The despair of infinity. Or how technology can affect your songwriting. (And what to do about it.)

Here’s another guest post from Jeff Shattuck, a former ad man, who suffered a brain injury in 2006 and woke up wanting to do nothing but write songs. You can follow his recovery progress and songwriting efforts at www.cerebellumblues.com.

I first heard this phrase – the despair of infinity – when I was staring a wall of detergents in a grocery store and my wife, Catherine, said it to me with a bemused look on her face. The phrase has stuck with me ever since, and whenever I am faced with a seeming bounty of choice, I think of it.

For example, whenever I open Pro Tools, grab my Variax guitar and set to work on a song.

Pro Tools offers virtually unlimited tracks, multiple plug-ins (each of which can be fiddled with in multiple ways), and, of course, the ability, neigh, the OBLIGATION, to be free from ever committing to anything (hey, man, we can always edit that later).

And the Variax? Well, it can merely conjure a Tele, a Strat, a Les Paul, a Firebird, a Rickenbacker, a 335, a National, a Martin and more, not to mention near endless variations on each. Oh, and run it though one of those aforementioned plug-ins and suddenly you can choose just about any guitar sound your heart desires, from crunchy Marshalls all the way through to clinically clean solid-state models.

Beyond these items, I also have loops, bass tones, keyboard samples, drum machines with numerous kits and on and on. And this is all without any outboard gear.

Add it all up and what do you get? Hint: it’s not a song. Nope, it’s the despair of infinity.

In other words, you are faced with so many choices you simply can’t decide what to do.
And this is a problem, because the songwriting process is already despairingly infinite. Think of all the words you can choose from. The chords to try. The tempos and beats you might explore. Now take this already mind-bending lack of limits, and add a cornucopia of digital doohickeys, all available with but a click, and your brain will surely become highly deserving of intense pity.

What to do? For me, I find that the best solution is to separate my songwriting and recording processes. I do my very best to puzzle out my tunes with nothing more than a guitar and notepad – or sometimes just a cup of coffee – and use my noggin to imagine how I want the song to sound, instead of trying endless plug-ins. When I think I’ve got something, I will finally sit down at the computer to try to achieve what I’m hearing in my head. Sure, the process of recording might lead to something new – and very well might lead to something better – but, to my mind, starting off with a finished song, at the very least, ensures that I know what I think I want. And this can make all the difference, because now all those choices afforded to me by digital become choices with a purpose (achieving my goal) rather than choices for the sake of choice, a sure path to a cul-de-sac of despair.

Of course, some people like to simply create. They’re the novelists who don’t outline, the painters who don’t pencil their idea before grabbing a palette and brush, the songwriters who simply like to dial in a beat, hit Record, and play whatever until something good emerges. For these folks, the infinite choices of digital enrich the creative process, offering up more, more, more, more ways to express ideas. Not for me. I find digital’s bounty to be a labyrinth that sucks me in with a promise of endless fascination — and delivers on its promise, for the fascination is truly endless.

Please don’t take my musings to mean I am against technology. No way, no how! I love technology and do not ever want to go back to my Tascam 8-track and its finicky tape heads, its tendency to get magnetized, its love of all things oxide. However, technology can become the ultimate distraction as you fiddle with your gear instead of working on your song. And consider this: if you have nothing to work with for a song idea, doing everything to it will still yield nothing. Far better to start with something shaped that you can polish rather than something you will merely grind into dust — and along the way learn firsthand the despair of infinity.

Related posts:

1. MIDI and Songwriting: How it Works, What You Need To Know

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