While I’ve always been a fairly introspective guy, I was never really able to put my temperament into words until I was introduced to my now favorite philosopher, William James. In his book, The Varieties of Religious Experience, James describes how different religions appeal in different ways to people of differing temperaments, and sets forth two general kinds of temperaments. He calls them the Healthy-Minded and The Sick Soul. These are admittedly general categories, as James is always the first one to admit that “individuality outruns all classification,” but they are good general categories.

The Sick Soul

I’ve found that I fall into the latter of the the two. The Sick Soul is characterized by the view that “the evil”* aspects of our life are of its very essence, and that the world’s meaning most comes home to us when we lay them most to heart” (Varieties, 124). For the Sick Soul, the recognition and admission that evil is an elemental part of both our existence and our interpretation of the universe, is key to achieving any kind of peace or solace.

This is me to the letter. Yes, I’m a generally happy guy, but my thoughts and feelings are all underpinned by a general melancholia. My thoughts tend to center around what James claims to be the general observation of religion, which is that things are not as they ought to be. My optimism stems from what James says is the the general response of religion, which is that things can be made at least better than they are by unification with or reconciliation tosomething greater than us. For me, this is meliorism, the idea that “that the world tends to become better or may be made better by human effort.”

But, despite all this purported optimism, the melancholy remains. No, I’m not saying that I’m clinically depressed or anything of that magnitude (in fact, I took a free screening on campus and they gave me clean bill of mental health!), but I’m saying that for me there is a certain amount of general melancholy that comes with being mortal, living in a mortal world. Despite my belief that the world can (and ultimately will) become a better place, I am ultimately aware that I suffer real pains, real mistakes and real losses.

Because there are different temperaments, there are different kinds of art and more specifically, different approaches to creating art. Among many of my musician peers, and many of those whose place it is to instruct me in the same, there is a popular ideology which says that for music to be “uplifting” its lyrics have to be “happy” and have to avoid negative topics. While I believe that art should uplift, I don’t think this method is a particularly effective or honest approach to achieving that end. I unable to speak for other people, but I personally can’t get to the point where a piece of art can edify me or provide me with solace if it casts a blind eye to the things that are causing my turmoil to begin with. For me, there is no catharsis until after the conflict. That’s the way it is in my life, and art doesn’t make sense to me if it isn’t in some way a mirror of that. Even an idealistic piece can tip its hat to the fact that things are not as they are being portrayed.

Voicing the Voiceless

This is the paradox of tragedy. Aristotle wrote about it, Plato and pals argued about it. Why is it that we find joy in seeing a tragic film or play, or in hearing a sad song about the broken heart of a fornlorn lover. To make the paradox clearer: How is it that we somehow find joy in being sad? I think that sad songs speak to us because in order to be healed or to find peace, we must first find a voice for the grief we’re up against. I’m convinced that we’re incapable, by ourselves, of saying everything that we need to say in this life, and thus need others to help us say the rest. This, to me, is the role of tragic art. It is the voice we give to pain so that the pain can be understood and handled.

I watched the film “The Deer Hunter” this week. It was a Viet Nam Era piece starring Robert Deniro, Christopher Walken and Meryl Streep (to name a few), and was heartwrenching for me to watch. The majority of the time, I had a lump in my throat and was blinking back tears. The film depicted death, grief and the depletion of human will… yet I came out of it feeling profoundly uplifted. It did not have a happy ending by any obvious means, but I came away from it filled with an enriched view of the nature of loyalty and love, and with a hightened sense of . . . gratitude? Yes, it was gratitude, and this is a perfect example of “voicing the voiceless.”

When I was in first grade, my father was shipped off to Saudia Arabia to fight in Operation Desert Storm. I missed him terribly, but for the most part, I handled it quite well. When you’re that young, your mind has a pretty big buffer so that emotionally devastating things don’t hurt your development as much. I remember being well aware that the news had just stated that the city my dad was in was being bombed and seeing the fear in my mother’s eyes and sometimes hearing her crying softly in her bedroom, but my little six-year-old brain would never allow me to process any of it. So as a result, my heart and mind were aware that I should devastated, but filed the information away for later processing. Fast-forward to this week. Seeing the horrible depictions of war, and grief and worried families and loyalty to one’s country depicted in The Deer Hunter, suddenly fills me with an incredibly heartwrenching sense of gratitude for my father’s willingness to serve his country and his eventual safe return. For the first time in 19 years, the pain I felt had been given a voice. It was finally in a form that was comprehensible, and consequently healable.

The music that means the most to me and has the deepest emotional impact on me is the music that doesn’t shy away from the sad things of the world. I am perpetually impressed by the lyrics of Sufjan Stevens who finds the beauty in those who we would ignore and the wisdom that can distil in times of sadness. Let me end with a line from one of his songs, called “For the Widows in Paradise,” which stuck in my mind the first time I heard it and has stayed with me ever since:

“Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life? “

I hope that as a musician, there is at least one idea I can get across which will remain to take my place when I’m gone.

*To be clear, I use the term “evil” in the general philosophical sense, meaning anything that causes pain or sadness, which includes – but is not limited to – moral evil.

This blog entry was originally posted on my portfolio website located here. I decided this is perfect material for Serve The Song, as Elliot Smith is held closely to the hearts of so many lovers of well-written music.

What more can I say about Elliott Smith?  I consider him to be the best songwriter of our time.  It’s an absolute tragedy that we lost such a natural talent.  He left behind a remarkable but sadly incomplete body of work that receives constant play in my listening rotation.

Obviously, narrowing it down to one outstanding album is a tough task.  Figure 8 is the record that touches all the bases of Smith’s style – Melody driven arrangements, intimate and mellow acoustic numbers, fleshed out rock productions, and of course- lyric sets that speak strait to the soul.

Great thanks to my brother, Jeff, who turned me on to Elliott Smith a couple years ago when he played me his self-titled album.  I must say that album was a very close second choice as it contains some of his best works.  But that’s the thing about Elliot Smith — it doesn’t matter which album you hear first, within a matter of two weeks you will have your hands on the entire catelog (at least that was the case for me).

On Figure 8, Smith took his signature production style of doubling all guitars and vocals and translated it to a full rock band sound.  This expanding of his sound occured on previoius albums, but was really perfect on Figure 8.  The electric side of Elliott Smith makes itself known right from the album opener, “Son of Sam” and continues the roller coaster ride all the way to the anthemic “Pretty Mary K”.  The piano work on this album adds brilliant color to the musical landscape of Figure 8 – the way it seamlessly threads between rhythmic chord punches and matching the melody of the vocals.

The intimacy of hearing Smith alone with an acoustic guitar remains intact on “Somebody That I Used To Know”.  It’s certainly a departure from the rest of the album, but it completes the dynamic range nicely.  It was almost left off of the final track list.  Good choice in leaving it in guys.

One of my all-time favorite Smith songs happens at cut three, “Junk Bond Trader”.  Elliott Smith tunes aren’t categorized as driving music very often, but “Junk Bond Trader” has caused me to miss highway exits on several occasions.  Something about the way the second verse kicks in gives me goosebumps every time – “Now I’m a policeman directing traffic, keepin everything moving, everything static”.  Not so much the message, but the way his singing rolls perfectly along with the pulse.

Another track that always stands out on the first listen is “In The Lost and Found”.  This could be the coolest honky-tonk piano playing I’ve ever heard, which makes for the most infectious tune on the album.  Lots of layered vocal harmonies going on here, along with the dramatic low string arrangements that are present throughout the album.

A couple notes on the recording of this album… three songs were done at Abbey Road Studios which might explain the very Beatlesque feel of “Pretty Mary K” and others.  In fact, Elliott played the same piano used by the Beatles when recording “Fool on the Hill”.  Figure 8 was produced by Tom Rothrock and Rob Schnapf who both produced Elliott Smith’s other albums, Either/Or and XO.

Elliott Smith certainly left us a gem with Figure 8, his last complete work before his death.  As a songwriter, I’m constantly drawing on this release for inspiration and often find myself doubting I will ever be able to acheive a fraction of the greatness on this album.  That’s fine with me, as long as Elliott Smith’s music continues to be loved and appreciated for decades to come.

The most popular method of giving your song a name is to use the lyric of the chorus. This is the standard in pop music, which makes for good marketing. Radio listeners who know the hook of a song can find it in iTunes quite easily. But this is not just for the mainstream and there’s nothing wrong with this route. One of my all-time favorite songs comes to mind here:

Since I’ve Been Loving You by Led Zeppelin
“Since I’ve Been Loving You.
I’m about to lose my worried mind, oh, yeah.”

Sometimes the chorus of the song is an extended phrase of many words. In this case it’s common to use the one or two words that grab the listener the most, or the ones that complete a metaphor. Here’s an example:

The Warmth by Incubus
“So don’t let the world bring you down.
Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold.
Remember why you came and while you’re alive
experience the warmth before you grow old.”

Many times you might choose not to use any of the song’s lyrics in it’s title. Maybe the song is so mysterious that you want to the title to hint at what it’s about. Or the opposite- use the title to add a curious twist to the story of the song.

Something I like to do on many of my songs is cut out a piece of a line from a verse and use that as the title. I like the idea of a song title drawing the listener in, before they understand it’s meaning. Once the listen to the complete song, the title sneaks up on them during the second verse, this time in context. It’s a bit of an ah-ha moment for those that catch it.

23 to Waste by Brian Casel
“…And the pundits play their game to a nation in a daze
one hour of news, 23 to waste.”

The main thing to take away from these ideas is that just as anything else in songwriting, there is no right and wrong way to title your work. Just stay creative and have some fun with it.

Over to you…

Use the comments section to share one of your song titles and where it came from. If possible, provide a link to where we can hear the song online.

photos by mudpig and joshunter

This is our first guest article here at Serve The Song.  It was written by Cliff Goldmacher, a songwriter/producer with recording studios in both New York City and Nashville. Along with teaching workshops for songwriters around the country, he’s a regular contributor to EQ Magazine.

As a recently transplanted songwriter from Nashville to New York City, I’ve had the chance to observe, up close, the approaches to songwriting and the songwriting communities in both cities.  While there are of course many similarities, there are also quite a few differences. By the way, I feel I should mention that the following observations are really more my impressions than hard facts.

Differences Within the Similarities

In this article, I’ll start with a similarity between New York and Nashville as it’s readily apparent and then explain how, within that similarity, one city differs from the other.  One of the first similarities is that both cities have huge songwriting populations.  The depth and breadth of talent in both places encompass many more genres that the obvious country music for Nashville and pop and rock music for New York.  There are great pop writers in the suburbs of Nashville and extremely accomplished country songwriters living in Greenwich Village.

In response to the need for country demos for New Yorkers, I’ve actually started a service where using streaming audio and both my New York and Nashville studios, I’m making country demos for New York songwriters using my Nashville studio, session musicians and singers while we listen in real time and full-fidelity from New York.  For more info click here.

Finding the Songwriters

One difference between the two songwriting communities is how easy they are to locate.  Because Nashville’s artistic community is predominantly made up of singers, songwriters and musicians, it’s much easier to find the music/songwriting community there.  New York, on the other hand, has a wonderful songwriter population, but it’s mixed in with the countless other artists and creative types that live there and is thus less obvious.  In other words, it takes a little more effort to find the songwriters in New York, but believe me, they’re there.

Before moving from Nashville to New York, I’d taken several writing trips a year up to New York and, by a process or trial and error, I found a core group of NYC songwriters that became my go to people on every trip.  This way, when I eventually moved to New York, I felt like I was instantly part of the community even though I had to discover it little by little.   I highly recommend this approach for anyone considering a move to New York as it eases the transition and makes the entire process much less overwhelming.

Cowriting

Although both New York and Nashville have large numbers of songwriters, cowriting is much more a part of the day to day routine in Nashville.  It’s not unusual for a Nashville writer to have five cowriting appointments in a week where they meet with a different cowriter every day in a publishing company office on Music Row.  This happens for several reasons.  First of all, as a hired staff songwriter for a Nashville publishing company, you are given a yearly quota of songs that you need to fulfill. The more songs you write,  the more quickly you’ll fulfill your quota.  Publishers make a real effort to connect songwriters they think will work well together and go as far as to set up cowriting appointments for their writers.  As a result, it’s fairly common in Nashville to be set up on a “blind date” cowrite. Secondly, even though you’re only credited with half a song for a cowrite, it’s easier to motivate yourself to write if you’ve got someone to collaborate with.  The act of scheduling appointments and being expected to show up significantly eases the stress of having to create on a schedule.  This approach seems odd to a lot of New York writers who are either artists themselves and used to writing with their own bands or are songwriters used to working with artists whose schedules are much less predictable.

Lyrics

Staying with the generality that you’re writing country in Nashville and pop or rock in New York,  I’ve noticed  that the rules of lyric-writing between these genres and cities differ significantly.  In Nashville, the story is king.  This means that the lyric has to make perfect sense, the images are concrete and the story has a logical flow from beginning to end.  There’s not a lot of room for poetic, impressionistic lyrics that don’t have the arc of a story.  New York, on the other hand, while it certainly has its share of great songwriter/storytellers,  has a broader tolerance in its pop and rock genres for words that “feel” and “sound” good together.  Please don’t misunderstand.  It takes just as much skill to write a great pop lyric where the words convey the emotion of the song and carry the nuances of the melody as it does to write a great story in a country song, but it’s a different skill set.  I’ve found that switching from one approach to the other can be creatively liberating and quite a bit of fun.  Also, it’s interesting to see how one city’s lyrical approach can bleed into the other’s.  In this way,  you can end up with country lyrics where the words in the story sound good next to each other or pop lyrics with the arc of a story to them.

Labels

Speaking of artists, another similarity in the two cities is that they are both home to major record labels and their signed artists.  This alone attracts a huge number of songwriters to both cities.  The difference here is that country music artists are still largely dependent upon outside songs for their projects.  In New York, bands tend to write their own material and it is less common for these artists to go looking for outside songs.  Occasionally songwriters will be paired with these bands/artists in New York allowing the writers to end up with cuts on these acts.  Of course, all of these distinctions are lessening as more country artists write  and cowrite their albums as well.

You Can’t Lose

At the end of the day, both communities are great places to work and create.  Ironically, after living in Nashville, working as a staff songwriter and writing for the country market for twelve years, my first cut was with a New York writer and was recorded by an Irish tenor on Universal Records named Ronan Tynan.  In my opinion, it was the blend of our New York and Nashville songwriting sensibilities that came together to create that song.  What I mean by this is that somewhere between the soaring melody more suited to pop and the lyric which had more of a country attention to detail, we came up with a classical crossover song.  So, if you’re a Nashville writer thinking about working in New York (or vice versa) I’d highly recommend it.  Sometimes it’s the differences that create the best art.

Cliff Goldmacher
Cliff Goldmacher Music Production
www.cliffgoldmacher.com
cliff@cliffgoldmacher.com
Phone: 615.320.7233
Biography