…2..3..4 – An Xperience Column

…2..3..4 – An Xperience Column – by Chris Busone.

“The worst enemy of creativity is self-doubt.”

Sylvia Plath said that.

And although I can name several significantly creative individuals throughout time who were plagued by self-doubt and a troubled mind and still managed to create and achieve great things – Van Gogh, Lincoln, Michelangelo, and Charles Dickens come to mind without even Googling – I agree with the idea behind Sylvia’s quote. Of course, she also thought it was a good idea to stick her head in an oven, so I guess you need to pick the fruit that’s ripe.

On the subject of creativity, I’d like to talk a little about songwriting.

As a rule, I’m not a fan of the old adage that “some mysteries are better left unsolved.” I wanna know who shot JFK, and if OJ really, really, REALLY did it. Did Amelia Earhart’s plane plunge into the sea, or did she land safely and live out the rest of her days as Charles Nelson Reilly, and what in the hell ever became of Yahoo Serious by the way? But when it comes to the art of songwriting, I’ve always thought it was best not to dissect your process too deeply and just let it flow. I landed on this topic originally because I saw some jag-off advertisement for songwriting lessons, “Sign up today and you could be the next Bob Dylan or Matchbox 20!” (It really said that.)

As if someone can sit you down and take you through, point by point, the steps necessary to write a song like you’re baking your Nonna’s manicotti. What nonsense. I believe that not only is there no one-size-fits-all procedure for songwriting that must be followed for success, but that each and every songwriter has their own individual process that they employ to craft their finished product, which can change song to song. But there are some who adhere to a strict sequence of well-worn footsteps that must be trod in to bear acceptable musical fruit; NO deviation, NO personal alterations, and NO rebroadcast without the express written consent of the National Football League. (Sorry, ESPN was on in the background when I was writing this bit.)

I will sometimes start with a guitar riff and build from there, adding in lyrics as I go. But in other instances, I hear a phrase or even a single word that sends me back to my guitar, this time molding chord changes like Silly Putty around a sentence or melody that popped into my head. Whatever inspires me. Whatever works.

What I have never had any luck with is determining a topic beforehand and then trying to express my thoughts on it through song. Those attempts always seem forced, contrived, and all-around crappy. And I think I hear that in others’ songs from time to time. I may be mistaken, but I feel like I can tell when someone sat down and said, “I’m gonna write a song about earwax,” and the ode to earwax song sounds so stiff and unnatural, and the lyrics seemed crowded together shoulder to shoulder like they’re trying to cram onto the last chopper out of Hanoi. It makes a mockery of the subject matter, and earwax deserves better.

And while I am an advocate of following your own personal creative process in this regard, I am also vehemently opposed to sharing that process with audiences while you perform these nuggets of musical gold. You know that thing that performers will sometimes do where they sit in a circle (shudder) and describe what they were thinking, and feeling, and the images they were seeing, and what they had for lunch the day they created this lyrical chestnut?

“… I was sitting on a rock in Big Sur, and as the sun rose, the sky turned the most amazing color of – ” Oh My God Shut The Hell Up! Just play the damn tune and if we like it, maybe, just maybe, we’ll ask you later what it’s about … but I doubt it. I just feel like the meaning of a song should be determined by the listener. I’ve had people come to me after a set and tell me what they think (in some cases what they know) one of my songs is about, and it’s never what I was thinking when I wrote it because I’m pretty sure I wasn’t thinking of anything while I was writing that tune, just letting it flow. But if that song meant something to someone, I’m overjoyed and feel as though I did my job as a songwriter. And when you come to one of my shows and sing along with the lyrics to one of my songs, you just made my whole night … my whole year!

But honestly, when I wrote it, I wasn’t thinking of anything, just trusting my non-process, and not doubting my ability.

Which, I guess, brings us back to the incisive Ms. Plath. Self-doubt is a killer, but a little can temper your urges to pontificate and muck up the works like our friends in the songwriters’ sewing circle describing their BMs that morning that led to the amazing musical epiphany they’re about to bestow upon us. So, my best advice is: be honest, in your writing and with yourself, and create from your heart, and whatever comes of that, you’ll be proud. And also, and most importantly, don’t take advice from me or anyone else, and do it the way that feels best to you.

I’d like to end this month, if I may, with a personal note about another heavy loss we sustained recently.

Steve Aldi was not just one of the finest musicians I’ve been lucky enough to play with over the years; he was my dear friend. The absolute joy Steve exuded from playing music on a stage was contagious, and lit up the room and pushed all of us playing with him to higher ground. His ability was unmistakable and a gift to all he shared it with, but that was only part of Steve.

He was a true friend and a devoted dad. While most conversations between sets are usually comprised of gear talk, drinking, and other frivolity, with Steve, it was always an opportunity to catch up on the latest with his boys.

Through the years, I followed along as the boys went from being born, to school, to Little League, and college. And even though through all those years I only met them a handful of times, I had a real sense that I knew them from the stories Steve told and the joy he took in telling them. As much as he lit up on stage, he burned even brighter when talking about his boys. And that to me is the true measure of the man.

Safe home, my friend, you will be missed by your family and your musical family as well. Think of us sometimes, because we’ll be thinking of you and wishing you were here when we’re counting it off…2…3…4.

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