Lyrics vs. the prefrontal cortex

DeppityBob recently sent along an article about how jazz musicians' prefrontal cortexes wind down when they improvise:

Scientists funded by the National Institute on Deafness and Other Communication Disorders (NIDCD) have found that, when jazz musicians are engaged in the highly creative and spontaneous activity known as improvisation, a large region of the brain involved in monitoring one’s performance is shut down, while a small region involved in organizing self-initiated thoughts and behaviors is highly activated.

Go here for the rest.

This sheds some light on why creating music feels like tapping into some mystical well of infinite possibility, whereas writing lyrics feels like rolling up my sleeves and getting to work. It's not that language can't exist in that same mystical, infinite well. It's that my brain plays guardian at the gate, refusing to let the words through because they might not be exactly right.

And then there were (still) two

Ever since Cinder Bridge's inception, Ron the Drummer and I have been its only members. We're open to the idea of hooking up with a good bassist or rhythm guitarist ... it just hasn't been in the stars.

For a brief period, there was a possibility that a bassist might join our little outfit. Unfortunately, we never made it to the jam-and-see-what-the-chemistry's-like stage. First he was too busy to get together, and now he's decided to leave the state.

Too bad. He's an excellent bassist with tons of experience, and he's fun to be around. He also would've been the only one among us who looks like a genuine rocker: earrings in both ears, spiky hair, and a face just slightly reminiscent of Bob Geldof's in his younger days. Unlike Ron and me, there's no way he could pass for someone who works in middle management.

That last part isn't nearly as important, but still. :)

Music and lyrics

Occasionally people ask me which comes first when I write a song: the music or the lyrics. The answer is that it depends on the song, and I've gotten equally good results both ways. However, I've noticed that most of my songs begin with an idea for lyrics.

There's a good reason for this. I always know that if I create lyrics, the music will follow. Most of the time this will be quick; occasionally it will take some time. Either way, it will happen. It's as though music exists in the ether, and I can tap into it almost any time I want.

Lyrics are another story. They require hard work and concentration and more hard work and looking stuff up in rhyming dictionaries, and did I mention hard work? When I create an interesting melody or piano riff, lord only knows when I'll discover words for it. It's hard enough to figure out how to say what I want to say. If I have no idea what I even want to say, well ...

* * *

So last night, I started to hum a melody that came to me out of the clear blue sky. I jotted it down in my little composition notebook so I wouldn't forget it, then sat down at the keyboard. Frustrated by my tendency to let music-first creations lie fallow for-freaking-ever, I decided to fish for some lyrics. In short order, I had three lines. They weren't particularly profound or original, but they seemed like they could lead somewhere.

Less than 24 hours later, I had a whole song.

Granted, there are still things I need to tweak musically, and then Ron the Drummer and I will need to arrange it. Still, I'm pleased, and kind of shocked. This is the fastest I've written ANY song. It usually takes a few weeks at the very least. To break my record for speed with a music-first song feels pretty amazing.

Rediscovering new music

I discovered these guys while surfing for Tucson bands:

myspace.com/nobodyetal

Nobody, et al. calls themselves folk, but you don't have to be a folkie to appreciate them. You might like them if you're into Iron and Wine -- their stuff has a kind of intensity that you don't expect from slow, guitar-driven music.

When the Myspace player brought up the third song, "Over the Desert," I could've sworn I'd heard it before. Kind of strange, given that their band name wasn't familiar to me at all, and they probably wouldn't be getting radio play. Then it hit me. I checked, and sure enough, the song was on the 2007 Tucson Acoustic Battle of the Bands compilation. Ron the Drummer and I scored a copy when we participated; one of our songs is on there too.

Hopefully I'll get to see them live sometime soon. If I can just find the time to go see live music again ...

Who hasn't done nothing?

I was driving around, running some errands, when "You Haven't Done Nothing" came on the radio. Soon I was singing along best I could, even though the only words I knew were the refrain and the parts where Stevie Wonder goes "Dooooooo de wop."

I've always loved this song. The lyrics (which I've since googled) are so biting and accusatory:

But we are sick and tired of hearing your song
Telling how you are gonna change right from wrong
'Cause if you really want to hear our views
You haven't done nothing

I'd always imagined that his accusation was leveled at people like me: well-intentioned liberals who pay lip service to defeating social injustice, then flip open the TV Guide to see if there's anything good on. Hearing it this time around, though, I began to wonder if Mr. Stevie had another target in mind:

We are amazed but not amused
By all the things you say that you'll do
Though much concerned but not involved
With decisions that are made by you

Yeah, seems likely that he's talking about the powers that be rather than our lethargic citizenry. Probably it was guilt over my own tendency toward inaction that made me misinterpret the lyrics when I first started paying attention to them. Possibly it was my current frustration over the state of health care in this country that got me to listen more closely.

In any case, it's funny how much of our own baggage we bring to the songs we hear.

Come back to the Firefly, Amber Jade, Amber Jade

Had the iPod on shuffle last night, and one of my favorite songs by Amber Jade came up. Amber was a local musician who played around town and, for a short time, ran an open mic at a now-defunct restaurant called Firefly. She was as relaxed on stage as most of us are sitting on the couch watching TV. I loved watching her and listening to her clear, beautiful voice.

A wave of nostalgia hit for this period of my life, when I held Amber up as a role model, when I had all the time in the world to perform at her open mics, when the path I'd chosen was filled with endless possibilities. Now a lot of those possibilities have come to pass. This makes me feel like I'm on the right track, but most days it also makes life too busy for me to decide at the spur of the moment to go out and see a band.

Amber: I hope you come back to Tucson to play one of these days. If I don't have a gig myself, I promise I will make the time to see you.

Unnatural caregiving?

Eric Hansen, a local folksinger who gave me a few valuable voice lessons a while back, has a congenital lung disease called alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency. Today I read about his experiences with it. As a singer, I wanted to know how someone who makes his living singing learns to cope with a condition that reduces lung capacity to 40%.

Then I got to this part, where he talks about participating in a clinical study for a new drug:

Boxes and boxes of supplies began arriving at my apartment which included: syringes, a centrifuge to spin blood, a pump, tubing and big foam boxes for shipping blood, Sharps containers and on and on. My girl friend just freaked out (I wasn’t too happy either) ... She did adjust a bit, but she never did go to Cleveland with me for support. Clearly, she was not a natural caregiver.

That caught my attention. I'd like to think that if someone I was dating suddenly found himself in possession of all this scary medical equipment, my reaction would be one of supportiveness and calm. In reality, I'd probably be pretty rattled.

We can all imagine what a "natural" caregiver is like -- someone with great nurturing instincts and a whole lot of patience. We can also imagine someone utterly lacking in these traits. My question: Can someone who isn't a natural caregiver learn to become one? And if so, how?