording.
Ground outside is still wet from scattered showers earlier. It’s 59° F, about as cold as it ever needs to be.
I’m generating ideas. Mumbling syllables, nonsense words over and over, just something for the mouth to do. Mind is deliberately not concentrating. Fingers find the notes, hand glides across the fretboard in search of chords, all on autopilot. The voice follows along as best as it can. It’s instinct, knowing what should happen next.
The phone recording is eighteen minutes and twenty-six seconds. What becomes “Lessons For A Son” is nestled between two truly bland ideas.
I’m pretty neutral about the movie. Barely pay attention. But it apparently inspires something right away—unusual for my gibberish ‘process’—which I then swype into an email and send to myself:
wait until you see something in the road
no message for a son still he’s gonna learn
share/lose a piece of bone
climbing thru a hole
dig up every ditch
throw em to the lions
The subject line reads: nick cave strangs [sic] go here!?
Yeah, let me just whip my orchestra out my jeans pocket. Might as well make a note to myself that says ‘get marvin gaye on harmony!?’
I do hope I’ll remember this, though…
(At this stage I’m singing message rather than lesson.)
Todd the Squirrel is outside in a tree making bird sounds. Where does the poor guy go when it rains in Southern California? He’s like us: not used to it.
This city—it’s washing itself, blown by passing cars. The ice in my Vietnamese coffee has melted. I’m drinking flavored water at this point.
February 19, 2019: ‘Social Media’
I post a video of me doin’ it on Instagram to an audience of three million p—particulates in the air. Dust, smog, probably Cheeto mist. I do multiple takes; alternate angles, too. Gotta make sure my face isn’t too bulbous. Add some compression to boost the volume.
I repost this glorious content to Tumblr and Twitter. Here also I am received by adoring fa—families of moths outside my window ‘cause they really love the lights goin’ on in my room.
I think: this will make a…satisfactory song.
I think: surely, I’ll be able to finish this thing real quick.
That’s when the trouble starts.
March 1, 2019: ‘The Chorus (Part 1)’
Oh, right, a song should have a chorus. That’s the whole point of this: for this fool to fuckin’ write one! instead of seventeen bridges. Speaking directly to you bridge-stans who turn your noses up at song structure aka horseshit, a chorus is a thing people enjoy and, if you’ll allow it, I’d like to partake in it a little, you know, for enjoyment purposes. Big sellout moment.
Anyway, I do write one. You’ll have to trust me on this. I record myself playing it so I’ll remember the way I want it played. Get this, though: I totally forget this happened and you never hear it again. Ha ha ha!
A March Miracle: *I’ve made a decision*!
: : : CHAIR | TANGENT | ALERT : : :
I’m writing these words sitting in the very chair in which I wrote the chorus. It’s an uncomfortable 90s-era hand-me-down with zero support. Breathe in a little too hard and it squawks like gooses (different from geese). Because of the armrests, which might well be poured concrete, I have to sit on the edge of the rockface—I mean seat—at an angle, so half of the ass is levitating mid-air like a magic trick, in order to fit the guitar on my lap. And even then, I have to hunch over in various directions depending on what part of the fretboard my hand needs to get to. Forget about tracking guitar in this chair unless you want Backing Vocals: Office Chair in the liner notes. It’d basically be a leg/glute/back workout keeping your body so still to keep the chair from exploding with rage.
March 2, 2019: ‘The Bridge(s)’
Just because I write a chorus doesn’t mean I don’t also write seventeen bridges. I can’t just be, like, resting on my one verse one chorus one bridge laurels. How else will people know I am talented and worth loving?!
There’s no one here to stop me. I follow every iteration, every chord combination that sounds ok next to each other.
I’m gettin’ my seventeen.
I’ll spare you and only share one of the abandoned ideas.
Look, hearing it now it’s obvious that it not only doesn’t belong in the song, it’s straight up buttercheeks of the highest order. But if you don’t try things, you’ll never…I lost my train of thought; this clip is embarrassing.
June 5, 2019: ‘Me vs. The Verses (Part 1)’
The Logic session has, as usual, become bloated and disorganized. There are dozens of ideas stacked on top of each other. I must escape society and hole up in a remote cabin in Wisconsin just to locate that one muted clip I shouldn’t have muted because now I totally think it’s going to be the key to solving this puzzle (it’s not).
Who has the luxury of going somewhere? I hole up instead in my own mind, which sucks as a getaway. Seriously, it’s not a good vacation spot.
This whole time I’m trying to force the song to be a ‘guitar song’ simply because I wrote it on guitar. But maybe it wants to be something else, like a hot little jingle for laundry detergent. Who really knows?
I’ll try any idea that comes to me.
This is only a fraction of the chaos.
In my fantasy, I am frisbee-throwing my laptop into the wall repeatedly until it shatters like my cholesteroly heart. I don’t like where this song is going. It doesn’t feel right. Why didn’t anyone stop me from picking up an instrument before it was too late? I’ve wasted my entire life. I need a pastry!
Please consider checking out some already-released music (links here).
And consider letting a friend know. Need all the motivation I can get.





Ur blowing my mind Andy. Please continue.
Very reassuring to see how similar this is to my own music making process*
*Recording voice notes on my phone then forgetting them for 2 years