ninetymilewind

Painted Pony

2009-11-18T10:50:00.004-05:00

It was the icebox winter of 1972. The Pennsylvania hills were covered in blue glaze that locked the land in a glassy silence. Coming up the last hill the car's tires whirred on the frozen patches, fishtailing through the black woods until the lights of an old farmhouse broke through bare branches.

Inside the house a bearded man sat cross-legged on the floor with a Martin D-28 guitar cradled in his lap and a lit Camel dangling from the corner of his mouth. He stretched his hand towards me and introduced himself. "You write songs," he said, as if my arrival had been foretold in a vision. "So do I." He crushed out his Camel and launched into one, punching out the chords with the force of a ten-pound hammer ringing on suspension bridge cables.

"I met me a Bearcat Woman, high on a mountain side"

Then he segued into another, and others after that. There was a tale about a union soldier who retreated from a bloody Civil War battle.

"Sassafras on the wind
Fog in the morning where the river begins”

From that first encounter with Fritter our two worlds were in close orbit. Sometimes gravity tore things away from the one and added to the other. The dust between us never quite settled. It was a dust made of molecules of inspiration that hung in clouds of chaos until we shaped it into songs.

We spent the next few months in the old farmhouse writing tunes and getting our new band tight. It all came easily, like breath. Music was in my pores and in my blood. It fueled and fed me like invisible bread. Every new song stretched the horizon a little further and made me want to explore what lay beyond. The world seemed on the verge of becoming some penultimate thing, capable of the perfect fulfillment of possibilities, and I was alert for the moment's arrival. There was little to tie me down and even less to keep me grounded. When the creative euphoria hit it was like helium. I could no more weigh it with considerations than I could keep the clouds from floating by.

Fritter would lay out his lyric concepts in big dense chunks, like ore in slag. I grabbed the scribbled pages before the ink was dry and forged the melodies. By summer we'd worked up a decent set of originals. We felt good about the musical direction we were taking.

One afternoon the two of us took a 12-string guitar, a 12-gauge shotgun and one of his notebooks out to the barn. The wind blew fresh from the north and ragged clouds raced overhead. Everything seemed to be going somewhere. Inside the barn I emptied both barrels of the gun into a beam. Splinters flew back in our faces and some of the shot hit the far wall making tiny puffs of dust that coiled upwards in the light between the slats.

We climbed to the upper level, opened the bay doors, and sat on the floor still covered with hayseed from years before. I started strumming a chord progression on the 12-string while Fritter flipped through pages of his half finished verses. "Here, check this out," he said handing me the notebook.

"There's a frost on the wind as it scours the town
Shutters in place as the awnings come down
Sap is barely flowing and there's ashes on the sun
Yield to summer's sister, the gentle painted one
Ride the wind, read the breeze, and be gone
Painted pony with the dancing eyes be gone
Take a part of me along…”

By the end of the day we’d completed the song. The Painted Pony was a metaphor for our dream. We'd spent a lot of time those first few months talking about getting out of Pennsylvania and setting up our project in Colorado. From there we could hop to LA and be near the music industry for short periods, and we'd have the scenery of the mountains for inspiration the rest of the time. The record deal would come down eventually, we could feel it. But it wasn't quite time for us to go.

It took six more months for the band to finally pull up stakes and head west. When we did it was without Fritter. In the end I was the wandering gypsy and he was the one rooted in the soil of home. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was embarking on more than a move west. I was beginning a lifetime of riding the wind and being gone. Sometimes I wish I’d been content to stay where I was. Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever get to where that pony is going.

Copyright 2009 Craig Bickhardt. "Painted Pony" copyright Craig Bickhardt and F.C. Collins. Incidental lyrics copyright F. C. Collins.

The Bear

2009-09-25T12:15:00.004-04:00

The big Boeing 737 whined into the blue carrying a stocky man in a twill coat. His beard was neatly trimmed. On his lap sat a hunk of greenish rock. No one had objected to him bringing it onboard the plane because this was back in the days before terrorism and the lethal fear of men with beards.

When I met Fritter at the Nashville airport, the first thing he did was hand me the rock. It was a crudely chiseled figure of a hulking bear moving on all fours, head slightly raised, sniffing the wind. It had tiny ears and anatomically accurate muscular hindquarters. It weighed about fifteen pounds but he’d carried it all the way through the long terminals at Philadelphia International and BNA.

“I saw the bear in it as soon as I picked it up out of the field,” he said.

“Seeing is one thing, but taking the time to chisel it out…,” I said.

“Nah. I knocked it out one morning last winter when I couldn’t get out of the driveway in the snow. It just felt like it should belong to you.”

“Thanks,” I said turning it in my hands. “I wouldn’t know where to begin chipping on a hunk of granite to make it look like a bear.”

“Neither did I.”

Fritter had always been a bit of a creative nomad. He wrote songs mainly, but he would pick up a hammer and chisel one day and surprise himself with something like the bear. A few days later you might find him sculpting clay figures or pouring cement into rubber molds to make his garden plaques.

When we got back to my house I put the bear in my studio, nosing it up against a thick dictionary at the end of the reference shelf. It sat there poised to head into Webster’s to hunt for some fresh adjectives.

Fritter and the bear with his nose in the wind had much in common. I pictured them both standing at the edge of the wilderness watching the rest of the human race apprehensively and being regarded nervously from the opposite direction, too.

“I know what that bear reminds me of,” I said.

One of the first songs Fritter played me back before we started our band together was a song he called The Bear. In the lyric a rancher confronts a grizzly in the snow only to realize;

“My land sits on his land, that’s the way it is.”
(The Bear copyright 2009 by the estate of FC Collins)

On this particularly fine Nashville afternoon Fritter and I sat in the shade of my elms with our guitars and our notebooks. The Hedge Apples thudded to the ground in the woods while the bees got drunk on the overripe fruit. Occasionally a breeze blew the leaves around the yard like a clutch of ducklings scurrying after an invisible mother. The world was as small as the open ground between the two of us and the tree line.

We sang our newest tunes to each other and talked about writing. Later, when the sun went down we watched a meteor shower that sent little comets shooting out of the dark like welder’s sparks. I balanced my guitar on my knee and played a loping finger pick that became the soundtrack for the spectacle. Fritter dove from topic to topic, grasping at salmon in the stream of his thoughts while I picked and listened to his words resonate against the night sky and the bronze strings. That was how we wrote sometimes. I picked and listened to him talk until a certain phrase would tumble out serendipitously; the perfect metaphor for the mood of the music.

Suddenly the wind rose over the trees with a deep roar that carried off the sound of my guitar. Fritter halted in mid-sentence and put his head in the air. He froze suspiciously and waited for the tumult to pass over. When the hush returned he said, “We should call this tune Brother to the Wind.” I smiled because I knew that was exactly what we should call it.

Sometimes, all these years later, when I'm missing the inspiration I'll lift the bear from its shelf. Inside that rough, chiseled figure I can almost feel the stirring of a creative hunger. It reminds me of my place on the edge of the wilderness and I feel a sense of restless anticipation as the winter rolls in once again. Maybe he was right. The wind, the bear and the songwriter are brothers, and the bright salmon are still leaping somewhere.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

Listen to "Brother to the Wind" written by Craig Bickhardt and FC Collins

Craig Bickhardt Brother to the Wind Track 03

Buy the full length, 12 song CD directly from the artist here

The Stone Barn; a Reminiscence

2009-09-10T09:20:00.004-04:00

"Music from Big Pink" was an inauspicious LP, selling only moderately to some Dylan fans who hadn't deserted him after Newport. The group of musicians that made the LP didn't have a name. They were simply referred to in some vilifying reviews as "the band that accompanied Dylan". Pete Seeger had been appalled by them, but "Big Pink" was a landmark record for many of us. It was followed soon after by an even better record humbly titled "The Band". By that time they'd earned no less, nor more, of a name.

The Band influenced me and some friends to start our own group and rent a house like Big Pink where we could woodshed. It just seemed like the thing to do even though we had little money to keep up the lease. The old Heyburn farm became our home for 18 months. The property was located near Chads Ford, PA a couple of miles from where Andy Wyeth painted. It was a big place-- six bedrooms, plus an attic, two living rooms, a mudroom, kitchen and upper level porch. I used to sit on that porch sometimes when the moon was full and write or sing until dawn. The fields and woods behind the house sang back to me with ciccadas, owls and other wildlife.

We called our band Wire and Wood (the name has since been re-used by another east coast outfit unrelated to us). It was a phrase from a lyric written by our fearless leader, a songwriter named F. C. Collins who was nicknamed Fritter by his grandfather. The name was the perfect sobriquet for sizing you up. He'd look you in the eye with an unspoken threat that defied you to call him an apple turnover. No one ever did. He had the look of the wolf in those gray blue eyes and the stocky build of Grizzly Adams.

The melodies of Mercury splash along the walls
Sounds of wire and wood, fingers moving good
("Mercury" copyright by F. C. Collins)

The melodies did indeed splash along the walls mixed liberally with other substances. Day and night music was heard in the Heyburn house after we took it over. We collaborated on original tunes in combinations; me and Fritter, Rick and Fritter, all three of us. The songs were juicy, with titles like "Bearcat Woman", "Painted Pony", "Changing of the Guard" and "Long Distance Man".

Friends dropped by at all hours to listen to the arrangements we were tightening up in one of the living rooms. During a lazy afternoon two guitarists might be found in the kitchen working out Allman Brothers style harmony lead guitar parts. Some evenings there'd be a three-part harmony vocal rehearsal happening in one room over a jug of wine, while in another room the rhythm section worked out a tricky groove that made a song pulsate like a titan's heartbeat. Taped to the walls were set lists, gig posters, stage layouts, clippings of our Main Point reviews- anything that kept us focused on what we were doing. We meant business, but I remember it as the most fun I've ever had with music.

Fritter and I used to hang out and write in the barn sometimes. It was a typical farm structure for eastern Pennsylvania, probably built by Quakers who loved to use stone in everything. For the Quakers and the Egyptians, if it was worth building at all it was worth building for posterity. This particular barn was huge- four levels spanning almost full acre. It smelled of manure, barley and damp hardwood. The wooden top levels had rear bay doors for tossing out bails to the stables in back. Fritter and I would sit up there of a summer afternoon- bay doors swung wide, our legs dangling high above the pasture- and write. We put the tunes together mostly from fragments of lyrics and melody we'd composed seperately. We were learning as we went, discovering our creative wings while the barn held us majestically aloft and the hawks circled above us.

It came to an end too soon as all good things do, and I was brought back to earth older and somewhat wiser. But I've managed to keep a few inches of sky between me and the ground by holding onto the idealism we shared and the standards we set with our feet in the air that summer. Those values became essential when I ventured to Nashville some years later. I've never forgotten that music is all about woodshedding and dreams. The beginning is the most difficult part of anything, whether it be a life, a journey, a career or a song. Our beginnings define us. Anything well-begun is more often than not well-completed.

After decades in the south I returned north recently to reconnect with my past. I live only a couple of miles away from the Heyburn property now, which was re-zoned in my absence. Commercial potential never lies unexploited for long in America.

Developers attacked the barn last month. Notified of the event by a neighbor, I went over to watch as the shirtless young men, tanned and glistening, ripped the boards off the roof one by one and threw them towards the sinking sun. The Band's "Whispering Pines" floated through my head as the soundtrack for the scene.

By the end of the day the upper wooden structure was completely gone, bay doors and all. But in the cool shadows below, the massive stone walls remain. That old foundation is still holding up a few of my dreams this morning. After all, part of me has never stopped being a kid with his feet dangling in the blue.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

Cold Eye, Warm Heart

2009-09-03T11:15:00.003-04:00

A procession of ants invaded our kitchen not long ago. We sprayed, we cleaned, and the ants retreated. They were back a few days later following a slightly different path. It has been a month now and we've conceded that maybe these ants are smarter than we are. Their intelligence is collective, of course, but does it matter?

The truth is I’ve had no real will to exterminate them. In fact I admire them. I feel sympathy for these hard working creatures that won’t be deterred. I imagine them going home to their ant children, their ant aunts and uncles, and saying, “Don’t worry. Tomorrow we’ll get back in there and bring home the bacon.” I was moved almost to tears by the thought as I watched them die in the chemical spray. How strange.

My brother Eric sent me a quote from R. H. Blyth, “We are being sentimental when we give to a thing more tenderness than God gives to it.” Precisely. Here I was being foolishly sentimental about my ants and yet God certainly had no tenderness for them because He invented the ant eater.

I’ve always admired writers who avoid being sentimental. This seems to be a talent the best southern writers naturally possess. Perhaps it’s the harsher climate and the way the light is keen in the dust.

The world was like a distant storm
I could feel it on the breeze
But it made so little difference here
Just a whisper in the trees
Mending fence for room and board
Was mostly all I’d done
For I was still a prisoner here
In nineteen-sixty-one
The sucker rod on the windmill creaks
Now and then you hear a car
There’s thunderheads across the southern sky
But they won’t get this far

(“Six-Year Drought” by James McMurtry)

Sentimentality is wrung out of this and left to evaporate on the parched earth. McMurty’s lines are as hard and pitiless as the Texas plains, and yet they still touch something pulsating with life inside. I bet he sees his struggling ants and sheds no tears for them.

While I hold McMurtry's standard in the highest esteem and wouldn't change a word of it, I suppose I’m just a sucker. I’ve flirted with sentimentality all of my writing life, and maybe I’ve even crossed the line sometimes. The truth is it’s damn hard not to cross it if you feel any pity at all for the world.

Softer art for harder times? Probably won't fly. Yet we must feel something in order to be human. There must be emotion when it is warranted, and there is indeed a perceptible difference between emotion and sentimentality even though it sometimes takes a microscope to see it. After all, it’s our compassion that keeps the human race going, and we don’t want to lose that.

In the writing we can err both ways. On either side of the good, observant narrative there are pitfalls; effusiveness or stolidity. The line between is walked with a cold eye and a warm heart.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

Stirring the Imagination

2009-08-24T11:30:00.003-04:00

I arrived in Nashville to write songs for the first time on the day that Marty Robbins died. It was December 8, 1982. The timing of my arrival seemed uncanny to me because Marty was one of my biggest boyhood heroes. How this came to be is a story in itself.

Before my father retired he worked at WIP Radio in Philadelphia for over 50 years. The station played a little bit of everything in the early 1960s- from Perry Como to Charlie Rich to Bobby Darin to Marty- before turning to Sports Talk in the late 1980s.

Mom kept the radio tuned to WIP all day long while she tended house because it made her feel close to pop. Sometimes a DJ on the air, either Bill Webber or Ken Garland, would share a joke with my old man as he sat behind the engineer’s glass. That would be the highlight of our morning as mom ironed and I played in the kitchen. The little joke beamed him home again for a few seconds through the radio waves.

I used to imagine how things looked down there inside the tower at Rittenhouse Square- the electronics glowing with ten foot tubes, or maybe it was fifty foot tubes, with wires running everywhere like tentacles and stuff bubbling in strange tanks. And there was pop behind the glass wearing his Buck Rogers headphones that could hear music on Mars. All in my weird inner world.

Every once in while the station manager would cull the LP library to discard duplicates and worn records and dad would bring home a magical stack for me. In one of them was Robbins’ “Gunfighter Ballads”. Now this was a record made for stirring up the imagination of a young boy. I spent hours listening to it on my little suitcase turntable while the bright sunbeams crept drowsily across the floor and I slid over a few inches along with them so I could stay warm. I dreamed of gunfighters at night.

Marty’s tall tales were wonderful, but he wasn’t the only raconteur on the radio back then. Muscular story-songs were popular in those days. Johnny Horton sang “Sink the Bismarck” and “North to Alaska”. Johnny Cash was scoring with “Wreck of the Old ‘97” and others. Jimmy Dean did "Big Bad John". It was a good time to be a storyteller and a great time to be a kid who loved flights of fancy.

I’ve noticed that words in books and words in songs can evoke something in my brain that pictures and movies can’t. It’s almost as if actually seeing something that I’ve previously only imagined is sort of a let down. I don’t know why… maybe I should’ve lived in a time when the tribe story-teller was a mystic who sang his tales before the campfire.

Sometimes it seems to me as if all of our imaginations might be getting weaker, or maybe they’re just full of sludge. Maybe we’re so visually assaulted with images of violence and horror that language seems to be an insufficient stimulant. Our films use special effects that try to supplant our imaginations, and yet the computer graphics can rarely outdo our nightmares. I think the inner sludge needs a good stirring up occasionally, but maybe mere words won't whisk well (bad alliteration).

I had a close friend and collaborator who passed away a few years ago. He once wrote a song about a guy who hunted alien beasts in outer space called “Star Trapper”. It’s an amazing song, full of larger than life imagery and sound track potential. He wrote another one about the Algonquin Indians’ mythological spirit-possessor, the Wendigo. We used to sing it together and I always felt like we might accidentally call the Wendigo into our presence if we did it with just the right amount of mojo. That’s the power and fun of a freshly stirred imagination.

Losing my friend was tough. Losing Marty and the other story tellers of my childhood was like losing collaborators in my land of enchantment. I don’t think I’ve ever really replaced them.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

Country Dignity

2009-08-07T11:24:00.005-04:00

Where are the real people in country songs? Where have they gone? There's dignity in country people. Yes, they have trucks and muddy jeans out there, although most Music Row songwriters apparently never leave their condos long enough to see for themselves. If they did, they'd meet someone rather surprising.

Country folks have hearts and souls. They rescue the lives of colts and calves birthed in breach. They fix the roof and dig the well. They save and sacrifice to marry off daughters or pay their college tuition. They send sons to war or give them a parcel of the family land to farm. They stop and talk with strangers while they mend fences. They raise a neighbor's barn and lend tools to each other. They tell very funny stories. They grow strawberries and give hayrides at Halloween. They aren't always drunk at the bar down the road or drunk at the lake. Where are the real people in country songs?

I believe a songwriter should be a poet. He should speak the timeless truth and find the wisdom in simple actions. A song lyric doesn't need to lead the listener down the path like a dumb cow on a tether. It can be an invisible sword that wounds the heart without drawing blood.

By contrast, here is the kind of cheap limerick-verse we get from Nashville these days:

There were two karaoke girls drunk on a dare
Singing "I Got You Babe" by Sonny and Cher
Yeah, life was good everywhere

My reaction to these lines is that life is pretty pathetic in some places. This is, in fact, what urban people do when they have no life. What about the stuff that really makes life good everywhere? Why does the working stiff need to aspire to this obnoxious spectacle on a Friday night? Can't he, for once, go to a town meeting and debate healthcare reform? Or do you think he's too stupid to do that? Go on, urban cynic, poke fun. Let's see you dismantle a tractor engine and have it running by sun-up. Let's see you run a family business on fumes and a prayer.

The rule of thumb in Nashville is: make her crude, make him dirty, put them in a truck (with a six pack sometimes), and it's a country song. Keep listening to country radio and you'll hear plenty more where that came from:

She wants her nails painted black
She wants the toy in the crackerjack
She wants to ride the bull at the rodeo
She wants to wear my shirt to bed
She wants to make every stray a pet
N' Drive around in my truck with no place to go

Real or bogus? "Wanted desperately: one goth redneck woman. She must have no idea what fun is, and prefer being thrown from a 2000 pound bull at the end of the date. I will shower her with little plastic Crackerjack toys (hopefully one will be a ring!) and affection. In return for winning my heart, she can waste my hard earned pay on $3 per gallon gas driving around aimlessly in my truck (which I never need), and keep every animal she finds along the way. Waiting anxiously for the woman of my dreams!"

It's time to call this what it really is: bogus parody- and cynical parody at that. Let's bury it. Let's pronounce it dead. It's anti-poetry, anti-heart, anti-reality, and anti-country.

copyright 2009 craig bickhardt

A Blissful Surrender

2009-07-30T10:28:00.001-04:00

Do you want to write songs, or do you need to write them?

If writing great songs were only as simple as wanting to do it, we'd all have dozens of them. It requires more commitment than that. If you're blown away by a song you hear or a book you read, rest assured someone needed to create it (even if it came quickly, the intense need to write was probably sustained for years). Great writers aren't really so gifted, they just have an impossible compulsion. They're "all in". The need keeps them awake when they want to sleep; it keeps them hungry when they want to be fed; it demands their attention when they want to daydream.

There are times when I catch myself looking for some point of entry like a junkie tapping on his veins. Yesterday's song is just yesterday's song-- a high that didn't last. If I had to go to dangerous alleys and midnight borders of the imagination for my fix, I probably would. There are those who see a work of art and feel a gentle glow inside. There are others who see a work of art and feel a fire in the blood to create one of their own. There's no escaping it, no letting it pass, no procrastination. It's an allurement as intoxicating as any substance known to man. When it isn't there, we ache for it. But where the need is deep, so can be the result and reward.

Whenever I'm "engaged to a song" I know there will be many drafts of the lyric. There will be moments when I want to rip out my hair because part of the melody isn't holding up. Bring it on. I fall sleep on the sofa in the den and wake up at the first light of dawn excited to begin again. Bring it on. When the song is finished there's a feeling of temporary wholeness I can't find in any other pursuit. Yes, only to begin again...but joyously in spite of it all.

You'll recognize your need if you have one. Let your creative hours be sacrosanct and uncompromised. Put life on hold. Throw caution to the wind (insert any more cliches you can think of here).

As I lay awake last night lamenting another day in which I worked for ten hours and produced not a single creative thing, I thought of all the contented folk who didn't create anything either, and who slept soundly with a pleasant dream. I wanted to feel contentment, rest, peace. I told myself that most words are written on sand. Most melodies die with the singer. Most paintings darken with the patina of the world's grit and grime. Why make anything at all?

I believe we make things because we are the pressure valve of the ultimate making of things. Through us escapes the blow-off of creative forces no one can imagine. That is our role in the big picture. There's really no self-importance in a creative act when you understand the mysterious and uncontrollable nature of it. It's all for the sake of an elemental energy in the pipeline that chooses your particular point of exit. Creative needs are like geysers in Yellowstone; warm salty mud being blown out of the way so the earth can keep its crust intact for another day. The earth doesn't respect geysers, it simply uses them. I am used, you are used; we're The Need incarnate and we'll never fully understand the unseen forces below the surface. There's no remedy for it but a blissful surrender.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

The Music Circle

2009-07-23T10:40:00.003-04:00

Falling in love with anything is a growth process; something that requires a little pondering and engagement; something we invest ourselves in. Remember when LPs (if you are under 30, mea culpa) didn’t come at us like bullets from an automatic weapon? We really didn’t have hundreds of new releases to choose from because there were no successful DIY-ers in those days. If David Geffin or Ahmet Ertegun or John Hammond didn’t sign the artist, we knew it was because they weren’t any good. We had a little faith in the taste makers back then. No one complained about a Rolling Stone issue, or a radio playlist because there was something for everyone.

Back in that misty era it was a big event when the Allman Brothers or Gordon Lightfoot or Stevie Wonder or Joni or Jackson released a new record. When Dylan's new records came out, time almost stopped. We savored those sweet moments of listening knowing it would be a long time before we felt like that again. We took some time to fall in love with the music, and sometimes it was a permanent affair. Sitting in the dark, focusing on the music, there was a chance-- just a chance-- the artist had something important to say. Listening could be intimate and fascinating. Most of the lyrics these days aren’t really meant for our full attention. We have no prophets and few real communicators.

Lately I find myself listening to more, less. I might enjoy a new CD once and never come back to it. Who has time to fall in love with music anymore? I know I’ve liked a few CDs enough to put them in my favorite stack. But then I’m swept downstream so rapidly I can barely recall the artist's name. I want that to change. Yeah, my internal clocks are winding down and everything outside moves so fast I can’t keep up... but really, there’s just too much distraction and very little of it is worthwhile. We lack time for appreciation.

I took a high school elective once called Music Appreciation. We just sat in class and listened, usually to a classical piece by a dead Austrian composer, or an Aaron Copeland treatment of a beautiful folk song. It was a relaxing class. I wonder if they still offer it?

Music is the eternal soundtrack for life, but it’s no longer a focal point of it. The music plays ever so agreeably in the background as we jog, or cook, or plan our days. We catch ourselves every once in a while thinking, “nice tune” and maybe we hum a few bars later on as we stand in line at Starbucks. But we aren’t engaged, really absorbed in listening like we were when there was little else to do. Ah, those dull, ancient times.

I've seen my daughter listen to music through one ear of her headphones, IM her friends, talk on the cell phone at her other ear, and read Harry Potter simultaneously. I can handle a stick of gum and the laundry at the same time. But I asked her once if she ever got together with her friends just to listen to music like we did in the old days. "Well, only if we're going to a concert, but then we like to dance and take stupid pictures with our phones and party..." Not what I was thinking at all.

But now my daughter loves the music circles that my old-head buddies and I still have at the house on occasion. We pick and sing till the wee hours, and it's warm and wonderful. She brings her close friends with her to these gatherings, telling them, "You're gonna LOVE this! This is SO cool!"

I guess I’m hopelessly attached to the way it was. I miss the communal experiences that brought us together. I miss the artists that understood music’s power to hold us in a trance, to break down barriers and inhibitions, to teach us more about us. It's all wallpaper now. There’s 100,000 new tracks waiting for us out there. We can redecorate our profiles in a heartbeat. There's no need for the music circle.

Photo: Clara Bien

this posting copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

The Real Game

2009-07-16T07:58:00.001-04:00

I was nine years old sitting in the first base bleachers at ramshackle old Connie Mack Stadium when the Cardinals visited in the summer of 63. Stan the Man was a few months short of retirement, but the aura of competition was still on him. His team was in a pennant race that year which they ultimately lost to the Dodgers. Many people have written about Musial, but the telling fact is that here was a guy who hit .330 and nearly won the League batting title at the age of 42, and it was just another season for him (his lifetime batting average was an astounding .331). He always played as if his life depended on today’s game, and he did it without performance enhancers.

Like many, I grew up on the lessons learned from sports competition. Between watching the games at Connie Mack, my father managed the Hilltop Lions and the Bluejays, the little league teams on which I played for most of my childhood and adolescent summers. Dad knew when to make us fight and when to ease off and let us be kids. That’s how dads used to raise boys. Competition wasn’t a grueling drill designed to land a seven figure sports contract. The Lions and Bluejays lost a lot of games, but we never felt like losers. Dad wouldn’t allow it. That was the Real Game, where I learned that putting heart into something has its own rewards.

If the heart has gone out of much of our culture, it’s because we believe our rewards must be in the form of tangible things, unrealistic bonuses, easy stock dividends, big contracts or little mail-in rebates. We need to see the carrot on the stick. We're bombarded with promises of payoffs, all of them requiring minimal effort, and none of them ennobling to the spirit of competition.

Our real competition lies within. The contest is against our own apathy, mediocrity and sloth. There is a pill for every normal and abnormal craving, but no pill to make you put your heart into the game. That you must do alone. What we get for putting heart into the game is sometimes just heartache, but oh those sweet returns when it all clicks—there’s nothing like it.

How much heart can we muster? How many knock downs can we rise from? How good can we become at what we do—will we lay it on the line?

Competition is a funny thing. If you give someone a fair chance to compete with heart, there’s nothing so enriching. Corrupt the spirit of competition and suddenly it gets ugly and debases everything it touches. When greed and steroids infected baseball, it declined. When greed and artificial enhancers like pitch tuners and pre-recorded concert tracks infected music, it, too, declined. Technology and its profiteers in both cases. The heart went out of it. The rest of our culture follows suit.

Competition and greed are almost synonymous in America these days, nearly indistinguishable. But what has been won if money can buy the victory? What have you proven if payola got you to the top; if technology fools your audience into thinking you have more talent than you do; if steroids made you hit 70 home runs; if your wealth came at the expense and ruin of the lives of others? Your victory is hollow and we all know it.

Heart and competition on the level playing field will survive in places where the greed and corruption cannot go. The true athlete won’t blow his shot at the Olympics by using banned substances, he’ll just compete the old fashioned way. The true musical talent won’t need artificial things to enhance her performances on American Idol, she’ll just show us her heart underneath that dowdy dress. The true champion will be like my friend Vince who has beaten cancer four times and still has his sense of humor and loves to sing. These are the only true winners. The victory must be real, not concocted.

When I walk away from this game I want it to feel just like it did back on that sunlit diamond. I was only a winner if I gave it my best no matter what the score board said. To you who say winning is everything and losing is just losing, I say if we play the Real Game with heart there’s no shame in losing at all. The only shame comes from winning without honor.

Listen to "The Real Game" (written by Don Schlitz and Craig Bickhardt)

Craig Bickhardt The Real Game Track 09 by chromehead

All The Spells

2009-07-09T11:40:00.001-04:00

The instinct is a mystery. We can't justify it, can't explain it, or defend it. We just feel it. A song pulls us into itself before we have time to over-analyze what we’re doing. It’s the mysticism of songs that compels us to search for new ones. We discover something that reflects the beauty of the world as it appears through our idealism and we call it a song. The whole universe would sing it, every star in the night, if only it were perfect.

We second guess the instinct. We tinker with the spontaneous “unseen logic” (as Emerson refers to it); those will-o-the-wisps of connection too serendipitous to be planned and too recent to be mapped. In the process of seeking critical approval, seeking the elusive cut, we lose something. The logic has become visible and the mystery goes out. It's so subtle it would be invisible under a microscope.

Why do you love your favorite songs? Search in vain for the definitive reason; you can't name it, can't point to it, can’t analyze it, you just feel it.

If pushed for a critique some would say the Beatles song "Yesterday" needed more attitude and imagery in the lyric. I can imagine being a young McCartney trying to sell that tune in Nashville today. Good luck, Pauly. The song defies this kind of criticism because we feel the tug of the soul when we hear it. Do you trust that mysterious instinct, that soul-tug, or do you trust the ever-logical criticism?

Like the illusion that the earth stands still as the heavens move around it, “right” is sometimes just a way of seeing something that could easily be proved wrong eventually. If a song sends a shiver down your spine, you don’t need to ask for someone else’s opinion of the shiver or the shape of your spine. Better to ask why there’s no shiver produced by the other songs. And that’s probably a simple question to answer: because there’s no mystery in them. They are laid out like assembly directions. Welcome to contemporary hit radio...

I turned a friend of mine onto one of my favorite songwriters this week, Bruce Cockburn (last name rhymes with "slow turn"). I discovered Bruce back in high school when a copy of his first LP fell into my hands out of a discarded radio library. Such luck rarely repeats. He has a lot of wonderful songs, but there's one in particular I love called “Pacing the Cage”. It has a verse in it that could be the creed of every serious songwriter:

I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing

We are in the advantageous position of offering something, everything that we are in song. We can weave spells. The spell is part of the mystery; the incantations of the spirit. I’m skeptical of things that appear "right" when they ought to appear mysterious. I’d rather a song lift me off the earth than grasp at my ankles.

Merciful Measures

2009-06-29T09:40:00.001-04:00

As I muster some strength for the first time in almost a week (my nemesis, severe bronchitis again) and try to repair the damage done, I find myself thinking about my friends and family, and where I’d be without them. The illness took its usual toll—two canceled shows, a week’s worth of income permanently lost. More than that, it reminded me again of the fragile nature of the creative life, a life entirely dependent on the Mercy of the artist’s fellow man.

Music is a frivolity, a leisure activity for most, a foolish passion for a few. Those of us who pursue it full time used to require patrons and benefactors (factors of benefit to the arts) on whose Mercy we relied entirely. Things haven’t changed that much for most of us dreamers and n’er-do-wells. In spite of the jabs from critics and ill-read commentators, we aren’t all comfortable and fat, rolling in our royalties and scoffing at working class society. We are struggling to pay the bills just like everyone else, and in tough times we are often forgotten while the layoffs and plant closures affect larger segments of society. We feel for those who tumble into a life of insecurity in ways others probably don’t unless they’ve been there themselves. It’s unimaginable to many—a life stripped of steady income, no healthcare insurance, no sick pay, no disability protection, no pension… I feel for you, good, decent working folks, I feel deeply. I am with you.

Mercy doesn’t seem like Pity to me, although the words are often used interchangeably. Pity implies something wrenched from the gut and bestowed with some hidden disgust. No one wants it. Mercy, on the other hand, is a gentler thing. It’s the response to a supplication for energy, faith, empowerment, a request for spiritual or physical support, the kindness of kin. Mercy we all need.

Perhaps my biggest regret is my youthful attempt to circumvent Mercy; my thinking I could do this alone. It wasn’t resentment exactly, I just don’t like debts. But one thing a man learns as he gets older: life is full of debts that go unpaid. Mercy is the thing that allows him to go scot free sometimes.

My good friend and brilliant songwriter Nathan Bell goes back to a steady day job soon. Having come from an artistic family and lived for long periods of his life as a creative soul, he knows the job is a blessing he can’t refuse. His wife and children depend on it. My wife and children depend on me, too, so I must depend on the Mercy. I must hope there are those who will, out of kindness or out of a sense of duty to principals, choose to pay for downloading my songs even when they can get them for free on Pirate Bay; who will pay to hear my concert even when they can hear music that’s just as good by staying home and flipping on Austin City Limits; who will reschedule a show when I’m sick and not complain about all the ticket refunds; who will forgive me for all of the insecurity I lay upon their shoulders when they could have so much more in life; who will send me an email just to tell me what a song means to them; who have made, and will continue to make my journey a little easier and a little brighter just by being part of it.

For the merciful measures of each and every one of you, my deepest thanks.

A Song For Father's Day

2009-06-19T21:38:00.004-04:00

Sorry for the lack of postings recently, I've been very busy promoting the new CD and on the road a lot this spring. Here's a little tune I wrote with Jack Sundrud and Helen Darling that's appropriate for this weekend. I hope it's a small consolation for my absence from the blog!

It's All (Almost) In A Name

2009-05-04T15:15:00.002-04:00

I'm a sucker for a compelling song title; "Moon River", "Peel Me A Grape", "Jesus, The Missing Years", "Old Dogs, Children and Watermelon Wine", "Into The Mystic"-- these titles and countless more just begged me to drop the needle or push play when I was studying how to be a writer. It always seemed to me that an indelible song title was like the smell of one of my grandmother's Sunday afternoon dinners cooking in the kitchen. It was a portent of good things to come. I remember being disappointed when one of my favorite artists released a new record and I went excitedly to the store to scan that glossy, sealed LP and there were no interesting song titles on the back. It struck me as a missed opportunity. Sure, I sometimes bought the record anyway, but something always made me wary when the songs were called "In The Night", "With You", "Now And Then"... I was pretty sure those songs just weren't gonna kill me, and they rarely did.

I think a song title should catch my eye and stir up some curiosity. That's what the artwork on the LP/CD was all about, too. Except for some of the Indy stuff, lately CD artwork consists mostly of airbrushed photos of the stars. Who cares? Song titles and artwork play similar roles-- they add a physical dimension to the music, like handles on a dream. You can argue all you want about how many great songs there are with banal titles like "Yesterday", "I Need You" and "I Will Always Love You", and for pure emotional connection maybe it's hard to top those songs (I like 'em too). But in this era when no one has time to listen to everything, and when song titles sit on the computer screen like so many innocuous text messages, wouldn't it be wise to consider the intrinsic value of a song title?

A song title makes an impression, as does any name. Actors used to choose theirs very carefully, and with good reason. It was part of the image and mystique. A song is an entity with a life and a mystique all it's own. These days especially, the title can and does affect the song's life whether we think it's fair or not. I admit, a little guiltily, when I scan a track list at itunes or Amazon I click first on the most unlikely song title I can find. Why? I figure if the artist can pull that one off I might like what they do with an ordinary title, too.

If I write a 500 page book called "Headache", will you want to read it? That's how I feel when I see a song called "Love" (see the latest Sugarland CD). On the same CD we find "Keep You" and another called "Very Last Country Song". Glancing at the latest Rascal Flatts CD I see the first two cuts are “Take Me There” and “Here”. My first thought is why weren’t they able to find a song called “Everywhere” to round out a trilogy? And on the same disk there's a song that exemplifies what passes for a clever/cool song idea today “Bob That Head”. I would have at least put that one on the CD as “Bob, That Head”. Whether you think those songs are good or not really isn't my point. My point is, there's a song called "Tornado Time In Texas"** and you have to go cut the yard before it rains. Which song do you want to hear?

And what about the sheer fun of some song titles-- remember singing along with "Jumping Jack Flash it's a gas, gas, gas" at the top of your lungs? Somehow I just can't get the same thrill singing along with "Get My Drink On".

Let's agree on one thing: the charts (not just country) for the most part look pretty boring these days whether they sound boring or not. "White Horse" stands out as a striking image in a song title, and not surprisingly, it's a pretty good song, too.

I'm not being cynical here-- I'd still only write an idea I believed in and connected with from the heart, but some words and phrases are just more alluring than others, aren't they? When it comes to evoking the mysterious, the romantic, the playful, the profound, it's all (almost) in a name.

**"Tornado Time In Texas" by Guy Clark

copyright 2009 craig bickhardt

Song, Come Free Me

2009-04-11T13:07:00.001-04:00

Music is life. Music is sustenance, oxygen, bread, water, faith and nurture. We all know how it feels to starve on the fat of some success or to thirst in the fountain of a few good times. Success and good times do not satisfy the soul’s craving for music. I’ve prayed for a little music, but never for success or good times. When the music is gone, as it often is for a season of fruitlessness, I turn to stone inside. Suddenly I don’t even know what’s wrong with me, but something is, terribly. Then the sweet confluence of events allows me to find, no, discover it again, and I’m resurrected.

This week was like that. After preparing my income taxes and getting caught up on (and in) some other distasteful duties, I was practicing for a weekend of shows in Massachusetts. In the process I’d lost all track of time while I was singing, singing for the pure selfish pleasure of it. You can reach a point when music, and life, finds the zone. You realize you want the rest of your days to be joyous like that. The world can wait. Song, come free me.

A photographer was at my house later that same day shooting some stuff for a newspaper story. I stopped singing while he was there. At one point, noticing my suspiciously barren walls, he asked where my songwriting awards were. “In boxes in the basement,” I said. “Go get them,” he said. “They’re packed away. All wrapped up,” I said. Without a pause he insisted, “Good, I want to shoot you unwrapping them.” I had a knot in my stomach as I reluctantly brought up a box that was in plain view. I unwrapped one award and it looked sordid in its tacky aluminum frame-- a piece of paper that acknowledged something I’d accomplished in 1995. I felt estranged and oddly ambivalent about the thing. In fact it immediately made me want to forget about 1995 and get back into the singing zone. That frozen moment from my past was simply the symbol of a point of discovery no different than the one I’d made earlier that morning: music is life, and I need it now.

This morning here on Cape Cod it’s overcast and chilly but there’s an unsettling beauty in the scenery that feels like a series of minor chords in a slow, exquisite melody. Even now the music is alive and moving around us. Strewn ice age boulders are the whole notes. Long beaches are the glissandos. Ragged clouds are the tension, and rain on the windows is percussion. A gull riding a thermal is a violin…

Sometimes we share the life within the music. Last night I sang at O’Shea’s. It’s been a long winter for many of these native Cape folks, and spring fever was burning in their blood. The whole room was energized with single-organism purpose like bees in a spring hive. We sang and told stories for two hours, ending with some sing-alongs as my old friend Randal Patterson joined me on mandolin and harmonies. For a few short hours of music we breathed in the joy of song. We forgot that we’re almost constantly engaged in our common struggle to overcome all that crushes life, while we felt the spontaneous bursting of moments into bloom.

At one point I sang a tune that I co-wrote with my friend the Irish mystic and songwriter extraordinaire Jimmy MacCarthy. The chorus says, “The more I know, the more I wonder, from the setting of the sun to the dawning of the day”. What little I know is that music is life, life is the moment, and the moment is, or should be, wonder. We were made to sing, all of us, and more harmony is never a bad thing.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

Little Miracles

2009-03-17T10:42:00.003-04:00

A great song is essentially an inspired idea. There’s a loaded word: “inspiration”. Who would dare use it inside the profane halls of Music Row these days? The music industry has found the commodity of mediocrity quite sufficient for its purposes, and if you go around talking about cosmic things like inspiration you better be prepared to be laughed at.

I don’t mean to imply that nobody’s working very hard. On the contrary, everyone is very industrious. The problem is that great songwriting, and great art for that matter, transcends a “job”. Inspiration isn’t the product of work. Yes, we must work in order to sustain ourselves so we can ultimately arrive at some moment of inspiration. But you cannot tweak mediocrity into greatness by perfecting its vapid shell. There has to be something inside the shell first. You cannot pick the first serviceable idea that happens to come along and build an artifice around it and expect the world to call it a shrine.

There seems to be a lot of confusion between sound and substance these days. Perhaps substance is an acquired taste. Maybe butter and white bread are delicacies to a certain kind of palate, I dunno. Me, I need flavor. I don’t give a damn how high that Idol kid can sing or how well his hair products hold up under the TV lights, or how in tune and full of attitude he or she is. I’m not impressed by the fact that the hook and the verse of a hit song tie together cleverly as long the whole idea is as dumb as Cheese Whiz and half as nutritious.

The greatness of anything is contained in the inspired idea itself. That’s true of the telephone and of the great song. If it’s truly great, it was born of a glimpse and an impulse. The impulse was an unstoppable desire to bring a vision to life (inspire literally means to “breath into life” a creative endeavor). If we acknowledge that life is a miracle, then the process of inspiration and creative results is also miraculous in its own way.

Who would argue in retrospect that the best Beatles records weren’t creative miracles? Does anyone really believe that you can get four really talented musicians into a studio and turn them into the Beatles? If not, then logic, hard work and formula cannot replace the mystical and all-important element of inspiration. The chemistry of creativity is as important to its success as the chemistry of life is to the thriving of an organism.

Time after time I find myself listening to songs or records and thinking, “Why did anyone bother to make this?” There is certainly nothing even remotely inspired about it.

When an inspired song raises the hair on the back of your neck, you know you’ve encountered something wonderful, even miraculous. But the vast majority of songs and records today are simply labored into existence at great expense of time and energy. They are pure works of work, not works of art; neither inspired nor required.

This isn’t to say to you, o lowly songwriter, that you shouldn’t make the effort to write on a regular basis. On the contrary, practice is essential, and so is keeping the “machinery” well oiled. Write enough songs so that you can discover the moment of inspiration, because without knowing what inspiration is, you will never be great at what you’re attempting to do.

You will not discover inspiration immediately. None of this magic “just happens” one day after you’ve written a couple of exercises. To the seasoned songwriter, the inspired idea feels like inspiration because he or she can sense that it’s above and beyond previous limitations (the level of mediocrity we can all hit on any given day), and we can feel the irresistible urge to tackle it, as well as the confidence that it can be tackled.

Giving something life isn’t as simple as baking a cake or painting a wall. You don’t give a dead idea life, you put a living idea into a song. How do you know it’s a living idea? It pulsates with possibilities; it demands to be born; it’s a part of you, sustaining itself in your mind like a gestating being. The gestation of a great song to the writer is almost as miraculous as the gestation of a child to its mother.

So laugh all you want about inspiration, Music Row. The last laugh will be mine because I know when I’ve witnessed a little miracle.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

Polarity Of Mind

2009-03-02T08:50:00.000-05:00

I’ve just returned from a ten day road trip that included a few days in Nashville. I might blog about the trip next time, but for now I’m following up on my last post, Deep Creativity. I came upon a wonderful series of articles by Merlin Mann on the same subject called “Making Time To Make” (note this link is only Part One of the series, see the other two parts at the 43Folders Blog). In it he quotes novelist Neal Stephenson on the subject of Internet (and general) distraction:

“Writing novels is hard, and requires vast, unbroken slabs of time. Four quiet hours is a resource that I can put to good use. Two slabs of time, each two hours long, might add up to the same four hours, but are not nearly as productive as an unbroken four. If I know that I am going to be interrupted, I can’t concentrate, and if I suspect that I might be interrupted, I can’t do anything at all. Likewise, several consecutive days with four-hour time-slabs in them give me a stretch of time in which I can write a decent book chapter, but the same number of hours spread out across a few weeks, with interruptions in between them, are nearly useless."

The four-hour time block is one that I grew accustomed to in my days of routine songwriting. Even if you have a day job, this is something you can squeeze into a weekend or maybe a quiet evening if you happen to have an easy day at work. You must begin by feeling relaxed about the length of time you’ve set aside to work. Even if you end up discarding an hour’s worth of failed effort, you still have ample time to go deep into the zone for a solid verse or chorus.

Don’t be in a hurry to commit to an idea. Turn off the ringer on the phone, don’t check your email, and if possible, try to get the place to yourself (send your spouse to a movie or pass up a party you won’t hate to miss). Don’t jot down thoughts in a hurry, re-think your concepts, clarify and distill the language. Work your way inward until you pick up the faint trail of a solid idea. This metaphor is appropriate: you are in the wilderness of the imagination. Don’t expect to find the well-worn path. If you do find it, be suspicious.

I emphasize this because it’s often the case that a real breakthrough is only possible in deep concentration. Short bursts of time-effort can sometimes yield a good spontaneous line or on rare occasions a couplet, but a tight lyric cannot be written one phrase at a time while multi-tasking. Your brain must be firing on all cylinders. You must have the complete resource of language, metaphor, rhyme, and imagery focused like a laser on the task, and the focus must last for as long as it takes to finish the job (the verse or chorus you’re working on).

Another way I think of this is as a kind of unified “polarity of mind”. It’s as if all the neurons are pointing in random directions when I begin a writing task, and I must first harness the “magnetic” current to get the thought process flowing in one direction : toward the goal. As long as part of my mind is occupied on a different problem, I’m not unified, not fully focused. I can tell when the focus is there because there’s a physical sensation of tremendous mental power aimed at an invisible target—I know the target is there, yet it eludes direct perception at first. Gradually I begin to see an outline, then as concentration increases I can see the bull’s-eye. There is also a sense of expectation, an “aura” that precedes the discovery of the right line or word—you can feel it emerging just before you pounce on it.

Writing is not free-association, scribbling down the thoughts as fast as they come to you, although this can be useful at the start of a writing session. That’s like drawing the treasure map. But you must still follow the map, and what you discover as you follow is the stuff that makes the song. Great lyric writing isn’t just singable language. Go deep and find out what you can make of an idea, don’t just skim the surface between emails.

copyright 2009 craig bickhardt

Deep Creativity

2009-02-10T17:16:00.002-05:00

We multi-task our days away in a whirlwind of keyboard activity, and we’re even programmed to enjoy our interruptions-- that’s what the researchers have discovered. Interruptions increase adrenaline and the kick is addicting says author Maggie Jackson in her new book “Distracted: The Erosion of Attention and the Coming Dark Age”. We’d rather get an email or a Tweet than focus deeply on anything because the short-term rewards are greater.

This got me thinking about my own distracted life, and about the music I often hear. Most of the time I get the impression that the writer of a song I’m listening to has not experienced deep creativity at all, but has rather effortlessly jotted down his/her first thoughts about a subject in rhyme/stanza form. Sometimes it isn’t bad, but rarely does it move me. Yet, there is a level of creative concentration at which truth and emotion get tapped. This depth can be reached as a result of a sudden plunge (an event or an emotionally over-wrought time in a writer’s life), or it may require some digging and focus to arrive at the artery that leads to the heart.

My own experiences with deep creativity were numerous in the days when I was not part of Internet culture. They have diminished proportionally with my immersion in e-promotion, e-commerce, email, e-distraction. There were long beautiful days in the 1990s when time was all but meaningless. I would dive into a song idea early in the morning and come up for air in the early afternoon just long enough for 30 minutes of laps in the pool at the local recreation center. Then I couldn’t wait to get back to it. It was heaven for me and I wonder why I have so thoughtlessly subscribed to this invasive never-out-of-touch culture at the expense of my deeper creative life. Could it be I’m afraid I’ll miss something? The problem is, I am missing something—my deep creative experience.

This doesn’t just apply to lyrics. Sometimes I’m working on the music and it’s as if I’m trying to crack a walnut with my teeth. There’s something inside the song that I just can’t get to. I can assemble chords and sing melodies that sound pretty good to my ear, but there’s a level of feeling missing.

I remember distinctly the experience of trying to write the music for Carrying A Dream (see my new CD). I was in mourning for a dear friend, and his words were burning in my brain. But the music… ah, the music… I tried it every which way I could, but all in vain. I was searching for the melody that set loose a flood of emotion, I wanted to feel my loss and make those lyrics bleed like I was bleeding in my soul.

It took three days to find the magic key that unlocked the door to that pure cistern room inside. When I found it, the melody to Carrying A Dream poured out in about ten minutes. But those ten minutes were the result of a fixation and a struggle to feel something in the music for days. In the process I probably wrote several versions of the song that would have passed muster if I’d never had the experience of being moved by my own creative Muse. But once you know what a great creative moment feels like, you can never go back to being satisfied with less.

This is why distraction and e-living have damaged the music. There’s so little music out there that moves us because we’re all moving too fast to create it. It turns out that being moved requires a thrill greater than the adrenaline rush of a Tweet or an email. In a sense, we are being moved in the opposite direction by the song. The Internet and multi-tasking pulls us outwards (or at least sideways), but the song pushes us inwards, ever deeper inwards.

If we want to have the experience of deep creativity we must make the time for it. We all must make time for it. The quality of the time spent searching your heart and soul for a song is not as exciting as a new iphone app or the thrill of a gossipy email, but then again how shallow is a thrill anyway?

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

The Radio's Echo

2009-01-26T17:25:00.000-05:00

If you try to please audiences, uncritically accepting their tastes, it can only mean that you have no respect for them: that you simply want to collect their money.
- Andrei Tarkovsky

No one can write decently who is distrustful of the reader's intelligence or whose attitude is patronizing.
- E. B. White

I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers done.
- Stephen Wright

There are at least two ways of approaching a creative endeavor. The first is to look around you to see what everyone else is doing and try to take a little bit from here or there in order to conform to the general tone of things. The second is to shut all of that off and go within to find your own voice and muse, and only emerge from the cave when the job is finished.

If you've been confused by too much critical advice, it's probably because you've approached your work using the first method. Almost everyone in the industry can spot this type of song. It has all of the flair and style of the Emperor's New Clothes. It sounds like the radio alright, but it sounds more like the radio's echo.

As hard as it is to understand, you will not be successful until you digest all of the elements of commercial music until they are in your very fibre and blood, in your cells, and then ignore every bit of conventional wisdom you hear and write from who you are. Your contribution will be unlike everyone else's and yet it will find a symbiotic place in the ecosystem of commercial music. It will fill a niche no one knew existed until you came along. This is exactly how it is.

Whenever I encounter a writer trying too hard to "be commercial" I tell him/her that the worst kind of song is the song that's clearly written for the money. A song can earn tons of it and still be a very original piece of work. But if you write for the money you are playing it too safe to succeed. What do "Wooly Bully" and "City Of New Orleans" have in common? Both are hit songs, both are nothing you could have ever imagined writing yourself, and neither one was written for the money.

Focus on your craft and learn everything you can about songs and songwriting. Become a better musician, and a better singer if possible. Study the writers who have forged their own path, but don't imitate them. Learn from them how to be you. Songwriting is like a personal instinct-- mannerisms, quirky expressions and gestures. No two people express themselves in quite the same way. If you are having a dialog, do you imitate the other person's accent? Do you say the same words, make the same gestures, lean the same way? Do you answer predictably? Do you repeat everything you heard yesterday or do you think for yourself? Songwriting is no different. We learn the language, we learn the musical scale, we learn what chords work best, we learn what's legal and what isn't. But nearly everything else is a reflection of the individual.

If you've got the page numbers done, don't think the rest is just a matter of filling up the blank spaces on the paper with readable sentences. Give us some reason to turn the page. You'll find that reason in your head, heart and soul, not in someone else's.

copyright 2009 by craig bickhardt

Rhyming Your Way Through It

2009-01-13T17:05:00.000-05:00

I’ve learned something from almost every collaborator I’ve worked with. Sometimes I learned what not to do. But more often I learned something like this: the essence of a great lyric lies in the concept behind the line as much as in the words themselves.

Teaching yourself to think in concepts isn’t easy. We begin our little journey as songwriters toying with rhymes. We learn how to unbox ourselves by rhyming clever words, by staying away from moon, June, spoon or love, dove. But some of us never learn to chase a concept rather than a suitable line that ends with our pet rhyme word.

It takes a little practice. When you get hung up (fixated upon) a rhyme pair that seems to go nowhere, you’re thinking in terms of rhyme rather than a concept. I’ve watched writers spend weeks trying to rhyme two words with some meaning attached. I’ll get several versions of a couplet that keeps ending with the same two words, and keeps failing to say something significant. This is always clear evidence that the writer isn’t looking for a fresh concept. He’s rhyming his way through.

Thom Schuyler is the best concept lyricist I’ve ever written with. Here’s a brilliant verse from “Who Needs A Hummer”, an acerbically funny protest song from his brand new CD:

You can always go to Kosevo,
Damascus or Iraq
Just take that beast, point it east
And please don’t bring it back
It’s well equipped to make that trip
Hell, it’s fitted out for war
But it always will be overkill
For runnin’ to the liquor store

Clearly Schuyler had a complete concept when he started this verse. In spite of his challenging rhyme scheme: AABCCB, he has a solid destination in mind. He isn’t writing blindly, searching for rhyme words and lines that connect them. Without presuming too much, it’s easy to see that he had the punch line very early in the process of tackling this verse, and he thought backwards to the beginning. I suspect he spent some time juggling the imagery, but the concept dictated a clear direction: the ideal place for a Hummer, the military purpose of a Hummer, and the absurd use. And there’s the wonderful word “overkill”, which is a wink and a nod to his inner punster. The entire verse hangs on a clear statement, the purpose of which is to make us laugh at the absurdity of a war vehicle “runnin’ to the liquor store”.

Schuyler’s brand of humor is very much in the tradition of Will Rogers, Mark Twain and Woody Guthrie. But his source material is straight out of personal observation. He mentally records the images he sees in his daily life and files them away in his mind for future use.

The lesson is: observe, record, process, write. I think the average writer does it this way: stumble onto an idea, write, re-write, get a collaborator. Searching for concepts after you’ve plunged into the writing is dangerous. I’ve often had to tell a writer that his idea is a one-verse song. Spend more time observing, recording (mentally) and processing. Then the writing will come easier. You’ve heard the expression “the song practically wrote itself”. Here’s wishing you a slew of those.

copyright 2009 craig bickhardt

Networking

2009-01-13T01:30:00.002-05:00

After 25 years in and around Nashville (I lived there for 23 of those years) I can share some of my experience with you. One thing is true: the music industry is a network that is made up of smaller networks, and people only want to do business with their friends. This was some of the earliest advice given to me in Nashville by my friend Don Schlitz. Almost everyone knows everyone else in some capacity.

Another piece of good advice I got early on was to keep my head in my papers and ignore the crap swirling around me. The work is what matters.

We need each other badly now. No matter how much or how little you have accomplished in terms of your goals, you are important to the grand scheme because our only strength is in numbers. There are powerful forces trying to tear down everything we've created. They want our copyrights to be unprotected and unregulated, they want our royalties sliced down to microscopic size. Networking is also about protecting our futures.

Talent and determination is not all you need for success. This is naive, let me assure you. You need talent, determination and tremendous help from a large group of friends and allies. No one gets anywhere by being a talented army of one. Here's the simple reason why: everyone in the industry wants to be part of something. You succeed by building up a group of friends who want to SEE you succeed. They have "stock" in you, they invest time and energy, sometimes money. They have a commitment to your rise to the top. It's part of the game, and they all enjoy playing it. They don't want to sit there and watch you do it alone, they want to participate.

Meetings, pitches, writer's nights, that's the easy stuff, so easy a child could do it. Every door in Nashville will open with a few determined knocks. Don't kid yourself into thinking you're getting somewhere just because they listened to your song. You must forge an alliance. Building a network of committed friends is what it's all about.

So, be inspired and inspire others. Network with long term goals. God knows this is a damn hard life and the good stuff doesn't come easy.

copyright 2009 craig bickhardt

Looking Back, Looking Forward

2008-12-31T10:53:00.006-05:00

It's time once again to take stock of my year and set goals for a new one. I'm exhausted just typing that sentence. Many of you probably do the same thing on New Year's Eve. We torture ourselves needlessly and try to put a smiley face on our accomplishments the way Mrs. Walker did in second grade.

This past year I started a blog, finished a new CD, played about 60 concerts, gave several seminars, became a grandfather, made a couple new friends, wrote only two songs I really like, read a few good books and learned how to grow orchids. I have a friend who bought a few houses for nickels on the dollar and invested a million in bargain stocks. My net worth plummeted, if you can call a nosedive off the low board a "plummet". I have another friend who finally got that college degree she's always wanted. My wife keeps suggesting that I go back to school to get one of those framed pieces of paper but I have ADD when it comes to things like tests and practical knowledge. I'm only able to learn useless skills like orchid growing, and unimportant facts such as: a "jiffy" is the time between alternating current power cycles (1/60 or 1/50 of a second). Try to teach me to prepare a business plan or speak French and I fidget uncontrollably until the chair collapses.

I want to write a book next year. It doesn't have to be a long book, just 120 pages or so. It can be heavily illustrated. When I consider the fact that I put off recording most of my best songs for 20 years, it seems unlikely that I'll write a best seller. Money sees me coming and crosses the street. Fame is like a rented tuxedo that I wore one night and spilled salsa on so I can't rent it again. Not that money and fame bring happiness, they just have certain perks that would make my life more convenient. For example I could pay all my bills and get a new pair of glasses in the same decade, or I could stop getting calls from the NSAI in Nashville asking me if I'd like to have my songs evaluated by one of their professionals.

I chose this life, my wife always reminds me. Yeah, I say, but I was too young to have all that responsibility. Someone should have said, "You don't want to be 54 years old selling songs for nine cents apiece do you?" That might've been a wake up call. They should've stopped me before I spent thousands of hours making steel wires vibrate on a wooden box. How was I supposed to know I'd get paid $150 per night to sing for people in 1972 and $150 to sing for more people in 2008? A migrant orange picker gets a raise. A guitar picker gets permission to park near the dumpster.

This year flew by. I covered a lot of miles on the road and most of them also flew by. I should be a duck. Did you know that a duck's quack doesn't echo? I know things like that. Wish I could get paid better for these things I know. Do you need someone to vibrate wire on a wooden box cheap?

We have much to look forward to in the coming year. I'm very interested in what our president elect will do starting January 21. I'd like to see some people on Wall Street go to jail. I'd like to find out why the CEOs of Ford think the solution to Detroit's problems is cars that park themselves. I want Rush Limbaugh to actually talk to God and get his facts straight. I'd like to wake up one morning and see the headline: Blogojevich Spontaneously Combusts. I'd be thrilled to find out that Arne Duncan has read "Outliers" and wants to reform the entire education system in America. I would like to listen to Ozzie Osborne filibuster in the Senate. I'd like to see Kevin Federline get a bigger hat.

Here are some wonderful things I'll miss in 2009. I won't get to see the Mets and Yankees play baseball in those great old parks. There will be no new Paul Newman or Heath Ledger films, no more Freddie Hubbard solos, or Arthur C. Clarke novels. There will be no more enlightened Sunday Mornings with Tim Russert. George Carlin won't make me laugh at the latest culture craze. And, although this one only matters to me, I won't get to do a show at The Arts Scene with my late compadre Robert Hazard.

But there will be a few improvements in 2009. Bush will be gone, and not a moment too soon. We won't see another haughty young blond drinking Zima at the bar. If you go to Starbucks, you can just get coffee and not feel guilty for passing up the CD bin because it will soon be gone. You won't step in Volcano Taco toppings on the sidewalk. You won't see any more bewildered husbands being dragged into Linens 'N Things.

I take my blessings where I find them. I have a loving family and a roof over my head, and these are not given things anymore. I still live a creative life. I don't need an iphone or a Lexus to make me happy. I have a few intelligent, interesting, funny friends who always say the right thing at the right time. I have reasonably good health. I can cook. And it's no small miracle that I'm still here to wish you the best year of your life in 2009.

copyright 2008 craig bickhardt

Got Real?

2008-12-12T15:20:00.004-05:00

"I always wanted to be a musician," the woman wearing the retail apron in the TV commercial says. She's referring to Rock Band, or Guitar hero, or some other video game that her family has discovered. "Now our family is always together!" another woman exclaims in delight as we see the living room "band" jamming in front of a TV. It's very gratifying to me, as a musician who has struggled for 40 years, to know that it's so much easier to play the guitar now that Wii has eliminated the need for practice.

Let's all stay home and be musicians! Why not? Should we be cynical just because MTV Games brought us Rock Band the video toy? I mean, wasn't it already obvious that MTV was for juvenile cretins who thought Beavis and Butthead were hysterical? Is it so terrible that MTV has now abandoned almost all content that features genuine music in it's programing and turned to home gaming?

I see a future where we each get our own TV network complete with a video game. We'll be able to broadcast ourselves and we'll be scheduled for 15 minutes of fame during which our network will link nationally with everyone else's network. Everyone will vote on whether your fame was worth watching, and you won't even have to do something special. You could maybe just scratch yourself in a funny way and be voted Funniest Scratcher.

In this era of Famous Me, I've noticed that there's quite a large crowd of talentless people trying to cram into the spotlight. Forgive me if I ponder for a moment whether the genuine and deserving talent runs the risk of being overlooked.

If this isn't bad enough, my friend Nathan Bell points out that we musicians face even more competition from Actors and other celebrities who have somehow decided that acting and celebrity-hood isn't enough, they must also be recording artists.

Nathan says, "...the music business is imploding and THESE people are touring, making cds, and eating up valuable payola while real musicians are learning the correct way to display their Wal-Mart name tag?"

This is a call for action friends. Stop the insanity. Don't give your kid Guitar Hero for Christmas, take him or her out to a few concerts instead. Don't watch Real Housewives of Orange County or Biggest Loser, read a good book. Don't buy a Kevin Costner CD, buy Nathan Bell's. Let's show them that "real" deserves some respect again-- real music, real TV programing (not low cost sensationalism), real movies, real concerts...

There's too much static, too many vapid distractions, too much splintering of the audience, too little call for serious art of any kind, too much attention given to shocking behavior, too much reward for titillating our prurient interests, too little pay for only having serious artistic talent.

Art requires nurturing (big investment), time (slow return on big investment), and commitment (hanging with it in spite of slow return on big investment). These are things that the entertainment industry doesn't believe in anymore. And it's no wonder. They've been encouraged, even pressured by the consumer to deliver cheap disposable content, instant gratification, nearly free products (whether it be reality TV shows or a $15 per month subscription for unlimited mp3 downloads), and lowest-common-denominator content focused on sex appeal, sensationalism and violence. You can't have Dylan immediately and for free and in lingerie, folks, so there will never be another artist like him unless we change.

We have exactly the art and culture we deserve. This is what we wanted.

As for me; I'll continue to write this blog...I'll go out to hear live music...I'll still make records, not tracks (stay tuned for the new one)...I'll work very hard to write great songs that hopefully will move you...I'll play a real guitar on a real stage in front of real people who will leave the house to listen...I'll even come to your town so you don't have to drive too far...I'll post my music on the Internet so you can hear me easily...I'll give away some downloads even though this is my only job and I can always use the money...and...most importantly... I won't put you out of business.

Can I make it any more real for you?

copyright 2008 craig bickhardt

10,000 Hours

2008-11-21T11:19:00.005-05:00

Hallelujah, I'm not alone.

I saw Malcomb Gladwell on TV last night and wrote his book title down before I went to bed ("Outliers"). One of the many points this welcomed book makes is that it takes about 10,000 hours of study/practice for someone to become an expert at anything in life. This number is based on research documented by Gladwell, and it applies to everything from legal expertise to becoming a great painter, or, by implication, a great songwriter. Can we produce a late blooming genius like Cezanne? Yes, says Gladwell, if he/she is willing to put in the hours. [Read Gladwell's blog on this subject]

I've been banging this drum steady for months now, trying not to tire you with the truth as I see it. We may not all have the time, but time is the essential factor in great songwriting. A great song can be written fairly quickly as I've said in many of my blog articles, but only after the preparation, the background, the study, the practice has been undertaken.

How soon can one put in his 10,000 hours? Let's assume you only have 10 hours per week to devote to songwriting. At that rate you'll need about 20 years of practice. Maybe you started when you were 15, so you can expect to reach your best at 35 (and that doesn't mean you won't continue to be at your best until you're 75). Why, then, do the major labels and publishers sign so many 21 year old artists and songwriters? Clearly the word "great" has lost some of it's meaning.

Are there exceptions such as Bob Dylan, who are so gifted at such an early age? Not necessarily. Maybe Bob worked a lot harder than most of us when he was young. Maybe he put in his hours at the feet of Seeger and the rest while we spent those years sitting on car hoods with a six pack.

Gladwell's book should come as encouraging news to most of you. If you've ever been made to feel that your time has passed because you're 29 and still unsigned, relax. You're still improving with age.

I have my own evidence in support of Gladwell's argument. I stared writing songs when I was about 15. I began writing full time when I was 27. Until that point I'd maybe put in only half of the necessary hours. I'd written a couple of good songs, even had a cut or two under my belt. But I knew I wasn't at my peak. When I began writing full time my skills improved very quickly, and by age 32 I'd nearly doubled my practice hours, and I'd written a song that I still rank as one of my best.

No matter how many voices we add to the growing criticism of music marketing trends at the major labels, it's unlikely that we'll change anything soon. For now, we can at least be content that we are in the right, and the data supports us. The industry should be mining 30-40 year olds, not 18-30 year olds. Or, if you want to market unripe talent, at least force these artists to sing songs written by those who have put in the practice hours.

copyright 2008 craig bickhardt

The Vital Vision

2008-11-05T12:12:00.003-05:00

We can't sell a product people don't need. A song has to either move the audience, make them laugh or cry, or it has to become the soundtrack for their lives-- meaning it must be a song they fall in love to, or heal to, or commiserate with somehow. It must grow into something essential that they can't live without. This requires a motive on the writer's part, and some vision. Vision is the sense that connects perception to significance. It's when you see something, know why it matters, and convey that meaning to others. When the writer shares his vision, the listener begins to perceive what's behind the song.

Great songs don't usually happen by accident. They are deliberate acts of creation motivated by genuine emotion and a fascination with the process. You can't search for buried treasure unless you go to the right beach with a metal detector and begin scouring. Writing without purpose or vision is like sitting in a chair in your den and hoping there's treasure under the couch cushions. You'll just end up with a few nickles and dimes-- a cheap song.

I was thinking about a verse from Townes Van Zandt's "To Live Is To Fly". Here it is :

It's goodbye to all my friends
It's time to leave again
Here's to all the poetry and the picking down the line
I'll miss the system here
The bottom's low and the treble's clear
But it don't pay to think too much on things you leave behind

The thing I like about this verse is the wacky reference to the PA system. I get a sense of purpose from those lines. Clearly Townes was writing with some vision, otherwise why refer to a sound system in a club? Why give it significance? Well, maybe because it represents the highs and lows of the troubadour life in a detail that the rest of us overlooked. The purity and depth in the sound system equates to the ideal moment in a traveling musician's life-- after driving thousands of miles, eating fast food and sleeping in noisy hotel rooms on mattresses that are too soft or too hard, he gets those precious 90 minutes on stage during the best gig of the tour. Townes' motive was to accurately convey how this kind of life feels, and his vision made the connection. The chorus says:

To live is to fly
Low and high
So, shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eyes

Having been on the road myself for many years, I can tell you this is not only accurate, it's perfect. There have been many days when the detachment of the road has felt like flight. It's an addiction. I'm never more alive than when I'm in flight, and the lows and highs on the road are more extreme than when I'm perched safe at home. Flight is freedom, but freedom sometimes means sacrificing a bit of security. Townes was living this song in the moment of it's creation (or re-living it, which is still valid). The remarkable thing about this simple chorus is that it captures some emotion and a rather profound philosophy in four graceful lines. How can a writer do this unless he is actually experiencing the song? We can't find the key to this type of communication unless we have vision. Vision is vital.

Where are you on life's journey? Can you show us? Can you open a window that allows me to see and feel what you see and feel? Do you have something in mind, something in heart, something in soul? Townes says later in the song:

We all got holes to fill
Them holes are all that's real

Songs fill the holes for many of us, or at least they clean the wounds so we can begin to heal. That's their purpose. But the world is choking on songs without purpose-- clever gimmick titles that strain at anything to say nothing. I hear tons of them and they never move me or touch me or make me smile or cause me to shed a tear. They just play in my ear for a few minutes and then they are forgotten.

Don't invent. Observe. Show us what you see. Much is revealed by the song in the end. As writers, we can't fake it. A great, true, core idea, and a deep emotional experience is the lifeblood of a song. Find the vital vision and follow it. See life and feel the words.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt
photo copyright by wolfgang staudt (creative commons approved use)

NMW Spotlight : Louvin Up Close

2008-10-29T12:45:00.008-04:00

I thought I'd break tradition for this post and give you a little glimpse of my alter ego and the adventures of a performing songwriter. For my regular readers : don't worry, we'll be back to the chopping block next week. But for tonight Ninety Mile Wind goes "backstage" in Bethlehem, PA. for a first hand report on my show at Godfrey Daniels with the legendary Charlie Louvin.

The Silver Eagle was parked across the street when Larry Ahearn and I arrived for sound check. Larry is a manager who likes to travel with his acts, so he almost always delivers me to the door of my gig and makes sure sound check comes together on schedule. Charlie Louvin's band had traveled down from Woodstock NY where they'd done Levon Helm's Midnight Ramble show the night before. The bus's engine was still idling when we pulled up, indicating everyone was either sleeping or taking care of other business on board.

We faced some tough competition finding an audience for this show. The fourth game of the World Series was being played only 65 miles away, and The Who were also performing in Philly. But we were relieved to learn that the house was half sold out and walk ups were expected. Still, I'd figured Charlie would draw more people than the number of advance tickets we'd sold. Ramona at Godfrey Daniels gave us the same lament we've been hearing everywhere lately : show attendance is off by 30-40%, and it's the economy stupid.

Louvin's band sound checked first. When everything was set, Charlie got off the bus and came into Godfrey's wearing a gold Pittsburgh Steelers hat that Levon had given him the night before. He took the stage and exchanged a few comments with his eldest boy, Sonny, who plays rhythm guitar in the band. I heard Charlie say, "Where?" and he turned to squint in my direction. Then he stepped off the stage and came over to greet me. I introduced myself, not realizing Louvin is still as sharp as a pistol at age 81. "Yes, I remember you," he said, "we spoke on the phone a while back about your House song. Boy, you didn't leave nothing outta that one, that's a good song!" I should explain that Charlie cut This Old House (written by Thom Schuyler and myself) a few years back on a CD that's unfortunately now out of print.

Louvin and his band finished their sound check and I set up for mine with my percussionist and long time friend Tommy Geddes. Charlie was hanging around in the lobby when I decided to run through This Old House with Tommy. I had my eyes shut, and as I got to the second verse a raspy tenor voice joined me in harmony. I looked over and there was Charlie on stage next to me with a cup of coffee. He followed my phrasing almost perfectly and nailed the second chorus. When the song ended he leaned over and said with a grin, "Boy, you should be killed before you multiply!" I laughed and told him to feel free to join me for the song during the evening's set if he felt up to it. "I've got this head cold, but maybe I will".

After sound check we sat and talked about guitars until Charlie had to do a phone interview with a radio station in Australia. I decided to eavesdrop as he answered the questions that were coming from the interviewer. His eyes twinkled as he spoke about his storied past.

"Yes, that's right, we did a show in Alabama back then and Elvis was the opening act." A pause. "Well, yes, I met Hank a few times, I didn't really know him well, but I knew him." Another pause. "Well we used to harmonize all the time, we learned all the church music, shape note singing and the songs in The Golden Harp [a hymn collection published in 1868]" Then a longer pause and a sigh. "Oh yes, every time I sing I still hear Ira's voice singing his harmony parts." The interviewer asked him about his name. "Well it was Loudermilk. We was cousins of John D's, you know. So we took the L-O-U part, same as Loudermilk, and added the "V-I-N" from the VIN number on a car and came up with Louvin." He looked at me with a grin and winked, then spoke into the phone again, "Well sir, I'm in Bethlehem PA, where Jesus is from."

I went outside to get some air before the show started and found Charlie's bass player Mitchell Brown doing the same. We had a conversation about the bus that was still idling across the street. "That bus is a lease. Charlie's bus got totaled in a head on collision in New Jersey a few weeks ago," he said. Recalling that Ira Louvin died in a car accident, I shuddered and asked, "Was anybody hurt?" Mitchell held out a stiff forearm, "I broke my arm. Charlie was fine. He had an insurance check in his hand the next day and bought something, I don't know what."

The show started at 7pm. I was introduced by Steve, who also does sound at Godfrey Daniels. "Wow, lots of gray heads here tonight," I said. "We like that. Now, if you forget where you are there's a big sign behind me that'll remind you!" I did my usual 30 minute opening act set.
Here's the song list:

You're The Power
Even A Cowboy Can Dream
The Real Game
Where I Used To Have A Heart
Sugarcane Street
This Old House
If He Came Back Again

Larry was sitting behind Charlie on the benches in the rear of the room. Apparently Charlie slid forward on his seat as if to stand up and come to the stage twice during This Old House, but decided against it. Ah well, I can still say I once harmonized on stage with the great Charlie Louvin. After the show he caught my arm in the lobby and leaned into my ear, "Don't worry, I won't upstage you!" he said chuckling.

Louvin's set kicked off with a rousing version of "Worried Man Blues". He quickly followed with some Carter family and Delmore Brothers tunes. The band was tight, with lead guitarist Joe Cook stepping out in nearly every song to display a dazzling array of Telecaster tricks and hot licks. Kevin Kathey laid down a solid backbeat, although he was playing somewhat restrained to keep the volume low in the small room. Mitchell and Sonny locked into the groove.

Louvin's voice was weak in the mix at first. The combination of the slightly overpowered sound system and his head cold made his voice seem a bit frail. But the set picked up energy and the sound came together, and by the time he sang "This Damn Pen" (a great ballad he'd cut with Willie Nelson) his weathered tenor took command of the stage. He also gave me another shout out for This Old House, "I don't know how many times I've driven by an old abandoned house and wondered what kinda stories it could tell. He even got the extra key in that song!"

His repartee with the crowd was humorous and unaffected. He ditched political correctness at one point saying, "I'm gonna do this slow song. Normally I'd get down off the stage and go out there to get me some beaver to dance with, but not tonight."

Charlie Louvin has earned his accolades. His influence on country and bluegrass harmony reverberates down to today in the work of younger artists such as Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. It can even be found in the seminal country rock of Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris. It's a legacy that few artists of his generation can match. One wonders what will happen to country music when the last of these old giants is gone. One thing's for sure, they aren't making any more of 'em.

Thanks to Larry Ahearn and Tom Hampton for the photos.

Song or Sonic Collage

2008-10-22T16:25:00.003-04:00

Ansel Adams used to say that before he took a picture he'd already factored every aspect of photography and dark room expertise into the shot. He knew what film ISO he'd need to use to get the proper effect, what Aperture and shutter speed would be required to capture the light and detail, what lens he'd use, what time of day the shot needed to be taken, where he'd probably have to dodge and burn in the dark room to get the light to pop, etc. Nothing was left to chance, even if chance ultimately played a role in the final product-- creative accidents still happened, but their opposite (creative disasters) were minimized. For Ansel Adams, "craft" and "skill" were paramount to the "art" of his pictures. The three were inseparable, and there were no shortcuts.

In today's world of digital photography, it's possible for anyone to achieve certain professional effects with the camera. No longer does the amateur have to study the craft of photography or spend years in the dark room learning about the volatility of chemicals and photo paper because virtually any effect or operation can be applied to a raw digital shot to give the photo some of the same effects it took Adams many hours to create. Because creative disasters have been virtually eliminated with "undo", creative accidents play a much greater role in the final products of amateur photographers. In general, there's more experimentation, but less knowledge of the fundamentals. More haphazard shooting because it's inexpensive, less planning of the shot.

Does this mean anyone can be Ansel Adams? Hardly.

Of course, this is a songwriting blog, so why am I writing about photography? I can think of no better metaphor to explain what has happened to the art of songwriting since "craft" and "skill" have gone the way of the dodging wand.

I was recently asked to coach a songwriting duo who were planning to do a CD. A friend of mine was producing the duo but he felt the songs were not up to par so he asked me to take a listen and make some critical suggestions. Once again I found myself in the position of trying to explain the difference between songwriting and something I call the sonic collage. The songs had some fine moments, but they weren't focused, they were full of lyric contradictions and irrelevant lines. The melodies sometimes had catchy phrases but they weren't repeated or they were in places that distracted from the main melodic themes (if there were any at all) or they didn't draw attention to the hook. The songs were all too long-- not just by commercial standards, but by any standard of human interest (the self indulgent factor). They were obviously written in a stream of conscious method, probably in less than an hour or two, with no re-writing attempted.

I made my comments to the pair in a carefully worded email. My friend said the duo was very interested in what I had to say, they even agreed with some of it, but ultimately they just wanted to get into the studio and cut the CD they'd already written. The money was burning a hole in their pockets and after it all, it was their record label...

Why study songwriting when you can make anything vaguely resembling a song sound good with Protools and judicious editing? I'm sure my friend will cut a decent CD, but they'll spend more time cutting, pasting and undoing than was spent writing the tunes. In fact it seems that a song is now just the vehicle that gets you to the cutting, pasting and undoing part. It's all about how soon you can get in there and piece it all together into the sonic collage, better known as the modern song. Then you can either go home and learn the song off the record that you've made, or else you just perform to backing tracks. And the best part : almost anyone can do it. All those boring years of study, all those highly educational creative disasters that can't be "undone", the lessons that teach you to do the work before you spend the money, the "skill" and the "craft" that goes into the art of song; unnecessary.

Unnecessary until one day you get on stage next to someone who has spent the time learning the skill and craft behind the art, and put the energy into the song before spending the money on the record. Then you will pull out your sonic collage and sing in earnest, trying to convince the audience they are being communicated to. But your sonic collages won't stand a chance against the real songs. The real songs will hit their mark while you send out lilting melodies and random thoughts like bubbles in the breeze.

Do you think I'm wrong?

Come and sit here on the stage with me...

Marriage In Meter

2008-09-23T17:25:00.000-04:00

I had a friend once named Jack Keller. Jack passed away a few years ago, but I think of him often. He was a Tin Pan Alley trained songwriter, born and raised in Brooklyn. He took his craft to Hollywood for a while, writing for the Monkees and cranking out themes for TV shows, ultimately landing the theme songs for "Bewitched", "Gidget" and "Seattle". He wrote plenty of other hits, some you know and some you don't. He ended his days writing in Nashville for the same publisher I wrote for (EMI). This was back when EMI was just a fledgling company doing business as Screen Gems-Colgems-EMI in a little cottage at 1207 16th Ave South.

Jack could often be heard behind some closed door lecturing a young writer about his poor prosody, "Dat's not da hit ! Here's da hit (plunking single notes on the piano) da, da, da, DA, da, DA. Ya got too many syllables. Dat don't work. It's da marriage, I'm tellin' ya, da marriage!"

I wrote with Jack enough times to know that once he found "the hit", you didn't mess with it. He was a stickler for every line being perfectly constrained to the melody he'd composed. It didn't matter how good you thought your line was, if it didn't match syllable for syllable with his melody, he'd shoot it full of holes then calmly smoke his pipe until you thought of something better. His melodies were little gems of simplicity and distinction, nothing generic about them at all. Each note held it's place with purpose. But, man, did he ever insist on doing it his way.

Maybe you're saying to yourself, "What a stubborn guy". Thing is, he wasn't merely stubborn. He was right, maddeningly right. Every time I worked with him I learned more about the art of how NOT to compromise a hit melody for the sake of a line of lyric. His restrictions made me (gasp) a better lyricist! It forced me to find not just the right concept for a line, or the right rhyme, but the sequence of words that made the melody, concept and rhyme shine brightest.

Before you begin dismissing me with arguments about Bob Dylan and John Lennon, yes, I know. The discipline is broad. But hear me out for a moment. There are plenty of writers you can study to learn about loose meter, but few examples these days of the true Marriage.

You see, lyrics can to be both meaningful AND metered strictly. That is, in fact, the immortal challenge of both songwriting and poetry. Anyone can say a thought, but only a great writer can say it so concisely that it can never be said better again.

Classical composers use a rigid, almost mathmatical theme-and-variation approach to melody. Once the theme and variations are establish you don't deviate. Beethoven wrote his Ninth in the rhythm : "dit dit dit DAH. dit dit dit DAH." Not "dit dit dit DAH, dit di-dit dit DA-DAH". This theme business is one of the hallmarks of good composition. Many barriers have been broken since Beethoven, but we haven't always improved things. What is it that makes a song memorable to begin with? Isn't it a certain amount of repetition along with deceptively employed variations of that rhthmn? Are we really helping ourselves by pushing the envelope of theme and variation to the point where the average listener can longer even find it? The echoes are essential. The melodic echoes are the DNA of a melody. Without echoing themes a melody unravels too far.

I break the rules, too. I like Dylan as much as anyone and when I take liberties with the meter, I usually tell myself I'm following some branch of the songwriting tree that sprouted from his work. Sometimes I'm happy with the results, but many times my weak meter is just because I'm too lazy to get it right. Do you break up the Marriage with intent or out of laziness? Many writers seem to not know the difference. It takes some objectivity. You've got to know where that pulse lies and pick it up throughout the song.

The next time you're cramming all those extra syllables into your verse lines because you just need to get all the information into the song, ask yourself if it can be pared down for the sake of the meter, the pulse, the DNA of the melody. You won't be sorry you tried. Maybe you'll hear old Jack Keller's ghost say, "It's da marriage!"

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

Finding The Reverence

2008-09-12T11:36:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine recently went to hear Jimmy Webb speak about songwriting. Jimmy talked about how the American songwriter is in decline because younger writers no longer study their creative ancestors.

We can debate whether this is a temporary trend or a sea change, but it's the premise of Webb's argument that interests me. There's a difference between pushing the art forward, and abandoning the past altogether. Sometimes what appears to be a clean break is actually a brilliant and rather large leap, but we must still be able to determine that it is a forward leap and not merely the abandonment of disciplines and principals that have governed the art of songwriting since the days of the Childe Ballad authors.

A song cannot be whatever we say it is any more than a novel can be four words and a cover. You might ramble from melody to melody with no sense of theme, weak symmetry, no fixed choruses, and I will admit that you've written something. But I would no sooner call it a "song" than I'd call a grocery list a "poem". Yet some have even attempted to get away with that hoax, and as a result poetry has also been in decline.

It isn't enough that a songwriter can claim an influence, he must also demonstrate what he has made of that influence. Dylan wasn't copying Woody Guthrie, nor was he just singing like him and abandoning everything Woody stood for in his writing. He was taking the leap forward, and in retrospect we can see it clearly today. When we look back from some future vantage point, will we clearly see the reverence for the past in any of the current songwriters on the scene? I can't name many I'd include on the list of reverential writers, maybe Josh Ritter, Brett Dennen, and a couple of others.

The field appears to be dominated by writers who lack the discipline or the reverence. They have the talent to sing and play instruments, they have the recording skills and the software to get it down, they have the drive and the incentive to be famous, and they have street teams on social networks to promote them. But having all these things seems to make them rather impatient with study. The one thing they apparently do not have is any abiding interest in what happened before they got here. Sure, they've listened to Sgt. Pepper and they've already stolen a few production ideas from that classic. They own a beat up copy of Blond On Blond from their parents' record collection. They listened to that LP long enough to discover that Dylan sometimes makes obscure allusions and that he writes a lot of songs with four or five verses.

But this is merely the "trappings" of influence, no different than donning a Nehru jacket and saying you're influenced by the Beatles. Influence in the reverential sense means being involved with more than the superficial aspects of the past, it means tracing the roots and analyzing the elements.

It's safe to say that never in the history of our culture have so many superficial similarities existed between the musical artists of today and the musical artists of a previous generation. Look at the clothes, hair styles, images and artwork and you'll see 1969. Listen to the CDs and you'll hear production that reminds you of the Byrds, the Beatles, "Positively Fourth Street" and Joni. But check out the songs. The lyrics are unfocused, the choruses unmemorable, the ideas lack the motive to really communicate. It reeks of self-indulgence. Simply put, no one has told these folks that they haven't worked hard enough, that they haven't written their best song, that they need to develop their instincts and hone their craft. No one has said, "No".

Could it be that the break down of the old model music industry is to blame for the deterioration of the American songwriter too? It certainly looks that way. In the past when a songwriter was told, "It ain't a hit, sonny" he went away and wrote a better song. Now that same songwriter just goes home and cuts a record. The resulting morass of mediocrity has lowed the standards of artist and listener alike.

Try as you might, you cannot become truly accomplished at anything without study. You may think songwriting frees you from that awful obligation-- the one you hated every night as you did your high school homework-- but it doesn't. I have studied songwriting as long and as hard as any doctor ever studied his profession. I've also studied poetry just as long and hard, because I believe it has a lot to teach me. My advice to all the young songwriters out there is this : take the time to really study and find some reverence for what got us here. Just because you feel an impulse to write a song doesn't mean you're ready to take on that responsibility (yes, you are responsible and accountable for what you put into this world). You must allow the well to fill before you draw water.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

Compass

2008-09-04T12:30:00.004-04:00

They say there's no road map for success, but I say there's a compass. Your True North might be different from someone else's, but I'll wager plenty that you know where it is if you've really searched for it. Only a fool would look at his compass and then follow someone else's best guess about the route to travel. That's all it is-- advice I mean, a best guess. No matter who it comes from, it's a guess.

Can you look at where you are now and where you want to go, and navigate sensibly? All successful writers do this. If you have a mind, a heart, and some talent, you can plot the course. The problem is not coordinates, it's courage. We need to have the resolve to go in the direction our compass points. If we seek advice at every step, we're undoubtly going in circles. Maybe an occassional reality check to be sure the needle isn't stuck, but nothing more.

The successful writers that I know all burned bright at the start. Even through their mistakes they remained true to their course. They made some adjustments according to how others reacted to their work, but not major course corrections. The reason their song catalog is so deep is because they covered that much ground in the time that most of us spend zig-zag tentatively to our vague destinations.

If you don't know what you're trying to communicate, how you're trying to communicate it, and why you'd even bother, then you are going nowhere. If you must ask someone else the question, "Is this any good?", it probably isn't. If you really feel the song, you don't need to ask.

What's the mystery here? Why is it so hard to connect with what we feel? We say we've lost objectivity, but is this a lie or a delusion?

Every time you eat an apple you can tell if it's sweet or sour. You've eaten the same fruit all your life but you always know if this is a delicious apple or a bad apple. When you love someone you never tire of seeing their face. You don't lose objectivity about it. It remains beautiful as long as you feel love for that person. Could it be that you've never felt anything for your songs? Do you love what you write, or do you simply write songs the way you'd paint a wall-- cover all the spots, hit the corners, and roll out the rest as fast as possible?

I've mixed metaphors here, so back to the compass.

I took my eye off the horizon and the needle too often when I was younger. Now I never look away. This blindness, this lack of objectivity, the big lie we tell ourselves-- it's a problem we must address. We must decide for ourselves what level of commitment, what depth of feeling we have about our own work. You might hate the hit that's sitting at #1 this week, but you figure it's a good idea to write one just like it. I guarantee you that if you do this you'll fail every time. The biggest copyrights are the songs some writer passionately loved, passionately wrote, and passionately believed in. That applies even to those tunes you happen to hate. Remember this : for every song on the radio that you dislike, there's a writer behind it who believed whole-heartedly (and even if I'm wrong, you won't fail by heeding what I say because you'll simply write a hit that you love).

If you don't believe in your songs; if you don't cherish them like children; if they don't make you cry or laugh or dance for joy; if they are merely exercises or "completed songs", probably no one will record them. We must write what we love, write what tears us up inside and get to the bottom of the feeling, write what we're very intent on communicating, write what we can't live without expressing. Anything less will not move an artist to invest his or her career in our work.

Go ahead. Look at that compass now, and be honest about what star you follow. Because if you ask the person next to you what star you should follow, he just might steer you off the edge of the world.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

Van Ronk's Last Cigar and Other Fables

2008-08-20T12:30:00.005-04:00

Dave Van Ronk's last cigar is now just a small circle of ashes scattered around a bush in the middle of a park in Grand Rapids, Michigan. That's where songwriter David Massengill smoked it after holding onto it for a couple of years. Van Ronk gave it to him shortly before he died in 2002. It was Dave's last cigar by his own admission, dug from the back of a dusty shelf at a party. Massengill, being the true sentimentalist, just couldn't smoke his friend's parting gift without due ceremony. He thought of smoking it often, but the cigar took on legendary significance among a close circle of mutual friends, so he couldn't. There were anniversaries and other times when it almost seemed proper, but no.

Finally, almost burdened by the acquired weight of it, one night on the road he said "what the hell"... in Grand Rapids of all places (I was too entertained by this tale to ask him why he'd brought the cigar from NYC to Michigan). He partook of the sacred rolled leaf with a friend who was also a songwriter. There they shared it in reverence, blowing smoke rings at the moon and invoking Dave's ghost. Then they gathered up the tobacco ash, every speck of it, and made a gray ring on the earth around a bright shrub in loving tribute to a musical legend. Thus was a small piece of Van Ronk's history laid to rest under a conspicuous bush in Michigan in the form of a big fat cremated cigar.

Now, try to forget this simple story. If you're like me, that may be a difficult thing to do. Fortunately my friend David Massengill has turned it all into a beautiful tribute song on his latest CD "Dave On Dave" just in case you manage to forget it.

"We took to the road and he showed me the ropes
'Never count the house* kid, keep dreaming your hopes
And keep an eye open for the bizarre'
Lessons I learned from Dave Van Ronk's last cigar"
(Copyright 2007 David Massengill Music ASCAP)
(*i.e., don't count the number of people in the audience)

The story and the song both demonstrate that it's the quirky romance of life that makes it all worth talking about in the first place. It isn't the mundane rituals of our day, not the false romance we like to delude ourselves with-- the cliched candles and wine; not the ruts we're stuck in or the dashed dreams.

It may be too idealistic of me to expect this of everyone else, but before I write my next song I'll ask myself if I have a story to tell. Is the story worth repeating, and would I tell it to a stranger in a bus station at midnight?

If you have one, and if you would tell me, I will listen. Give me the strange, the beautiful, the haunting, the unlikely. I'm thirsty for it.

The best stories are usually the unnoticed incidents that gain significance in the story-teller's words. On the surface they are events hardly worthy of a sentence in the newspaper, yet told properly they resonate deeply and make the daily headlines seem crude and transitory. It's what we make of our tales, how we mythologize them, not how grand they are in reality.

My friend James Keelaghan sings one called "Kiri's Piano". I challenge anyone to find a simpler and quieter, yet more compelling story than this: Kiri's Piano lyrics.

Nashville used to tell us good stories. Tom T. Hall was a master. So were Johnny Cash and Shel Silverstein. Darrel Scott, when he manages to get one cut, still reminds us of what Nashville used to be in the days when artists weren't afraid to portray authentic characters in songs.

Today it's all about the artist, not the story song. Everyone seems desperate to define who they are in a genre with 150 other singers who sound just like them, but they make the mistake of trying to create unique PR rather than having unique stories to tell and unique characters to play in their music. As a result, the differences between popular artists are as deep as page one of the tabloids. It's the fear of being swallowed by the whale of consolidated media, I suppose.

Yet I still have hope that some mainstream artist among the crop of younger torch bearers will finally realize that story-telling and role-playing made Johnny Cash, and Marlon Brando great. Oh, please stop trying to tell us how different you are in your bio, and just be different when you pick songs.

Find your stories.

Stories give us the barest implications about the mysteries of life-- the life that we never seem to fully grasp. The big picture is too large for our frame, we must have it scaled down to viewable size. A story is a way to attach tangible form to our least definable emotions. It's part of the eloquence of life's quietest truths.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

Another One Gone Too Soon

2008-08-08T14:20:00.002-04:00

Robert Hazard 1948 - 2008

When they call my number
On the day I die
Gonna rise up singing
In the azure sky
(Lucky Hat - Robert Hazard)

It's unfortunate that I must report on another death this week. This time it's a friend and songwriting colleague who should be far better known than he is.

When I first met Robert Hazard we were both skinny kids performing on the local Philly scene. It was roughly 1979. He was the more popular performer by far, and there was no mystery as to why. I watched his shows many times, in awe of his total command of the stage. He was the kind of entertainer who made you completely believe in his fantasy for 90 minutes. He had that intriguing combination of aloofness and fire that was emblematic of many rock stars of the day. Stalking the stage like a film noir character in black leather and a thin tie, Hazard sang in a vaguely Bowie-esque style, and yes, he drove the girls crazy.

Along with his back up band The Heroes, Hazard quickly took the city by storm. When I say he took it, I mean literally. His first independently released EP sold over 300,000 copies in the Philly area alone. He was a household name here in the early 80s. By the time Cyndi Lauper cut his anthem "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" there was a sense of inevitability about Robert's success.

He signed a record deal with RCA and had some chart action with a couple of singles, "Escalator of Life" and "Change Reaction", but as many local icons learn, major labels don't always know how to make you a national star. In retrospect, the songs seem permanently rooted in the era of Wang Chung and Billy Idol, with little indication that there was a unique songwriting genius behind them. But this was just one of Hazard's artistic incarnations. A much more compelling one lay dormant.

Eventually he burned out on the image he'd created with this music and took a hiatus from full time performing during which he discovered a knack for buying and selling antiques. Except for some forays into new bands (Hombres) and independent CD releases, and the occasional reunion with various members of The Heroes, he mostly kept a low profile at his home in New York's Adirondack Mountains.

But all the while he was sharpening his songwriting skills and going back to his roots to find inspiration for what he wanted to say next. In 2006, with a new collection of songs under his belt, he found interest at Rykodisk Records. The new songs bore no resemblance to his music of the 80s. They were poetic, mature, deeply artistic and compelling. His CD "Troubadour" was released in 2007 and made a brief splash on the Americana scene with a couple of charting tunes. But the national spotlight still largely eluded him.

When I moved back to Philly in 2006 we quickly became closer friends out of mutual respect. He'd mellowed, but he still had the fire I remembered from the old days. We did a few shows together and in our talks he eventually warmed up to the idea of the intimate, acoustic In The Round format. We booked a couple of shows to try it out, but sadly we only got to do one of them.

It was a mild June night in Doylestown. We'd brought the wonderful Terri Hendrix and the legendary Lloyd Maines up from Austin, Texas for our show at Puck. What followed was one of the best nights I've ever experienced on stage. The chemistry between all of us was magic. The songs and stories complimented each other as we traded the spotlight for two hours. It was certainly one of Robert's finest performances. He knew he had a serious medical problem that night but he put his concerns aside and gave all.

When I received the shocking news of his death on Wednesday (from post-surgical complications for pancreatic cancer) I realized immediately why that show had such a glow on it. In retrospect it was not only his final performance, but a very brave one as well.

I've been listening to Robert's song "Troubadour" for the past couple of days. The song speaks for many of us who feel as if we're lifers on this musical journey. He's been in the same joints we've all been in, and known the highs and lows of road life as well as anyone when he sings:

"The spotlight's a light bulb, the stage is a floor
If this place don't like me there's ten thousand more"

It takes a lot of passion to live this troubadour life-- passion and a restless side. Robert Hazard was a passionate, restless soul. Now he's free.

The Un-Endowment For The Arts

2008-08-02T11:55:00.009-04:00

Ben Gall is out of business this weekend. The lights are off. The art that hasn’t been crated for storage hangs mute and neglected on the walls, and the grand piano near the stage is silent. Ghosts and the echoes of songs haunt the place, but no one goes in or out the door anymore.

Ben, an entrepreneur who originally came to America from Holland, was the proprietor of one of the area's most beloved establishments; a combination art gallery, café, and performing arts center called “The Arts Scene”. For a little over a year Ben went to work every day trying to sell wonderful three dimensional mixed media and metal sculptures, stunning photographs and colorful oils from all over the world. He supplemented his art business with his second passion; music. The art didn’t sell very well, but the music…the music often drew overflowing crowds.

It was the atmosphere, not just the entertainment they sought. This was a place where grownups could spend an edifying evening surrounded by the work of passionate people from all artistic genres. It was a cocoon you didn’t want to leave, and Ben could often be found after midnight discussing some South American painter’s work with a couple of folks who wandered in out of curiosity, stayed for the music, grabbed a bite to eat, and forgot the hour. That’s the kind of person Ben is, and to his credit no one heard him complain as he struggled to keep the doors open from month to month. In spite of a lack of art sales, he loved what he’d created in his little Mecca in the suburbs of West Chester, PA.

I did many shows at The Arts Scene. The room was always packed to capacity because Ben loved to promote musical events and music fans loved to hang out there. The Kennedys played there recently, as did Mark Erelli. But on any given night you’d be just as likely to encounter Al Bien and a group of friends gathered in a large circle in the center of the room trading songs and singing together. Sometimes there'd be an open mic night, or a showcase for a music school and it’s students. Al recognized the potential of The Arts Scene before anyone else and he brought the community together at many of his regular Wednesday night gatherings. Ben loved it all, and his fellow entrepreneurs at Café Menta in back made sure everyone was well fed.

We’ve lost a treasure this weekend, and the loss represents part of a much larger problem in America. Ben made the point when he spoke at his closing party on Wednesday evening. Our entire budget for the National “Endowment” (a silly word in this context) for the Arts in America is $125,000,000. Less than $.50 per capita. By contrast, in Ben’s much smaller homeland of Holland with its population of just 30 million people, the National Endowment for the Arts is more than ten times that amount. Think about that for a moment, and try to wrap your head around the concept that we’re willing to pay more for one morning’s cup of coffee than for an entire year’s worth of art grants. It’s nothing short of criminally negligent on our part.

What does it say about America that we don’t fund our public schools well enough to teach our youth about art? What does it say about us that we’ll spend billions on bridges to nowhere and almost nothing to help keep havens like The Arts Scene thriving?

It says we've lost the understanding that the imagination is essential for the good of all. Without programs that nurture the imagination, our youth fails to develop the inventiveness that drove America to it's peak productivity in the mid-twentieth century. Art is a product of the same process as utilitarian invention, and you can't lose one without damaging the other. We're creating a society gutted of it's creative spirit, which leaves little hope for the soul of our nation as a whole. Sure, we'll produce lots of experts in the paper chase, but few who excell in the pursuit of substance.

Voices of Comfort and Protest

2008-07-25T12:18:00.000-04:00

My recent experience as a judge in the Mountain Stage Newsong contest has redeemed my faith in songwriting as an art form. Although there seems to be a tendency in general for artistic writers to enter contests while the more commercial writers do not, that wasn't the case with Newsong. What I found instead was a group of writer-artists passionately pursuing personal expression whether aimed at mainstream Nashville or a slot on the Mountain Stage radio show. The contest atmosphere breathed familiar somehow until I recalled my early days in Nashville and realized that the exchange of creative energy in those days was very similar to the virtual exchange taking place in this Internet based contest. The competition wasn't so much for the fist full of dollars as it was for the title of 'best communicator'.

There is an art form thriving out there, we just have to look in some unlikely places to find it. You certainly won't hear it in the mainstream media. You may not even hear it so much on satellite radio, where many repackaged mainstream acts have retreated.

I was most curious as I judged the entries as to where the act was working and what, if any, measures they were taking to promote themselves. It ran the gamut. There were tight bluegrass acts working two nights a week in local watering holes; there were closet songwriters who'd worked in complete obscurity for 30 years before finding the nerve to go public; there were self-promoters with some flair and obvious previous training; there were even nationally touring acts that had managed to stay below the radar somehow.

I was taken with the one common thread in all of it: honesty. A writer can say true things: the sun rose today. He can also say honest things: the sun rose today but I didn't care. The difference is striking when it comes to a song. It all goes back to who you are, how much you know about yourself, how willing you are to be vulnerable and open, whether you'll risk saying what you feel, think, perceive, and hope for in life. And saying it all with that inner voice we only seem to find in desperate moments.

I wrote about character last week, and this is where the bullet meets the bone. It's easy to spot a song that's superficially packaged to appeal to a world in denial. It's also easy to spot a song that's so evasive as to be inconsequential, or so shallow as to qualify as a jingle rather than a song. What's so bad about evasive songs and jingles? Nothing really, unless that's all we hear. Then those songs contribute to the wash of opiating culture we're all going numb under. As the world gets more irrational, the opiates get more powerful. It becomes more rare for honesty to break through and shake us back to consciousness.

Yet that's how I feel today after listening to dozens and dozens of young and not so young artists being honest, if nothing else. I feel as if I've been taken to a remote compound and fed gallons of coffee, been slapped about the head, had a few glasses of cold water thrown in my face. I feel as if I've been shown dozens and dozens of microcosms I didn't notice before. I've seen short "movies" of daily life in remote places where real issues meet real lives and the result is a life and death struggle for an entire community. Ask yourself when you last heard a song that made you care about the ecology of a remote mountain valley, or the fair use of a waterway in Appalachia, or the death by late spring frost of a farmer's crop?

Whether any of these songs actually wins the contest isn't important, and I don't have final say about that. What's important is that these songs were written.

I may be fighting a losing battle here, but I'm not alone. It could be that some of you reading this wonder what all the fuss is about. I'll tell you. The very survival of the art of songwriting. If you can go back to your day job merrily and turn on the radio humming the latest tunes, I'm not talking to you. But if you feel a genuine loss of quality in your life because great honest songs are hard to find, keep reading, I'm with you all the way.

Songs used to comfort us in times of crisis. We are in the midst of a terrible crisis as I write this. Need I elaborate? No, I don't think so. Where are the songs to comfort us?

Songs used to protest injustice. We are being oppressed by an aristocracy of politicians and CEOs who won't be happy until they bleed us dry. We are being screwed by HMOs and other insurance providers, lied to by our government, conned by financial institutions, over-taxed, over-worked, over-opiated. Where are the songs of protest?

Where are the songs of protest and comfort? Where is our voice? Where is our honest song?

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

The True Character's Voice

2008-07-14T11:16:00.001-04:00

The true character has a voice. I don't mean simply male or a female vocal chords saying something. I mean a voice as distinct as one human being from another, no two the same. The voice will ring genuine.

Today the Voice has largely disappeared in the Nashville commodity song. We hear tune after tune featuring the same indistinct characters; the one-size fits all "proclaiming her independence" diva, the bad-ass southern boy...

I can always tell whether a writer is inhabiting his character or not. He will discover things that can't be discovered any other way. If you find yourself thinking about words rather than digging into your character, you're too much at a distance. Your character will be weak, and your song will be less because of it.

The character is revealed by how he says what he says, by how he does what he does, by how he appears to himself in the lyric. Small words can make a huge difference. The art operates on many levels:

"Well I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast
Wasn't bad so I had one more for dessert
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
And I shaved my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day"
(Kris Kristofferson "Sunday Morning Coming Down")

We must become the song we're trying to write. We must find the voice.

Forget the superficial "commercial" goals if you want a true character. These calculations only enter the picture after the hard work is finished. You can always back away from a risky proposition in a lyric, but if you don't allow yourself to find that proposition first, you aren't really writing.

"Just like the sun over the mountain tops
You know I'll always come again
You know I love to spend my mornings
Like sunlight dancing on your skin

I've never gone so wrong as for telling lies to you
What you see is what I am
There is nothing I could hide from you
You see me better than I can

Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again"
(Rodney Crowell "Till I Gain Control Again")

The true character's voice will speak distinctly; he will be three dimensional; he will come to life for a three minute duration and be unforgettable afterwards.

At times it can be hard to hear the character's voice. It will be drowned beneath the voices of the commodity music industry, or by the advice, the endless well-meaning advice and criticism. Sometimes 16th Avenue itself seemed to have a voice when I was writing in Nashville. I had to learn to turn it off and find the essential voice, the only one that knows what the lyric must say if it's to be an honest song.

If all of this seems abstract to you, perhaps you haven't considered what a character is. A character is not an exterior creation. You don't picture someone leaning on a lamp post and say,"Ah, a character!" You must go inside and find someone you know, an alter-ego of sorts, someone drawn from accumulated observation and experience, but not the Ambassador you present to the world. The Ambassador isn't very interesting. He's safe, smooth and packaged to prevent the need for damage control.

"Pack up all your dishes
Make note of all good wishes
Say goodbye to the landlord for me
That son of a bitch has always bored me
Throw out them LA papers
And that moldy box of vanilla wafers
Adios to all this concrete
Gonna get me some dirt road back street"
(Guy Clark "LA Freeway")

We must be more than keen observers. We must absorb life in order to embody a true character.

"Mansion On The Hill" (Bruce Springsteen)

"Millworker" (James Taylor)

More than anything I can think of, it's the voice of the character that defines the great songs. Are you censoring that voice or allowing it to speak?

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

The Figure A Song Makes (Homage to Robert Frost)

2008-07-01T11:05:00.002-04:00

I re-read one of my favorite creative essays recently. It holds up well, and it applies perfectly to great songwriting.

"The artist must value himself as he snatches a thing from some previous order in time and space into a new order with not so much as a ligature clinging to it of the old place where it was organic." (Robert Frost - The Figure A Poem Makes)

Frost's point is that as artists we are not merely recorders of life and fact. We must be more inventive than journalists, whose job it is to tell an accurate story. Accuracy isn't art. Art is wild.

There's a difference between detail and fact. Details can describe the way a red scarf blows in the breeze. Facts can tell us exactly what time of day that breeze came along. Details can intrigue, facts can impose.

All too often I'm listening to a song and suddenly, out of the blue, comes a fact that ruins my interpretation of what's going on. I was riding on my own current within the song and hit a crosscurrent that the writer didn't know he/she had set in motion. That's why a song is best felt rather than contemplated. We rationalize too much anyway. Better that there are some mysteries rather than unsatisfactory explanations.

Frost also says in this same essay,"No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader." One could write volumes about this simple truth. Extrapolate this quote and apply it to songwriting, and it's still true : No tear for the writer, no tear for the listener. No hair standing up on the back of the writer's neck, no hair standing up on the listener's neck. The lesson is "Feel what you write and allow for the unexpected."

"Half the moon is shining tonight, and half the moon is pitch black
I've got half a chance that you might turn around and come back"
(Hugh Prestwood - Half The Moon)

You can tell a story from a safe distance, or you can climb inside and feel what the character in the song feels. Allow yourself to be surprised by what floats to the surface. This is usually accompanied by a limbic reaction-- the rush you get when the line feels perfect. Remember to allow for the madness (see my previous post here)

"I'm just one man, sometimes I wish I was three
I could take a .44 pistol to me
Put one bullet in my brain for her memory
One more for my heart, and I would be free"
(Mickey Newbury - Nights When I Am Sane)

"It must be more felt than seen ahead like prophecy. It must be a revelation, or a series of revelations, as much for the poet as for the reader." (Robert Frost - The Figure A Poem Makes)

I hear too many logical lines in the songs I evaluate. Throw out logic sometimes, cross the threshold and dare to look for something more mystical.

"I wanna wrap the moon around us
Lay beside you skin on skin"
(Tony Lane and David Lee- I Need You)

Many writers get confused about this when they take their songs to Nashville. People tell them "it needs more imagery", "it needs furniture", "it needs edge", "it needs to be more clever", "it needs more attitude", and yet they never say, "you've got to surprise me with the emotion", which is the very thing that most people respond to in a song.

"Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting." (Robert Frost - The Figure A Poem Makes)

Allow the song to take possession of the process and become what it wants to become. Go along for the ride and be willing to risk it all on an impulse. For it to be vital, you must invest yourself in it. If you merely invest time in it, there are no guarantees that it will mean anything at all in six months. If you invest your soul and your emotional fiber in it, maybe it will also move others the way it moved you. We must have faith that our emotional involvement during the creative process will leave its mark on the work.

And we should remember that whatever is worth writing, is worth writing well.

Some Lefsetz Wisdom

2008-06-20T15:50:00.002-04:00

"...prior to MTV, there were different genres of music. All with notable successes. But MTV anointed specific stars and everybody else was either a has-been or an also-ran. You were either a winner or a loser. Now MTV plays no music, radio listenership is declining and a hit record doesn't generate a career, doesn't even allow you to fill the building in most cases." - Bob Lefsetz

I wonder how many songwriters are even aware of the truth of this statement? The "hit song industry" is dying. Some of us were early victims, but apparently many writers still believe the naive advice of such organizations as the NSAI, who continue to promulgate the notion that songwriters are being groomed for staff deals all over Nashville when in fact there are no staff deals to be had unless you've just been a finalist on American Idol, or you already have a satchel of valuable copyrights (proven chart hits) to hand over with the deal.

If you are spending all your energy writing the Nashville hit, you aren't preparing for the future, it's as simple as that. What you should be writing are great songs that can be spread virally by, and to, music fans of all ages. Eventually radio will no longer "serve up" the formulaic hits, the packaged and vetted songs that have had the the heart and soul, the "cream", skimmed off the top before they're marketed. People no longer look to radio and the record industry for guidance about what's good, what's worth hearing. The jig is up.

" The AM radio hit was the cherry on top, not the starting point. Sure, FM radio helped, but the endless touring at a low price cemented the deal. That touring was today's file-trading, today's spreading of the word, outside the system. Does the system build or kill acts? Is a hit record the best thing that can happen to you, or the worst?"

Faith and Tim can't fill the arenas anymore. Tickets are ridiculously overpriced for these top heavy tours. It's no longer practical to conceive of an industry based on entourage-touring. A tour is barely doable in a van with a trailer unless you're U2 or the Stones.

What shows are people paying to see? They pay to see low priced quality shows featuring artistic singer-songwriters such as John Prine or Josh Ritter. They pay to see jam bands at festivals. They go to clubs to hear the latest alternative acts in the mold of Death Cab, Radiohead, or Cross Canadian Ragweed. What do you, the songwriter, pay to see? If Carrie Underwood and Gillian Welch are playing in town on the same night, and you can see Gillian for $30, but you have to pay $75 to see Carrie, is there any question about which show you'll attend?

Is there even going to be an industry for songwriters in ten years? Yes, but it might be the type of industry that reflects the Bernie Taupin career rather than the Brill Building or Music Row staffwriting career. Indy labels sign nothing but self contained artists-- singer-songwriters and bands that write their own material. Why? Well, for one thing, the Indy audience isn't naive. They know who writes the songs, and they value great tunes. Secondly, it's just easier to work with, and promote, artists who don't have to find songs or careers through outside channels. So, surviving the climate change might mean honing your skills as a collaborator-- and not just as a co-writer of radio ditties, but as a substantive artist who can collaborate with other substantive artists.

In the future you may be at a disadvantage if you don't understand the difference between song art and radio fodder. Turn on AM radio and listen to the pandering lyrics, the inane topics, the Gerry Springer-Dr. Phil mentality run amok. Who needs to pay for this when it's already sent out through the airwaves on radio and TV everywhere for free, all the time? Pay for it? Hell no! I need to escape from it! Now find a quality podcast, or listen to Woodsongs, or Mountain Stage, or Doug Lang's excellent Canadian broadcast called Better Days. This is where the real music is circulating.

I'll let Bob have the final word.

"...what it's come down to again... Are you any good? Can you play your instruments? Can you write innovative material? Can you touch people's souls? Can you change their lives? Can you infect them to the point where they'll come to your show for years? That's the future of this business. Not dominant superstars, but tons of journeymen, super-serving their fan base."

NMW Spotlight: Barry Alfonso on The Internet's Multitudes and Tribes

2008-06-12T00:34:00.003-04:00

As an independent journalist and music critic, Barry Alfonso has contributed articles to Rolling Stone Magazine, The San Diego Union and the LA Times. He was assistant editor of Songwriter Magazine and has written press material for various record companies. He has interviewed people as diverse as Eugene McCarthy, William Burroughs, Count Basie, and Captain Beefheart, as well as labor activists, World War II veterans, Depression era artists, and others. In 2005 he was nominated for a Grammy Award for his liner notes to Peter, Paul and Mary's "Carry It On" CD. His book "The Encyclopedia Of Christian Music" (Billboard Books, 2002) is considered by many to be the standard for the industry. In addition to these accomplishments, he is the co-writer of the #1 Pam Tillis hit "In Between Dances" and the theme song from the Tom Cruise blockbuster "All The Right Moves".

* * * * *

Ninety Mile Wind : Most of us would agree that the IT Revolution has changed the mindset of the intellectual property creators and the audience. What would you say are some of the biggest differences between the music of today, and that of decades past- before the Internet?

Barry Alfonso : I'm not sure that the music itself is very different from what was being done ten or twenty years ago. It's just that there is more of it, with different styles and genres being appreciated simultaneously and nothing completely going out of fashion. Just about everything new I hear is loaded with reference points that harken back a generation or more. Not much difference there. It's the factors surrounding the music that have changed, who makes it, how they share it and who consumes it.

What's going on now reminds me of descriptions of what happened after Andrew Jackson was elected president in 1828. Before that, ordinary citizens used to call respectfully upon their country's leader. After Jackson took office, the rabble came pouring into the White House, tracking mud in, spitting on the carpet, breaking the dishes and so forth. That's what happens when you throw open the doors and the un-genteel people are allowed in. It's healthy and good ultimately, but things get messy and stuff gets destroyed as well.

There's also a quality of illusion here. Just because the common folks could barge in on the President didn't mean they could change everything. Jackson and his party could pass some bills the ordinary voters liked and could appoint some of them to office. But the rich weren't exiled and their money wasn't confiscated.

I think the current situation in popular music resembles this situation in some ways. There's a sense that the grand old mansion of The Music Business is trembling because all these obscure and unvetted people are trampling through it. Everyone is as worthy of respect as everyone else and everyone has a shot at being a star, supposedly. But this sense of equality is somewhat illusionary and deceptive.

NMW : Perhaps by trampling through it and maybe snatching a souvenir ashtray or a swatch of curtain here and there, some recording artists are saying that the "grand old mansion" is just a quaint reminder of the past, not relevant anymore, and it should be dismantled. How do you see this "illusory and deceptive" equality that you mentioned playing out by example?

BA : All of this is driven by technology, of course. And one of the unfortunate things about technology is that the novel becomes the normal very quickly, you don't notice how extraordinary something really is.

To pick one small example, millions of individuals now think nothing of setting up website pages presenting themselves to potentially millions of strangers across the planet. All these pages look basically the same, whether nobody visits them or everybody visits them. Bob Dylan can have a My Space page the same as a little old lady writing poems in Mandan, North Dakota. And they all have "friends." Bob and the old lady are the same - except for the fact that they are completely different. They both have a shot at reaching a college student in Seoul - except one shot is much better than the other. But the potential is there, and that is the great American promise. And that potential is what has kept the USA from tearing itself apart since its inception. Seemingly, this same potential will sustain countless songwriters and other creative people as they figure out how much response they need to justify their acts of creativity.

NMW : It's also the sense that the response, whether real or illusory, is more immediate now, that's what's driving the whole thing. The Internet really has emboldened the American Dream by making it more possible for an entrepreneur or an artist to reach their target audience or target clients faster than ever before, at least for as long as access isn't controlled by providers, corporations or governments. Seems like a very big societal sea-change, and potentially a healthy change for the musical arts. Given your knowledge of history, have there been any parallels in the past I wonder?

BA : This is new. This is a profound change, but an ambiguous one. I can't honestly lament the slow collapse of the old music business order - it's like watching the Soviet Union atrophy.

Technology has driven entertainment for a long time - the invention of railroads enabled minstrel companies and theater troupes to reach isolated parts of America two centuries ago. Was that any more fundamental a change than the invention of the Internet? At the risk of getting a little too metaphysical, I'd say that the great distinction between railroads and the IT revolution is the lack of physicality - the person who stepped off the train was flesh and blood and the images moving across the computer screen are ghosts or imaginary beings. Democracy in communication and the arts has allowed just about anyone to turn themselves into as many ghosts as they can extract from themselves. Cyberspace is haunted by trillions of ghosts now. Web pages are like lost worlds floating in space, sometimes long divorced from the people and circumstances that created them.

This is very American and very democratic. But there's a danger in getting too comfortable with this situation. When the extraordinary becomes banal, everything is possible and nothing really matters very much.

NMW : It's almost like Walt Whitman's poetry where he spoke to future generations; "If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. ... Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.." He really was the first one to speak to America as a ghost. It's interesting that he shunned the physical spotlight, lived as a recluse, and was a great self-promoter by somewhat devious means; writing reviews of his own work under fictitious names and that sort of thing. All of this sounds very much like the Internet of today, and I can't help but think Whitman, especially, would love it.

BA : Walt Whitman can be seen as a disembodied voice of the People. He said, "I contain multitudes" - but I question whether he wanted everybody to contain multitudes. The math on this is interesting! Whitman was a benign egotist who unashamedly sang of himself. He extended the ideas that [Ralph Waldo] Emerson had about attuning every person to their own inner vibrations and making everybody the center of their universe. But here's that paradox again - if everyone does it, everything is equally valid, and then nothing is. Now, medically, everyone can be healthy. But aesthetically, all art, even all sincere art, cannot be good. I think that's what I'm mostly trying to say here.

NMW : So, have we lost something in all of this individual free expression, perhaps too much expression, and do you think the great stuff will eventually rise?

BA : Well, I think great things will continue to surface, but they may not reach as large of a public as they did before. And the whole ability to decide on what "great stuff" is has been eroding over the decades.

It's been true for a long time that an underground exists in the arts along with the mainstream and that the two realms are often hostile to one another. But in the past, the underground has aspired to influence the mainstream, and the mainstream has turned to the underground for vitality and new ideas. I think that process is in danger of being diffused or diverted. The underground is now a series of discrete tiny caverns with labyrinthine passageways linking them at obscure angles. These little separate cells are becoming self-sustaining and those artists inside them may not feel the need to break through the walls and reach out to others. They are developing their own languages and customs, like an isolated tribe.

NMW : Internet Cultural Anthropology might be a future subject for specialization. I see a new career on the horizon!

BA : Sometimes when I'm in a certain mood, I'll feed in some odd combination of words into a search engine and see where it leads me. Generally, I can come up with a blog or two based upon any incongruous phrase. And what I see when I go to them are people individually expressing themselves and singing their Songs of Themselves about bad hair days and beloved pets and a disappointing cheese sandwich. These things are so specific, so personal, that when you read enough of them they all blur together. I think that the blogosphere is becoming a vast snow bank of extremely individuated snow flakes that add up to a blindingly blank landscape. All those little details ultimately cancel each other out.

NMW : That's an interesting metaphor. We really can't absorb it all, can we? It almost makes us paralyzed by the available options sometimes. All the more reason to know exactly who you are and what you're trying to do with your art or music, or you'll simply disappear in the "blank landscape". Personal expression is a good thing but...

BA : Too much of just about any good thing should be questioned. That goes for individual expression as much as anything. I don't think we should go back to the days of kings and rich patrons controlling the lives of artists. That kind of elitist system is obviously bad. But so is the leveling of the artistic hierarchy to the point that almost no one can make a living at their craft, because something nearly as good by somebody else is available for free a click of a mouse away.

NMW : And that gets back to the difficulties of Internet promotion. I've experienced this first hand. I read recently that Judas Priest was using Tunewidget to promote a soon to be released single. Yet this approach would probably not work for an unknown artist who doesn't have the "viral" potential of a huge fan base. What are your thoughts on what this fracturing of the market into "isolated tribes" means for an aspiring artist trying to establish and sustain a viable, long-haul career in the Song Of Myself Internet world? Are their some reasons to be optimistic?

BA : I think that any moment of change creates reasons for optimism, if only because there are new things to rebel against. An advance in technology is the hardest thing to resist –you just can’t fight the Machine, literally. But you can question the way that the people in charge are teaching you to use that technology.

For all the vast possibilities opened up by the IT revolution, artists are still very vulnerable to the effects of decisions made by those with power. Issues involving intellectual property rights and net neutrality are obvious examples of this. Small tribal communities out in the wilds of cyberspace cannot protect themselves if they remain isolated. And I worry that, for many of them, the temptation to live on a small island of like-minded souls is very strong.

The reason why Whitman’s Song of Myself wasn’t just an exercise in trivial egotism is that he sought to find a universal connection with others. Whitman was a man of great empathy and compassion, but I also think that he needed to find commonality with others for his own self-protection, if not sanity. From what I’ve read about his life, he had that combination of pride, calculation and delusion that so many great artists have. As resolute as he was, his voice could easily have been lost. The huge scope of his vision saved him. If he’d gone underground and stayed there, he would probably be forgotten today.

NMW : Many people of his day had that huge scope you speak of. In some ways technology has not broadened our scope but narrowed it. We’ve become more adapted to specializations and less able to “take in” the big picture. What solution do you see in the future?

BA : I do feel a measure of hope about what's happening out there, if not a Whitman-sized faith in humanity. Discarding corrupt, dying forms – and the old-model music biz is one of them – feels good. The challenge now is not to push against something harsh, but to resist sinking into something soft, inviting, lulling. You can see yourself traveling through the IT world as if you were driving your own private automobile, where you zip down the highway with a few friends inside, the outside world flashing by in a blur. Or you can see yourself sharing a larger vehicle with people you don’t know or agree with. It’s a less cushy ride, but it’s a lot more real.

* * * * *

Barry Alfonso can be reached at barry@barryalfonso.com and you can sample more of his writing at his website www.barryalfonso.com

Giant Steps

2008-05-31T20:32:00.002-04:00

I've received some interesting comments and email about my previous posts on the subject of great songs. It seems we may not all agree on what makes a song great, but I think most of us have the ability to recognize special things for what they are.

About a dozen years ago I wrote a song for my son, Jake, who has a disability. It was a very personal song, something I never intended to capitalize on. I sing the song sometimes, but I've never made a recording of it other than the original work tape made shortly after it was written.

For his entire life my son has struggled against adversity, prejudice, even downright malice from insurance companies that have tried to penalize him for his congenital condition, cerebral palsy. Jake's a great guy, full of humor and determination. He wants to be a writer someday and he's good at what he does. The song celebrates his attitude and the way he has inspired me through the years.

There's a link to this song, Giant Steps, along with the lyrics at the end of this post. The link will remain active for about a week to ten days. The mp3 download is free, you don't have to buy anything or join anything, or give me information about yourself to get it. I just want you to have a song that I feel is special. I want you to listen to it, live with it, and compare it to what you hear on the radio and TV. I'd like you to share the song with friends. And if you don't think it's so special, then throw it away. But if it moves you, tell others why purposeful music matters, and please let me know or leave a comment here, I'll pass it along to my son because it's his favorite song.

Here's the "loose" story behind the song from an old journal entry :

"My young son has begun to talk about his dreams; strange dreams to him. He’s falling and calling out to someone below, Please catch me, but they can’t hear and they don’t answer. In his terror he falls until he awakens.

He stands before me now, cut on one knee, an elbow, and both of his hands. This time it’s his lame leg, not his dreams, that sent him tumbling head first. As he throws the heavy limb ahead of him, he sometimes throws it too far to the right and the cross up sends him sprawling on the grass if he’s lucky; on something less forgiving if he’s not. Gravity is his enemy, always conspiring with the roots of trees and the shoulders of washout stones to bring him down.

He has fallen in the drive this time. The bloodied skin is raised like Braille from the impress of the gravel. While his sister sings to him, I minister to his wounds, visiting the stations of his pain with alcohol and cotton. I gently wrap the gauze around the backs of his hands and he turns his palms upward in a saint-like gesture, blessing me with a smile.

Then I go inside to write a long overdue letter to a friend. I tell my friend I’ve been on a kind of precipice myself, fearing the winds that threaten to sweep me off the ledge I’m clinging to. There are days when life with my son is challenging, and a dark horizon looms three hundred and sixty degrees around me. And then there are those days of singing blue sky,when I know I’m a lucky to have him. On those days my heart is an eagle’s feather and I am made for rough winds.

My friend is trying to be helpful when he says he’s there for me. He says to call if I need him. I would call, but my voice is lost in the chasm between us. The closest of friends can drift apart under duress.

What can I tell you, son, about those dreams that alarm you? This flesh is too heavy for the spirit’s wings to lift us. Each of us in his way is a child of the falling-dream, an echo of the unanswered call. Ours is a constant prayer for the sudden awakening."

LINK (3.7 MB) : http://www.craigbickhardt.com/mp3s/giant_steps.mp3

LoFi Mono (1.9 MB) : http://www.craigbickhardt.com/mp3s/giant_steps_lofi.mp3

The song can also be streamed from My Space if you don't want to download it:

http://www.myspace.com/craigbickhardt

Giant Steps (Craig Bickhardt)

You’re just a little boy clinging to your father’s hand
Your legs are working hard keeping up with your old man
And it gives you a feeling you can’t explain
To you this big old world is just a game
Taking giant steps, giant steps
A leap and a bound barely touching the ground
Time to stretch those wings, try new things
Learning to reach for your best
Taking giant steps

Now I’m too old for games or so I used to think
But part of me is a child and I’ve found that missing link
As our days rush by us we’ll grow as one
The two of us, like father like son
Taking giant steps, giant steps
A leap and a bound barely touching the ground
Time to stretch those wings, try new things
Learning to reach for your best
Taking giant steps

Soon the day will come when you’ll run ahead of me
Certain of yourself and what you’re gonna be
But when ever you stumble and lose your stride
Never lose the boy down inside
Taking giant steps, giant steps
A leap and a bound barely touching the ground
Time to stretch those wings, try new things
Learning to reach for your best
Taking giant steps

(copyright 1994, 2008 Almo Music Corp, Craig Bickhardt ASCAP, all rights administered by Universal Music)

Museum Quality: Further Musings On Great Songs

2008-05-21T11:12:00.002-04:00

There have been many times when I’ve felt a strong urge to write something that stuck around longer than a few years: a legacy song, or at least a song I’d be proud to sing until I die. Mostly I’ve failed at this, but a few gems survive. Rodney Crowell once referred to this type of song when speaking about Guy Clark’s work-- he used the phrase “museum quality”.

I find it takes a pretty intense desire to create something great. The forge has to get pretty hot. Aspiration leads to some desperation, which leads to a spark of inspiration, and then the song sometimes comes in a rush of elation, fulfillment. Or maybe there will be a sudden vision that crystallizes in the mind’s eye and ear. This is the mystical part of the art, and it totally eludes those who have little faith in the process, or those who are in too much of a hurry. Great songs require dedication, time, effort, desire, fire, and yes, faith that the task can be accomplished.

Nurturing a great idea involves finding one to begin with-- waiting until something great comes to you, or, metaphorically speaking, stoking that fire. There will be false starts, ideas that don’t hold water, concepts that lack some fundamental truth in them. Even when the right idea strikes you, there will be misdirected verses, or perhaps you’ll be using the wrong groove, or a minor mode when it should be major, and you have to scrap it.

Then suddenly the magic happens, and very often the song is born rather quickly. I’d guess that many great songs are written in less than a few hours, and this is not a contradiction with what I said about taking the time to write something great. A great song can be written in a few hours after you spend weeks finding out how it should be written.

I’m not knocking the efforts of the journeyman songwriter who goes to work every day and cranks out another collaboration hoping it’ll be worthy of Tim McGraw. God knows I did it for years, until I sensed that my marginal ability to restrain my more exploratory creative impulses was meeting head-on with changes in the industry. Sometimes a great one came along anyway, but most days there just wasn’t enough heat in the process.

For those of you too young to remember, there was a time when Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark were hit songwriters on the Row. Steve Earle wrote there, too,and so did Nanci Griffith and Lyle Lovett sometimes. We all had a lot of latitude in the 1980s and 90s. A writer was given at least 3 years to prove himself/herself, which meant I could experiment—give myself the luxury of patience while trying to write a great song, and still satisfy my contractual obligations. I tried to meet my song quota early in the year to buy myself a few months of true creativity.

But today that can’t be done. The pressure for the mega-hit begins on day one and continues unabated. Publishers don’t allow much experimentation, and they allow no patience. Failure in 18 months means you’re out on the street again. The money is now completely wagging the writer.

Where has this left the so-called “great song”? It’s an outcast, an orphan of better days. In the current model, most hard working artists come off the road and feel they must co-write their next record under similar pressure. Statistically, it’s impossible to write 12 great songs in six months, cut them all, and make a great CD. No one has done it yet, although I’ve heard rumors that John Prine came close with his first record. Yet we see some variation of this plan attempted endlessly in Nashville. And this is why the radio, especially country radio, pretty much sucks.

The artists, who are unfortunately conditioned to receive instant gratification, all want the songwriting income from their hit singles, so they insist on writing, even when they have no time, and possibly even no abundant skills at it. Many people will say they deserve to write the record, who can blame them? If a hot young starlet really doesn't need a great song in order to get decent airplay, why let someone else write anything on the record?

The problem is that the modern artist (and Idol winner) has been duped into believing that success implies greatness, when success really only implies popularity, like white bread and string cheese. A record can go to #1 without being great by any stretch of the definition. And just because it goes to #1 doesn’t mean it will sell, nor that the artist will have a career in 18 months.

Only the great song guarantees that an artist will be making money at the end of the long, hard road. Does it matter to the Drifters that they didn’t write “Up On The Roof” (Carol King and Gerry Goffin), or do you think Dion cares whether he wrote “Abraham, Martin and John” (Dick Holler)?

And let’s not argue that it’s only semantics, that an insipid contemporary radio ditty is “great for what it is”. Really? I say anyone who thinks there’s room for debate about this is a musical illiterate. The term “great” used to be reserved for songs by The Beatles, Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Cole Porter, Simon & Garfunkel, a few Motown classics and Brill Building evergreens. These days, according to an indiscriminate industry press, everyone writes great songs, which of course by deflation of meaning is the same as saying that no one does.

I’d like to believe this will change, but I’m not optimistic. The money comes too easily, even though the dollar is worth less these days. But the diamonds are still forged over time, and ‘museum quality’ is a standard for which we all should strive, at least once in a while.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

The Angels Aren't Crying

2008-05-14T08:55:00.003-04:00

As the changes in the music industry continue to come at us like Nolan Ryan fastballs it's easy to lose sight of what matters. What matters has always been, always will be, great songs. No amount of home recording technology or do-it-yourself social networking can replace the good old, chill-bump-raising, heart-tugging, gut-wrenching, gotta-hear-it-again song.

Bob Lefsetz's interesting recent post, "Singles Only", discusses the need for new artists to earn the listener's attention by promoting great single tracks as opposed to whole CDs. It's another way of saying, "Don't bombard me with 46 minutes of self indulgence, send me one great song." He's right. Nobody has time to listen to all the cheap music that's available on the Internet these days.

Why are there so few great songs out there in the sea of mediocrity? That's an easy one. We're all too busy pimping profiles, networking, auditioning for American Idol, Facebooking, emailing, and mixing the tracks we wrote and cut in the garage last Sunday. Who has the patience to nurture a great idea, or to write and re-write a really great song? Besides, we're the judge, jury and executioner for our own careers these days, so why not pretend none of this matters?

And yet, more than ever, it does. A voice is just a voice. I'm sorry Mariah or Justin (or whoever you are), but without a great song your vocal exercises amount to nothing, you're toast.

Voices are all different but how do we fall in love with one that has little or nothing to sing? If you could make the angels cry just by opening your mouth, you'd be discovered by the whole world overnight. But you can't. So you have to sing to mere mortals. But we'll listen if you just understand this simple fact : we want to hear a great song.

Maybe you're only trying to sustain a career, you're late for the tattoo parlor, and you think I should just butt out of your business. But you forget : I AM your business. I love songs. I listen to music. I even buy it. And guess what? All you have to do is trust what you feel when you hear the great song, then record it.

But you didn't write it you say.

Did it ever occur to you that Katherine Hepburn didn't write "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner" and Ben Kingsley didn't write "Ghandi" and Denzel Washington didn't write "Malcolm X"? In fact you've spent your adult life watching great performances on film and never once criticized the actors on screen for not writing the words they speak. No actor would dare insist that he or she co-write every film he or she acts in, and yet if you're a young country artist or another pop diva...

You see, we have all the musical wallpaper we need. We don't require more mundane thoughts hung upon the ordinary scale, sung by your standard-issue lungs and mandatory vocal chords, even if you're cute, shapely and young. Even if you sing perfectly. If you love the sound of your own voice, for God's sake get over it. I have never, not once, bought a record simply because I loved someone's voice, nor because the drum samples were hot for that matter.

What we lack, what we'll always lack, are great songs that move us, that make us feel more human, that show us something about life we may have missed, that kill us with great lines and make the hair on our neck stand up. We lack meaningful communication in non-disposable form, and we'd sure like to be able to sing along with it and not sound like adolescent dweebs, bitchy models, hoes, thugs, Satan worshipers or meth heads.

90 Seconds To Impact

2008-05-06T12:40:00.000-04:00

When I address groups of songwriters or independent artists, different issues concern them. I often find myself teaching or clarifying things that may seem contradictory, when in fact they are simply the flip side of the same coin.

There’s a big difference between being a singer-songwriter and being just a songwriter. I’ve done both at different times in my career. A singer-songwriter has the latitude to set the bar for his/her own career. He/she can write intelligent, obscure lyrics and promote the music on the Internet. With hard work, an audience (no matter how small and loyal) will be found.

If you only write, and never perform or record, you are dependent entirely on other artists to monetize your work. You really don’t have the option to write an obscure, artistic masterpiece, because it will sit on your shelf forever. You can’t write too personally. You can’t write too metaphorically either. These options aren’t available to you.

Why? Well, brace yourself for the hypocrisy : it isn’t a level playing field.

In most pitch meetings a song gets a verse and chorus to "kill" the producer and artist. If you haven't killed them by the end of the first chorus, your shot is over. They don’t discuss possible interpretations of your lyric, and they don’t keep listening hoping the song will clarify itself. No one has time. They are at the meeting for one reason : they haven’t written or found or cut the smash that the label thinks they need for the new CD.

This is a common mistake that many pure songwriters make-- they write as if they’re singer-songwriters. They write as if there's no one in between them and the audience. In fact, there is a big wall between the pure songwriter and the audience. It's called the Music Industry. You must first scale this wall or the audience will never even hear your song.

The Music Industry consists of thousands of song-jaded, busy people who no longer trust emotional reactions to music because the last time they did that, the record died, and they got chewed out by the promotion department. They aren’t necessarily fans of the music they promote. They need hits for the roster; Martina, Brad, Alan, Gretchen. They go home and listen to Prine, Ely, Emmy Lou, old Merle or Doc Watson. But at the office they listen like robots trained to identify a certain breed of contemporary song : the Clear Channel radio smash. And you get 90 seconds to show them your stuff.

Do I like this fact? No, I hate it. But I was forced to accept it during the restrictive years when I was not a performing/recording singer-songwriter.

Here are some tips for you, the pure songwriter. If you’re a singer-songwriter, these tips won’t hurt you either. Write lyrics that have immediate impact. Don't evade the issue, deliver the emotional blow as soon as possible. Choose hooks/titles that convey an intensity of meaning and impact, such as "You're Gonna Miss This" (current Trace Adkins hit). Study radio lyrics, not Jewel or Joni Mitchell or Dave Mathews album cuts (or whoever you listen to for pleasure). Separate your hobby from your professional craft. Keep your personal lyrics to yourself, write universally appealing, clear lyrics for the industry.

Melodies must contain big identifiable hooks and should be simple enough or repetitious enough to be nearly memorized after two listens. Get to your hooks as quickly and directly as possible. Make the melody dramatic and rangy enough to satisfy singers with years of training and experience. You are pitching to many people whose art is the voice, not the song.

The bottom line is that success is to some degree a calculated thing. You must aim for it. If you shoot in the dark all the time, you’ll probably never hit the target.

And now a word to all of you singer-songwriters. You might need a pure songwriter’s help one day, so don’t judge their motives too harshly. It’s a tough job, and somebody’s gotta do it.

The Madness

2008-04-28T19:55:00.002-04:00

I've been inspired lately by something I read in a NY Times article by Roseanne Cash. She tells a story about sending one of her meticulously vetted lyrics to the late John Stewart for his opinion. John replied to her, "But Rose, where's the madness?"

This reminded me of my own journal passages (posted at songwriter's journal) where I write about something similar:

February 10, 2004
"People want the writing process de-mystified. First thing I tell them is there's a good deal of mysticism involved in the writing of a great song. You can never precisely pin down why a song is great. It resonates, it says things it doesn't appear to say, it brings powerful emotions to the surface in semi-magical ways. These are all very mystical things. Words are symbols that sometimes have arcane meanings that we interpret at subconscious levels. Melodic intervals can effect our moods. Harmony in chord structure can affect our brain-waves. All of these ingredients get mixed together like sorcery."

Whether madness or magic, writing is not simply a logical progression of thoughts that arrive at a "hook". We can't solve a song like a math word problem. My friend John Mock says that great art is like an opened window. That's a great metaphor for what happens when we experience a great song or poem. It's a revelation of sorts, a new view.

I recall vivid moments in my life when I was overpowered by the intensity of a starry sky, or caught off guard by the pungent scent of the river on an early summer morning. In these brief moments of sensual surprise the balance is lost and we tip slightly into the madness, and it's sweet.

I think our society has a deep sickness caused by the bottling up of the madness. I don't mean violent insanity, I mean the ability to go beyond the boundaries of logical ordered existence and feel beautifully lost in incomprehensible things. It's good for the soul now and then.

Try to accurately describe the flavor of delicious food and you'll quickly see how insufficient normal syntax and meanings really are. Describe the most beautiful face you've ever seen without saying, "more beautiful than words can say".

We need a little madness in the writing because the desire to express inexpressable things will drive a writer mad at least temporarily. Here's another entry from my journals :

Monday, January 23, 2006
"There's a kind of evocative power in mysterious language when it's used skillfully. Words are vibrations that have literal meaning and also a sonic effect. The sonic part is sometimes ancient-- dating back to dead languages-- and some words were contrived based on what an object represented spiritually or how an experience felt viscerally. When you think of vague similarities in meaning and sound in words like "cloud" and "shroud", or how beautiful words like "divine" and "harmonic" sound, or how mysterious the word "mysterious" sounds, it seems as if language must be used with the literal meaning as well as the sonic vibration in order to have full effect. Sometimes the sonic power actually overwhelms the literal. When that happens you get poetry that must be experienced rather than thought about like: "Trailing fingers through the phosphor or asleep in flowers of foam" [Shane MacGowan]. It does mean something literally, but it means more as an accumulating vibration of language in motion. When you speak the words, or sing them, it is almost like an incantation."

Setting aside whether a song is commercial or not and examining the process is important. You don't have to be a poet to recognize that Dylan was lost in the madness when he wrote:

"I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws"
("Lay Down Your Weary Tune" Bob Dylan, © 1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music)

Sometimes when I'm writing I have to push myself off that safe ledge and free fall into the imagination. Let a feeling find it's own expression rather than forcing words upon a feeling. Forcing words on a feeling is like putting a straightjacket on the madness. It inhibits the writing.

"Rumors Of My Death..."

2008-04-21T13:28:00.007-04:00

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated" - Mark Twain.

It's in vogue these days to write about the impending death of the music industry. Those who predict such a dire ending for a monolithic industry don't study history too carefully. Other media industries that have been in their "death throes" in the past include : the Radio Industry, the Newspaper Industry, the Film Industry, Madison Avenue, the Magazine Industry, the Local News Industry, the Network News Industry, etc., etc.

The Music Industry will streamline and survive.

The problem with music is that most of it is created, stored and marketed entirely in the digital domain. There's no buffer to prevent instant digitization, which can be file-shared before the creator has a chance to monetize his work. To understand what I mean, consider that a painter paints on a canvas, which can only be photographed, never truly digitized.

Some recording artists have experimented with creating an artificial buffer to prevent this instant digitizing of their work. Bruce Springsteen released his latest record on 180 gram vinyl first. There was no point in anyone digitizing the vinyl record knowing that a purely digital CD would be released eventually. Meanwhile, Springsteen bought himself a little time and some profit from the vinyl collectors.

Another "buffer" is the trend toward advance CD sales. The artist ensures that a certain number of his fans will buy his latest CD before the release of the digital- hence sharable- product.

This buffer concept is bound to take hold as long as attitudes of consumers trend towards illegal downloading. From a recent New York Magazine article : "...according to BPI, for every digital track that is paid for, twenty are downloaded illegally for free. Domestic sales of physical CDs, meanwhile, plummeted 18.9 percent over this past year (2007) alone."

Interestingly enough, recent investigations into oiNK.com, a major file-sharing network that was shut down last fall, determined that some of the music is posted for download by industry insiders-- people who work in mastering labs, CD shipping warehouses, promotion companies, even radio and CD review personel. "The industry, in other words, has to investigate itself. And what it will discover is that some of the major culprits in this crime are the very same people the crime threatens most— those who work in or profit from the music industry. File swapping is, to a remarkable degree, self-sabotage." (NY Magazine) Isn't this a bit like all those middle class voters who vote against their own financial interests because they focus on the wrong issues at election time? I'd say.

The real story isn't the war between "the suits" and "the pirates". Until it discovers the solution to monetizing creative work, at least enough to cover the expense of creation, the "industry" isn't dying, it's simply contracting.

Look at the big layoffs in December 2007 at Sony BMG and Universal Island Def Jam. The layoffs hit the middle and low-level employees the hardest. Those who didn't get the ax also didn't get Christmas bonuses. Warner Brothers stock is down 58%. How long before the layoffs start? EMI, which was purchased by Terra Firma recently, plans to eliminate nearly $200 million in annual expenses before the end of the year. Let's speculate how they'll do this...uh...layoffs? "Almost four months after Terra Firma boss Guy Hands announced plans to lay off as many as 2,000 staffers worldwide at the troubled major label, he has yet to pull the trigger on the bulk of the cuts." (New York Post, April 14, 2008). Don't worry folks, the trigger will get pulled. Who will lose their jobs? Certainly not top level CEOs, the so-called "suits" that "pirates" like to smuggly claim they are doing battle against. The layoffs will be mostly mid-level to low-level staff, probably some of whom are free downloaders and file posters themselves. And by the way, EMI employs 10,000 people. That's a 20% cut in staff in case you suck at math.

By file sharing an otherwise purchasable track or CD we are effectively insuring that people much like ourselves will be laid off, the suits will still have their jobs (nearly everyone who ran a record label in the 1990s still runs a record label today), and eventually when all this contraction is finished, a vastly streamlined and rejuvenated industry will have invented many clever new ways to monetize with buffers.

Power To The Subscriber !

2008-04-07T00:40:00.005-04:00

A few things have come to my attention recently. Beginning with the introduction of a new Bill that would require commercial radio to pay royalties to artists (similar to the way songwriters are paid performance royalties by ASCAP, BMI, or SESAC), there could be big changes on the horizon. Ultimately this is a fair proposition-- Satellite radio and Streaming Internet stations already pay artists performance royalties, and European radio only holds out in protest against the American commercial radio model.

This pending law couples with another interesting phenomenon: the trend towards consumer generated playlists at Rhapsody, Last FM, and a new site I am experimenting with called Finetune (note the Finetune player in the navigation area to your left called Ninety Mile Wind Radio, and feel free to enjoy it while you read). It seems that many consumers are leaning away from owning music altogether. If you can find it, why not just program the content that others have provided for you, rather than download hundreds of files? Most consumers do not have time to manage a database of mp3 files anyway. If they can stream rather than own, and if streaming can provide some royalty compensation for writers and artists, maybe this is one of the solutions we are seeking.

Something else has caught my attention, although it will be old news to some, and that is the prophetic accuracy of the Lawrence Lessig book Free Culture (Penguin Press, 2004). In it Lessig lays out very compelling arguments for why our laws should be stimulating the innovative use of intellectual property rather than clamping down on it. He does not advocate copyright anarchy like some, but rather the recognition that limited free use of music and video content not only competes with illegal downloading, it creates a medium unto itself when extended to classrooms that allow for the expression of concepts that have been limited to text-only essays for decades. In the hands of the younger generation, free malleable content has provided a voice that older generations never had. When tragedies occur, websites like You Tube become the means of interpreting these events with music, video and text put to creative use in the hands of the common man. Some of it is more compelling than the slick corporate media presentations by networks like CNN, which literally announced at one point "we don't write the story, we ARE the story in Iraq".

Mr. Lessig also makes the case that in the future it will be even easier to subscribe to, and access services that store content. Much like a very powerful cell phone browser that is always connected to the wireless Internet everywhere you go (keep in mind this was written 3 years before the iphone was released). When this type of fast, roaming, dependable service is available there will be a shift towards access to web based content and away from ownership via personal storage devices.

So what will keep the creators, the film makers, the authors and composers in business if access to copyrighted material is as easy as signing up for Rhapsody or Finetune or some other yet to be founded domain and creating your playlist or your book and film library? Who will pay for the creation of new content if it can all be borrowed indefinitely?

This is where it gets tricky, but solutions have been proposed.

In Lessig's words :

"Rather than seeking to destroy the Internet, or the p2p technologies that are currently harming content providers on the Internet, we should find a relatively simple way to compensate those who are harmed. The idea would be a modification of a proposal that has been floated by Harvard law professor William Fisher. Fisher suggests a very clever way around the current impasse of the Internet. Under his plan, all content capable of digital transmission would (1) be marked with a digital watermark (don’t worry about how easy it is to evade these marks; as you’ll see, there’s no incentive to evade them). Once the content is marked, then entrepreneurs would develop (2) systems to monitor how many items of each content were distributed. On the basis of those numbers, then (3) artists would be compensated. The compensation would be paid for by (4) an appropriate tax. Fisher’s proposal is careful and comprehensive. It raises a million questions, most of which he answers well in his upcoming book, Promises to Keep. The modification that I would make is relatively simple: Fisher imagines his proposal replacing the existing copyright system. I imagine it complementing the existing system."

So there you have it. The majority of consumers in the future will subscribe to, rather than purchase-to-own content, including music. The radio, including Internets and streaming consumer-generated playlists will be required by law to pay a modest royalty to artists and writers alike. And finally, a simple tax or subscription fee could be used to supplement those who might be harmed or who might slip through the cracks in a strict Royalty-Per-Play system.

It all seems too practical doesn't it?

"Silly Euphemism" or Stubborn Fact

2008-03-31T15:51:00.001-04:00

An article by noted author/blogger Cory Doctorow appeared in The Guardian recently. It concerned the "silly euphemism" of the term "intellectual property".

"...the phrase "intellectual property" is, at root, a dangerous euphemism that leads us to all sorts of faulty reasoning about knowledge....Fundamentally, the stuff we call "intellectual property" is just knowledge - ideas, words, tunes, blueprints, identifiers, secrets, databases. "

Speaking of faulty reasoning, this generalization is about as dangerous as it gets. There are actually at least two types of knowledge : factual knowledge (that which can be discerned by everyone using sensual observation or experimentation, such as the "knowledge" that the world is round), and creative knowledge ("knowing" works of art, literature, music, etc. that have been brought into the world through the creative work of one or more minds in collaboration). Words, identifiers, and databases are not the same thing as ideas, poems, tunes, novels, paintings. Factual knowledge can not and should not be owned. It would be ludicrous to say that one "owns" the fact that 2 +2 = 4. However, it's perfectly reasonable to say that one owns a song or a novel one has created, and calling this creation "intellectual property" is not only appropriate but accurate.

Mr. Doctorow goes on to say that intellectual property is not "inherently exclusive" whereas most "property", such as a house, can be made exclusive:

"If you trespass on my flat, I can throw you out (exclude you from my home). If you steal my car, I can take it back (exclude you from my car). But once you know my song, once you read my book, once you see my movie, it leaves my control. Short of a round of electroconvulsive therapy, I can't get you to un-know the sentences you've just read here."

While this may be true, it isn't a sound argument against using the term "intellectual property" to categorize works of creativity. Just because a work of fiction or a song can't be "un-known" doesn't mean a transcription of it can't be made legally exclusive. Knowing my song in your head isn't the same thing as owning a file or recording of my song. The "knowledge"of my song isn't what is being protected, but rather the licensed transcription (a CD recording, an mp3 file, a piece of sheet music, etc.).

Similarly, The Louvre can ban photography of it's famous paintings such as the Mona Lisa, but they can't prohibit anyone from memorizing the image, or even copying an imitation of it it by hand. And no one would argue that the original painting isn't property just because it can be viewed, memorized, or copied (I don't mean forgery that you later try to pass off as the original, just a personal copy).

I agree with Mr. Doctorow that we haven't nuanced the intellectual property language enough. There certainly should be uses of creative knowledge that require no license or payment from the user. For example, anyone should be allowed to sing my song from memory before their own audience without paying for that right. This is a transient experience, not a permanent transcription. It's the same thing as looking at the Mona Lisa, then leaving the museum with only the memory of the image-- something that can't be "un-known".

However, when it comes to the exchange of media containing the original content (the file, the CD, the photograph, the DVD, etc.) we should continue to protect the rights of creators and we should continue to call the contents of the medium "intellectual property" rather than invent further confusion.

copyright 2008 craig bickhardt

The Return Of Musical Regionalism

2008-03-24T14:12:00.001-04:00

Recently I performed at Congress Hall at the Singer Songwriter Cape May convention. After my show I spoke with a few young musicians who wanted some advice about their musical careers. “We aren’t trying to be famous,” one said, “we’re just trying to make a little money to survive, and play our music.” That sounded sensible to me. With the empowerment of the Internet, there are more and more artists and writers choosing to pursue their art regardless of how much success it brings them. This seems healthy for the music. What we have once again is a decentralized industry consisting of the local scenes of dozens of major markets, and there's great music to be found in all of them.

This is a reactionary movement in some ways. The sterility and sameness of the product that has been mass promoted by the corporate labels has begun to seem just like those endless exits off the interstates staked out by Wendy's, Starbucks and Ruby Tuesday. They figure if you drive no more than a mile from the highway you'll never know you've left home. This is exactly the experience most people DON'T want when they travel. They yearn for some local color, a cool little diner or coffee shop, or a clean inexpensive motel where you can can see some of the indigenous culture. The same is true of the music. There's nothing better when I'm on the road than to catch some great local picking somewhere between Charleston West Virginia and Asheville North Carolina. Fortunately the recent explosion of the coffeehouse and listening room has enabled many regional performers to tour within a few hours of home, find plenty of fans, keep a low overhead, meet expenses, and in some cases eke out at least a supplemental income.

Interestingly enough, there’s a paradox here. As the Internet reaches more globally, the music is becoming more regional. This is in stark contrast to the traditional music industry, which ignored the Internet for years, thought globally, and brought us more and more homogenized soulless music.

Where does this leave the traditional music industry? As Trent Reznor admitted in a recent interview, it was good to have those major labels sometimes because it freed us up to make music rather than deal with the radio guy and the promotion guy. But we paid a premium for our dependence on record labels, and as it turns out, their jobs weren’t so damn hard. Most of us manage to make our music, update our My Space pages, book a few gigs, print up the posters, submit our CDs to indie radio, ship the CDs that sell on our websites, and still have time to write a blog, answer email, and get to sound check.

The big labels are missing the boat. If they were to partner with some of the more successful regional artists and be content to earn less off of more artists, their bottom line would go down and their profits would eventually rise. Why? Because there’d be no need to hire a bloated staff of people whose only job, it turns out, is pretending that promotion or inventory management is a full time gig. As those of us steadily pedaling down the indie highway can tell you, it ain’t. The truth is, the music business has had too many monkeys on it’s back for decades.

When you pay a record exec a hefty six figure salary, allow him to sign checks for $200,000 recording budgets, hire an overpaid staff of “niche experts”, and then only expect a success ratio of one in five acts, is it any wonder the company is in the red?

This weekend I was talking with my friend Ron Sowell, who has a humble but creatively rewarding steady gig as the musical director of the Mountain Stage public radio show. After I’d run through the litany of complaints and diatribes I’d heard around Music Row last week he said, “When ever I talk to someone in Nashville I hear the same thing. But, it seems to me that most musicians are just trying to create their art and make a little money in the process, too. That’s what people like me have been doing all along!”

I had to admit he was right. The mainstream music industry has operated with a sense of entitlement for the past three decades. Because they were able to throw piles of money at an act, they did, and they always assumed consumers would buy it if it was packaged right. But they've forgotten how important local entertainment and local promotion once was to the establishment of their empires. Where would RCA be without a kid named Elvis who was developed by a little Memphis label called Sun Records. These days the breeding ground for the major labels consists of "regional auditions" for American Idol, which, let's face it, isn't the same thing as taping into the rich local communities where bands, pickers and songwriters have honed their skills in bars, at festivals or revival meetings, on street corners, and in jam sessions for many years. The most talented people tend to shy away from shows like Idol anyway.

Fortunately the facts tell us that indie music sales are up, indie artists have fans who buy music as opposed to stealing it, and without the moronic cloning of cookie cutter artists, the indie labels have given us all of the best music of the past decade. Regional music rules again.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

In The "Jingle" Jangle Morning

2008-03-17T09:55:00.001-04:00

A documentary about Pete Seeger has been airing on public TV all week. I've watched it three times because it inspires me. In one segment Pete talks about why he quit the Weavers. "We were asked to do a cigarette commercial and I didn't think we should do it. They said we needed the money but I said we didn't need the money that bad, so I left the group."

I often find myself flipping the tube late at night pondering what has happened to the self respect of so many artists who seem to sell out rather quickly on their climb to fame.

Back in the good old pretentious 1960s and 70s it was very unfashionable for any artist with credibility to sell his song for the purposes of advertising exploitation. Can you imagine Bob Dylan at the height of his popularity allowing "Blowing In The Wind" to be used in a fabric softener commercial? Now, a rock star like John Mellencamp will release his first single as a TV commercial six months before the CD comes out. "This Is Our Country"-- I don't think I ever heard it on the radio, did you?

These days the list of artists willing to gamble their popularity on a product or a company's ad campaign looks like the playlist for Sirius Radio : Ben Lee, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, U2, A Tribe Called Quest, Black Eyed Peas, The Flatmates, Janet Jackson, Mary J. Blige, The 6ths, ELO, Blondie, Justin Timberlake, Shakira, The Who, Thin Lizzy, Lou Reed (yes, Lou Reed), Josh Ritter, Ryan Adams, Billy Idol, Queen, Guns N'Roses...and this is just the tip of the iceberg. Oh, and there's one more conspicuous name : Paul McCartney. Remember way back in the dark ages of 1995 when McCartney tried to prevent his publisher, who happens to be Michael Jackson, from selling "Revolution" to Nike? Sir Paul may have been a holdout, but in September of 2005 he allowed his song "Fine Line" to be used in a Lexus ad. Ok, a Lexus is a classy car, and Sir Paul is a classy guy, it was a marriage made in heaven. And what about the success stories of deserving artists like Brett Dennon and Leslie Feist, who burst into the national spotlight after TV commercial tie-ins? Hey, maybe this ain't such a bad thing after all. Is there really a huge difference between sandwiching songs BETWEEN the commercials on the radio and hearing the song IN the commercials on TV?

Some of you may be old enough to remember the days when companies hired jingle composers to write their own ad songs. "Things Go Better With Coke", was a popular one. But in 1971 Coke decided to take a fresh approach and enlist three songwriters to compose a new jingle that would also be released as a single to radio. The resulting song was "I'd Like To Buy The World A Coke" (also known as "I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing") as recorded by The New Seekers. The campaign was a flop at first until Coke paired the song with a short film featuring people gathered on a hill holding hands and singing the song in unison. This was essentially the first successful music video although it only lasted a minute and was aired as a TV commercial. The commercial revolutionized the advertising industry and led to more and more companies attempting to utilize the combination of a hit song and a compelling visual campaign to sell their products. The most successful so far has featured a different Seeger's song called "Like A Rock". How ironic is it that this humble Seeger name should exemplify both ends of the TV commercial spectrum?

It's inevitable folks. With the virtual death of land radio (someone drive a wooden stake through it's heart please), artists are turning to the only means they have of getting national exposure. Or should we call it "national over-exposure"? True, some don't need the exposure or the money. But consider what a little bump from a TV commercial can mean for an artist who hasn't received national airplay. In 2006 Gary Jules and Michael Andrews hit the #1 spot on itunes after their version of the Tears For Fears song "Mad World" ran in a TV ad for the Gears Of War game. Feist's story is even better. Prior to her Apple iPod Nano commercial airing, her latest CD called The Reminder was selling at about 6,000 copies per week, and the song used in the commercial, which was called "1234", was getting about 2,000 downloads per week. Following the commercial, the song passed 73,000 total downloads and reached No. 7 on Hot Digital Songs and No. 28 on the Billboard Hot 100. Apparently consumers don't care where they hear a song as long as they like it.

A few names besides Pete Seeger's don't appear on the TV commercial logs-- Neil Young, Paul Simon, Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, Bob Dylan, the names we'd expect to opt out. It would be naive to think they've received no offers. Another missing name, not surprisingly since he recorded a CD of Seeger's songs, is Bruce Springsteen. Granted, Bruce could probably afford to buy most of the companies that would offer him a TV commercial, but as an appreciator of integrity and principals I have to say I'm proud of his decision to just say no.

I, for one, quietly mourn the end of the days when the "purist" Seeger and his ilk desperately tried to separate artistic integrity from commercial ambiguity. TV commercials might be the only viable solution for some new artists but I'm skeptical that art and advertising can be comfortable bedfellows. The line has already been blurred to such an extent that many people can't tell whether an artist is genuine or a slickly marketed chimera. I even expect that one of these days Coke will start a record label and sign acts just to sing their jingles. And probably the songs will hit #1 on itunes.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

10 Songs That REALLY Changed The World

2008-03-10T11:50:00.003-04:00

I normally have an aversion for lists such as this one:

Rolling Stone's 40 Songs That Changed The World

This seems like a typically shallow survey to me. Like most "culture lists", this one assumes that songs, and human history, began with the birth of Rock & Roll, and that our mind altering experiences and taste epiphanies were more important than they really were. What this Rolling Stone Magazine list really represents is how songs shaped pop culture more than how they made any real difference to the planet or our history.

But are there songs that really changed the world?

It's much harder to find them. There may be a fine line between cultural shift and historical change, and I welcome debate. I thought it might be fun to have a little group participation to see if we really can generate a list of songs that helped to cause significant and lasting change in the world. I'll start this off with a few contributions just so you can see what I'm looking for :

"We Shall (Will) Overcome"
When Martin Luther King heard Pete Seeger sing this song he immediately adopted it for his civil rights movement. Originally an old spiritual that Seeger added a couple of verses to, his version became a song of solidarity during many violent months of protest marching in the south. It was an anthem for a movement that eventually changed the status of African Americans. While the change may yet be incomplete, no one can argue that it wasn't a new window on our world view, and not merely some new drapery. This may well be one of the most important songs in American history.

"Helter Skelter"
This song changed the world in a negative way, but who says change has to be positive? In Charles Manson's psychotic mind, this was the Beatles personal message to him to begin his plan of destabilizing society. The Tate-LaBianca murders were meant to be blamed on radical blacks and were supposed to spark revolution in the streets. While Manson never accomplished this goal, he did change forever the innocent facade of the hippie movement and injected fear and mistrust into the hearts of millions. The last remnants of the "peace and love" demeanor of the late 1960s ended with Manson's August 1969 crimes, and "Helter Skelter" played a significant role ushering in an era of disillusion. Manson also caused a much closer scrutiny of cults and cult leaders, a trend that was previously all but ignored.

"I Like Ike"
Yes, the campaign song from 1952:
I Like Ike, You Like Ike
In America's "Winter Of Discontent" Eisenhower emerged as an unlikely leader and candidate for change. The popularity of this very simple clever campaign jingle sounded the optimistic note America was looking for. The results of Eisenhower's election need not be chronicled, but his was the era of McCarthyism, blacklisting, the dawn of the Cold War, Vietnam, and the continued stalemate in Korea. And folks, we are still technically in a state of war with North Korea. "I Like Ike" lingers as a very creepy reminder of a dark era and the power of propaganda. It was hugely influential on voters everywhere.

"Ohio"
For months in the summer of 1970 this song pounded over the airwaves, blasting from car speakers in cities across America. I recall the fear in the streets as Neil Young reminded us over and over that we couldn't trust our leaders. This song not only helped to fuel the anti-war movement (it was often played at anti-war rallies) it even played a small role in the eventual resignation of Richard Nixon. Nixon became more and more paranoid of the outspoken pop music culture, seeking to deport John Lennon and finally breaking into the Democratic headquarters at Watergate to sabotage the counterculture's anti-war candidate George McGovern. Jimmy McDonough writes about "Ohio" in the Neil Young Biography "Shakey" : "In ten lines, Young captured the fear, frustration and anger felt by the youth across the country and set it to a lumbering D-modal death march that hammered home the dread."

"Bangladesh"
Millions have been fed by UNICEF as a result of the royalties generated by this song and the concert that featured it in 1971. Although controversial because some of the funds were never properly accounted for ($250,000 was raised initially, millions since), it's undeniable that tremendous good was done in this seminal fund raising event. This was really the song that set the precedent for future fund raising musical events such as "Do They Know It's Christmas" and "We Are The World". Previous to the release of Harrison's record, music was an inspirational agent of change only. With Harrison's and other superstars' magnanimous gesture towards the starving citizens of Bangladesh, music finally became a financial partner in change. I certainly commend Bob Geldof and Michael Jackson for their significant roles in raising money for similar causes, but the real world changing song, the one that raised the consciousness of all musicians, was written by George Harrison.

"The Ballad Of John Henry"
The story song that pitted the heroic black man against the white industrialist is still considered by many to be true. Various sources conclude that John Henry was a real figure who died in a contest with a steam drill at Oak Mountain in 1887. The Railroads were once the quintessential symbol of labor abuse in America. In 1893 alone, over 18,343 railroad workers were injured and 1,657 were killed. Through the 1920s and 30s laws such as The Railway Labor Act and The Wagner Act were passed requiring railroad employers to bargain collectively and fairly with union workers for improved conditions, hours, safety and wages. This was the peak period of popularity for "The Ballad Of John Henry". It was a motivational and inspirational message for union workers everywhere, as well as a song of Black pride. It resonated well into the 1960s, becoming a staple in the elementary school educational program, the labor movement, the Civil Rights movement, and the folk revival movement.

"Battle Hymn Of The Republic"
Julia Ward Howe's poem set to music was the most popular song of the Civil War era. It was sung in churches, encampments, and on the battlefield. General Robert E. Lee wrote in 1864, "I don't believe we can have an army without music". In the words of Lieutenant W. J Kinchelos of the 49th Virginia Regiment, "We are on one side of the Rappahannock, the enemy on the other.... Our boys will sing a Southern song, the Yankees will reply by singing the same tune to Yankee words." When dispirited union troops needed rallying, the Battle Hymn was often employed. The words instilled a sense of religious might, right, and purpose in the troops causing them to fight on to victory in bloody campaigns.

"Biko"
In 1994 Nelson Mandela called the death of Stephen Bantu Biko the first nail in the coffin of apartheid. Biko was the honorary President of the Black People's Convention in South Africa. He was arrested in 1973 and held without charge for five years, eventually dying of a brain hemorrhage after being beaten by police in his jail cell. The death photo of Biko's bruised body was printed around the world. When Peter Gabriel saw the image he wrote his tribute song. Time magazine's Jay Cocks said of Gabriel's song, "[there is] no resisting either [the song's] heat or its true moral force. Biko is .. . full of ghosts that will haunt any political present." "Biko" led to Gabriel's involvement with the Nelson Mandela concerts, which were watched by over a billion people in 60 countries in spite of an injunction to stop coverage. "Biko" is considered the first song that shed light and raised awareness on apartheid.

"The Star Spangled Banner"
Perhaps a too-obvious choice, my reasons for including this song aren't quite so obvious. Francis Scott Key's poem "The Defense of Ft. McHenry" was set to a popular British drinking song called "To Anacreon in Heav'n". It became the National anthem in 1931. While the song has inspired patriotism for many decades and has been sung at schools, state events, political rallies, and sports games, its more recent controversial uses have probably cause more change than it's traditional uses. Modern interpretations by everyone from Jose Feliciano and Jimi Hendrix, to Whitney Huston and Rosanne Barr have often sparked heated debate and tested free speech in America. While it's hard to find one significant event where the song directly caused change, it has been the soundtrack for many world changing events such as the 1968 Olympic "black fist" protest and the recent New York Philharmonic Orchestra's performance of it in North Korea-- a nationally televised event that some believe has eased tensions between the US and the people of North Korea.

"Zimbabwe"
Bob Marley performed this song in Zimbabwe on the day of independence at the actual state ceremony. Marley is considered by many to be the artist of the twentieth century because his music embodied values virtually non-existent in other entertainers. He is an icon of cultural change and grounded spiritual beliefs. No other artist's likeness looks more at home on an armband or t-shirt because he was a movement unto himself. I could nominate a few Marley songs for this list, but the one I've chosen has special significance in light of the current disintegration of Zimbabwe. The song is now a call to action and revolution and it may be in the process of helping to transform the world for a second time.

* * * * *
You can take it from here... Thanks for participating (or not) !

Why itunes Is Winning

2008-03-03T13:50:00.000-05:00

With the announcement last week that itunes has become the #2 retail outlet for music (trailing only behind Walmart), it's time to concede that not only is the digital download growing in popularity as the CD wanes, but that consumers have latched onto the conveniences associated with the downloadable file and there will be no turning back.

On Christmas day 2007, a day when Walmart and other physical (non-virtual) CD retailers do no business at all, itunes sold 20,000,000 downloads. This clearly illustrates why the CD can no longer compete.

For the consumer, music is a leisure component that has become integrated into all aspects of daily life in proportion to it's availability, portability, cost effective delivery system, and individually tailored storage and playback options.

When Sony introduced the Discman, it was the combination of the disk and it's playback system that caused CD sales to explode. For the first time it was possible to travel away from home or car based playback systems and still have a high quality listening experience. With a photo-holder sized carrying case and a slender Discman the consumer could be an audiophile and take a scenic bike ride through the park at the same time. The novelty of this freedom was a heady experience at first, and sales reflected this enthusiasm. Consumers preferred CDs not for superior sound quality alone, but for the combination of quality and portability. The ipod and iphone have done the same thing for the portable file.

It's clear also that music is often an impulse buy. I remember as a kid getting that Christmas money and being frustrated because the record store was closed. Last Christmas the itunes Gift Card made a lot of young people very happy instead of very frustrated. That's why 20,000,000 songs were downloaded. Send a kid to the mall with $20 and he'll spend $6 on food and buy one CD. Send him to itunes with a $20 gift card and he'll download 20 songs. It's that simple.

Last week I did a concert/seminar at the Kimberton Waldorf School here in Chester County, PA. In speaking to the large group of mixed-graders I asked them where they got their music. I received an instantaneous and unanimous answer "itunes!"

But this is not, as some would have it, an age related shift in buying habits. A recent study determined that 80% of all surveyed adults hadn't purchased a single CD in 2007. Young and old alike prefer the advantages of the digital download over the CD.

What the record industry should be doing instead of whining about loss of profits, is to come up with upgrades that reflect the consumer's preferences. We can predict what they will want : 1) higher quality file formats at retail, 2) easier and more convenient downloading options and payment options, 3) more reliable storage and back-up, such as a form of download that allows buyers to re-access a lost file without re-purchasing the song, 4) more customizable playback options such as built in re-mix capabilities and files that convert themselves to various formats at the click of a mouse.

If the record industry wants to keep it's share of the consumer's purchasing power it must compete in the open market with those who have seized the innovation initiative that the record (read "CD") industry failed to seize at the outset of the downloading revolution. Instead of greedily protecting their obsolete interests and suing grandmothers, they should have welcomed the opportunity to bring in 20,000,000 downloads on Christmas day.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

NMW Spotlight : Larry Lessig On Copyright

2008-02-25T14:15:00.001-05:00

If you find yourself on both sides of the fence regarding the issue of illegal downloading, you aren't alone. The R.I.A.A. has made a mockery of justice and their strong arm tactics aren't solving this very real problem. In fact solutions aren't really what the R.I.A.A. is looking for. They want control, but the genie is already out of the bottle. Technology will never be the same and this is a losing battle. What's needed is a creative idea.

Today's post is a level headed opinion from Larry Lessig regarding copyright, the media and the law. Lessig argues that there ought to be a third category of content besides copyrighted content and free public domain content; that is namely, "Freer" Copyright, which allows limited unlicensed use by the public without the legal headaches. "Freer" Copyright would be at the artists' discretion, it would compete with "Free" or illegal downloading (hopefully ameliorating the younger generation's anarchist view of copyright), and would allow, among other things, the kind of creative interaction that music fans are seeking when they do remixes or create custom radio playlists, or Youtube videos. This is a very compelling presentation, and well worth the 19 minutes it takes to watch. You'll probably change your mind about a few things afterwards.

10 Indispensable Songwriters To Study

2008-02-18T12:50:00.003-05:00

There are so many obvious choices for a list like this that I decided to focus on some of the less obvious candidates. Hopefully you won't be familiar with all of them, and you'll discover someone who becomes a favorite as you dig deeper into their work.

Dave Carter
The late great mystic and embedded systems programmer's poetic and visionary lyrics won him acclaim from folk music's best. Carter's upbringing and diverse education gave him the kind of broad experience few get in life, and he drew from it richly. He had a remarkable command of language and his often humorous and somewhat wacky take on things made him a songwriter's songwriter. As far as I know, Carter is the only writer who successfully rhymes the word "orange" in a lyric. I won't give it away, but you'll find it in the song "The River Where She Sleeps". He died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 2002 at the age of 49.

Bob McDill
If Music Row had a guru, it would be McDill. Never one to shy away from a literary lyric or a classy radio ditty, Bob did it all with the same degree of mastery and originality. His songs were recorded by everyone who is anyone in country music. His classic, "Good Old Boys Like Me" is one of country music's great anthems. McDill is essential if you want to understand what made country music great in the 70s and 80s leading up to it's contemporary heyday in the early to mid-90s. McDill is often credited with inspiring some of Music Row's best writers to move to Nashville by virtue of the appeal of his hit songs which include "Song Of The South", "Gone Country", and "Amanda".

Tommy Thompson
Founding member of the Red Clay Ramblers, Thompson was another poet-lyricist who has received far too little acclaim for his songwriting. His work includes one of the most beautiful Christmas songs ever written titled "Hot Buttered Rum". His gift for rural imagery mixed with a knack for finding the profound in common places make him essential:

"Just across the blue ridge, where the high meadows lay
And the galax spreads through the new mown hay,
There’s a rusty iron bridge cross a shady ravine
Where the hard road ends and turns to clay."

Thompson died in 2003.

Jimmy Webb
We all know this Oklahoma native wrote "Galveston", "Wichita Lineman" and "If These Walls Could Speak", but you have to hear Jimmy's artist CDs to fully appreciate his esoteric approach to commercial songwriting. Some of his lesser known masterpieces include, "Paul Gauguin In The South Seas", "Skywriter", "The Highwayman", "Campo de Encino" and "The Moon's A Harsh Mistress".

Kate Wolf
We lost this California native far too young. She died from complications after a bone marrow transplant in 1986. Wolf was the first musician inducted into the NAIRD Independent Music Hall of Fame. Her voice was a pure instrument, perfect for delivering the plaintive, sweet songs she wrote. Here's what Nanci Griffith had to say after recording Kate's "Across The Great Divide" : "On New Year's evening of 1992, Emmylou Harris and I spoke of the beauty and clarity of the late Kate Wolf's music. We spoke of both the sadness in her passing and the lack of new voices singing Kate's songs. Emmy said songs need new voices to sing them in places they've never been sung in order to stay alive." No doubt Wolf's songs will stay alive as more and more listeners discover her.

Paul Siebel
One of the great enigmas of the singer-songwriter genre, Siebel (often misspelled as "Seibel" in case you search) wrote the classic "Louise". He made only two studio records (both critically acclaimed and still in print after more than 35 years) before hanging it up to become a baker. He was a storyteller unparalleled, and while his output may have been small, it was influential and important.

Laura Nyro
Why must the good ones die young? Laura almost single-handedly spawned the era of the "Brill Building singer-songwriter"-- you know, the ones who can write hits and sing 'em too. Best known for songs such as "Wedding Bell Blues", "Stoned Soul Picnic", "Sweet Blindness", "Save The Country", "And When I Die"; "Eli's Coming", and "Stoney End", Nyro's remarkable output over just a few short years is hard to surpass. She died in 1997.

Eric Anderson
In the late 1960s Anderson had a promising beginning when his whimsical psychodelic-folk masterpiece "Violets Of Dawn" started appearing on LPs by everyone from Rick Nelson to the Chad Mitchell Trio. Anderson followed with more classics "Thirsty Boots", "Close The Door Lightly", and "Dusty Box Car Wall". His repertoire is deep (check out "The Plains Of Nebrasky-O" and tell me it doesn't sound every bit as great as anything Woody Guthrie wrote). In the 70s he scored a minor hit himself with "Is It Really Love At All" from the now highly regarded LP "Blue River". His follow-up record was lost in the vaults of Columbia Records, which temporarily derailed his career. He resurfaced again in the 90s with a brilliant record called "Ghosts Upon The Road". Anderson continues to write and release CDs sporadically. Don't pass up an opportunity to take a closer look at his remarkable body of work.

Richard Thompson
Widely respected and covered in the UK, Thompson is sadly somewhat neglected here in the US. His classics such "1952 Vincent Black Lightning", "Dimming Of The Day", and "Galway To Graceland" put him in a league all his own. His wit and uncanny knack for knowing a good story when he finds one make his songs remarkably consistent over a long career. If we lived in a fair world, Thompson would have several hits to his credit. As it is, we have to find imports and scour CD racks for obscure covers such as Del McCoury's version of "Black Lightning". All the same, the search is rewarding.

Shane McGowan
Not generally thought of when songwriters are discussed, this founding member and songwriter for Irish icons The Pogues has written masterpieces such as "Fairytale Of New York" and "The Broad Majestic Shannon". Raised on a steady diet of Irish Ale and William Butler Yeats, McGowan blazed his own trail in Rock by forging traditional Irish songs with Punk, and delivering them in a gravel-voiced half-drunken brogue while his high energy backup band (picture The Clash doing "Shady Grove" or "Loch Lomond") produced a wall of sound behind him. But listening to the classic Pogues records "Rum, Sodomy and The Lash" and "If I Should Fall From Grace With God" won't help you unless you read the lyrics. What initially sounds like unintelligible gibberish turns out to be poetry of the first order. There are few lyricists in Rock who write this magnificently.

copyright 2008 craig bickhardt

10 Great Hits Nashville (Probably) Wouldn't Have Cut Today

2008-02-11T14:45:00.000-05:00

"Pancho And Lefty" - written by Townes Van Zandt. Townes has two songs on this list, and he represents the quintessential writer that contemporary Nashville has eschewed. Why wouldn't this song get cut today? To begin with, who among the slick mainstream artists would be able to hear through Townes's version of the song and think it was a smash? Emmylou cut it first, but she's arguably the best song interpreter Nashville has ever seen and there's no one on the charts like her today. Willie and Merle covered it later, but again, these are two grizzled songwriting veterans. Where can you even find such a pairing of souls in Nashville now?

"The Carpenter" - written by Guy Clark. This brilliantly written song was a hit for John Conlee. Today they'd want this one to have a verse about Jesus.

"Sixteenth Avenue" - written by Thom Schuyler. When songwriters were the true heroes of Music Row this song said it all. Today, the denizens of Music Row's corporate writer rooms aren't considered heroes by most of the industry. The artists seem desperate to hide the fact that they don't write. Others insist on collaborating with the hitmakers to ensure maximum earnings and a piece of the pie. Then there's also that gnarly line : "God bless the boys who make the noise" In today's politically correct world every publisher on Music Row would probably want to change that one. "Persons" is a tough rhyme. Hey Thom, how about, "God bless the ones who write the puns"?

"If I Needed You" - also written by Townes Van Zandt. Simply gorgeous. It was a duet hit for Don Williams and Emmylou. Today : "We don't want folk songs", "Not enough furniture in the lyric", "Too safe", "Not enough attitude".

"Good Old Boys Like Me" - written by Bob McDill. Arguably the best song ever written about growing up in the reconstructed south. It was a hit for Don Williams (funny how he and Emmylou were able to recognize greatness), it contains the seminal line "Those Williams boys sure mean a lot to me, Hank and Tennessee" Today : "Who is Tennessee??" Oh, that's right, you're an American Idol winner...

"Old Violin" - written and recorded by Johnny Paycheck. Among my colleagues in Nashville, this song ranks as one of the all time best. Paycheck wrote it as he was about to be shipped off to jail. Today : nobody on the charts except George Strait is old enough to sing this one with any veracity, and I'm sorry, but with that boyish grin it just wouldn't work.

"The Highwayman" - written by Jimmy Webb and recorded by The Highwaymen. A song about reincarnation in the Bible belt today? Are you kidding? Might as well pitch Don Henry's "Dinosaur Shminosaur".

"Stand By Your Man" - co-written by Tammy Wynette and Billy Sherrill and recorded by Tammy. "Derided by the Feminist movement of the late 1960s and early 1970s, Wynette in later years defended the song as not a call for women to place themselves second to men, but rather a suggestion that women attempt to overlook their husbands' shortcomings and faults if they truly love them. Wynette always defended her signature song. The song remained contentious into the early 1990s, when soon-to-be First Lady Hillary Clinton told CBS' 60 Minutes during an interview that she "wasn't some little woman 'standing by my man' like Tammy Wynette." Wynette demanded and later received an apology from Clinton." If this song came along today it would be rejected by every publisher on Music Row on grounds that it was quaint, unrealistic, old fashioned, and unliberated. Or to quote one Music Row sage, "That isn't how women between the ages of 18-30 feel between the hours of 8:00 and 10:00 am". Yes, and you've got all the statistics to back it up...you useless sack of...

"A Boy Named Sue" - written by Shel Silverstein and recorded by the Man In Black, who was apparently quite secure in his masculinity. In an era rife with artists such as Troy Gentry who shot a tame bear in a cage and claimed he bagged the animal on a hunting trip to prove his masculinity, can you imagine anyone playing the role of Sue? Uh huh...how about John Rich in his full length mink coat?

"Ruby, Don't Take Your Love To Town" - written by Mel Tillis and made famous by Kenny Rogers and The First Edition, the song was actually a hit 3 times between 1967 and 1969. Today, soldiers are written about as if they're plastic toy heroes. They die honorably and leave proud wives at the graveside. Bullshit. Many live on the streets suffering from depression, they commit suicide in alarming numbers, they aren't even called "casualties" anymore, in fact the wounded are rarely mentioned by the news media at all. By the way, nearly 30,000 wounded vets have returned from Iraq at the time of this posting. The paralyzed vet in "Ruby" admits to a desire to shoot his unfaithful wife if he could only move. There have never been two more tragic characters in a song lyric. I don't think any artist in Nashville today would have the guts, empathy, or patriotism to record this raw-nerved masterpiece. We all know that what passes for patriotism these days is really just fear mongering. This is a song about the deepest fear imaginable this side of the final curtain.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

3 More Reasons Why The CD Deserves To Die

2008-02-04T14:22:00.000-05:00

We're all well aware of the obvious reasons the CD should die-- it's over-priced and it's ugly. When the digital age was ushered in, consumers were fed the lie that this new technology meant higher manufacturing costs, when in fact it meant far lower costs. A CD can be manufactured and packaged for under $2.00, but CDs were immediately retailed at $15.95 to $17.95.

These days you can download an entire record from itunes faster than you can open the same CD's packaging. And once opened, the average jewel cases lasts about 15 minutes before cracking. Then there's all those tiny liner notes-- lyrics on a Britney Spears CD. Why?

As if we need further justification, I give you some better reasons to wish the swift and ignoble death of the CD.

It Deserves To Die Because It's A Wasteful, Unreliable Storage Device That Sounds Like Crap.

800 MB on a piece of technology that's physically larger than a 250 gigabyte hard drive? I ought to be able to get all the knowledge known to man on something as spacious as a CD. This is the CD's ultimate flaw. It's the same thing as a file that sits comfortably on about a millimeter of your computer's hard drive. At least with an LP you get analog audio, something, uh, different! Why buy a product like this when you can store a hundred thousand songs in your shirt pocket?

The sampling rate on CDs was set too low from the get-go. They sound thin, two dimensional, and all that "clarity" you think you're hearing is just the absence of surface noise. In reality, all the subsonic and ultra sonic frequencies that give audio it's rich coloration are absent from CDs. CDs are mixed and mastered to sound good on a Discman or an ipod with headphones.

But some of you will never believe me. You'll cling to the illusion that the CD is superior. So, ok, for you the sound quality might be debatable. But as for durability, shame on the industry. About half of my older CDs no longer play. And a skipping CD is ten times more annoying than a few skips in an LP. This morning I was trying to rip one of my song cuts onto a new 250 gigabyte hard drive but my ripper didn't even recognize the format of the disc. It was a Warner Brothers CD from 1987.

And just for kickers, here's something you may not know : A 52X CD-ROM drive spins a CD at 30,000 rpm. CDs cannot handle this much force, they start to warp and can explode into millions of tiny fragments. This isn't a myth. Talk to anyone who repairs computers and you'll get the truth-- they can and do explode in some newer computers. Damage is usually limited to the interior metal casing of the CD-ROM drive.

It Deserves To Die Because It Has Fostered A Disposable Music Mentality Among Artists.

The CD did to music what the glue-bound paperback did to fiction. Very few artists are making music for the long haul anymore. Posterity is a word that never gets spoken inside a recording studio. If you consider that everything Alan Lomax ever recorded was recorded specifically FOR posterity you get some idea of how far we've slipped.

Why is the CD responsible? In the 1990s it became so easy and inexpensive to package music that virtually anyone with spare lunch money could afford to press 500 CDs. There was a glut of new music on the market, most of it bad.

Also, the CD is simply an abused object. It gets left on the floor of your car, or in the trunk (these are things you'd never do with an LP). It gets thrown into the back seat while you're driving. They get damaged by being forced into car CD players, yanked out while navigating the Interstate, and left out of the jewel case in the change tray. They get stuck in CD players (when was the last time an LP got stuck on your turn table?)

Then there's the ability of the consumer to randomize playback order, and to pre-program skip tracks, which has made artists think differently about the music they release. There are more "out-takes" and "alternate mixes" and just plain lame songs on the average CD. Not that LPs never had weak tracks. Of course they did. But not intentionally weak, as in, "this wasn't good enough for the record but we'll throw it out there anyway and you can just skip that track".

While some consumers may treasure these "value added" features, it's hard to see any real benefit to the art of record making that has come from them. Artists think less about packaging, track sequencing, and overall concept than they ever did when making an LP. And most of all, they think less about song quality, because hey, it's just gonna get thrown on the floor of the car, right?

So, will it get worse after the CD dies? I don't see how.

It Deserves To Die Because The Potential Was Squandered.

Between the mid 1980s and the mid-1990s the record industry had an unprecedented opportunity to develop new media and create a new golden millennium for artistry. Profits from the re-issuing of LPs on CDs were astronomical. This is information you aren't supposed to have : the reason the record industry is dying is because the CD is dying, and the CD is dying because it was obsolete from the get-go. This was simply a way for the industry to rake in dollars from catalogs of LPs that were earning pennies. They didn't re-license the songs or re-negotiate the artist's royalties. They didn't have to pay studio costs, promotion costs, or produce expensive videos for MTV. They just put the Beatles on CD, jacked up the price by 30%, and sat back to smoke a fat cigar. "We're brilliant" they thought. And where did all that money go? Most of it went into CEO's and shareholders' pockets. The rest went into bad over-budgeted commercial records. The industry became addicted to these profits like Crack. There was no vision, no foresight regarding the Internet, ipods, or the eventual death of the CD.

What should've happened is the record industry should've used the profits to revitalize the art of record making. They should've alloted funds for artists who didn't necessarily fit the commercial music mold. They should've done field recording and sought out more world music. They should have seen the need for a vital jazz and blues arm of the label and fostered these artists by signing them to long term low-pressure contracts. They should've done what the indies are doing now. The consumer is showing the labels what they wanted all along, and it wasn't a dozen Britney Spears clones. It was pre-war blues; it was Blue Note jazz; it was Brett Dennon and Ani Difranco and Gillian Welch; it was Pete Seeger songs; it was Ska, Reagge, and Celtic. It was, strange as this might seem to you major label morons, REAL MUSIC.

Who's Your Daddy And What Does He Do?

2008-01-29T19:00:00.000-05:00

David M. Israelite, President & CEO of the National Music Publishers' Association (NMPA) has issued a statement to the songwriters and publishers of America regarding the Copyright Review Board's hearing to determine mechanical royalty rates for Internet and traditional licenses of music. The participants are the CRB, the NMPA, the RIAA, and the DiMA. Both the RIAA and DiMA have proposed significant reductions in mechanical royalty rates that would be disastrous for songwriters and music publishers. Isrealite says :

"To give you an example of what is at stake, the current rate for physical phono-records is 9.1 cents. The NMPA is proposing an increase to 12.5 cents per song. The RIAA, however, has proposed slashing the rate to approximately 6 cents a song - a cut of more than one-third the current rate!For permanent digital downloads, NMPA is proposing a rate of 15 cents per track because the costs involved are much less than for physical products. The RIAA has proposed the outrageous rate of approximately 5 - 5.5 cents per track, and DiMA is proposing even less."

Ok, let's dig into this alphabet soup for a moment, shall we? What is the CRB? Who are the RIAA ? Who are the DiMA, the NMPA, and the MPA? I don't mean "what do the initials stand for" I mean what do the organizations stand for and who are the real advocates for songwriters?

The Copyright Review Board (CRB).

"On January 11, 2006, Librarian of Congress Dr. James H. Billington appointed three copyright royalty judges... who oversee the copyright law’s statutory licenses, which permit qualified parties to use multiple copyrighted works without obtaining separate licenses from each copyright owner.

Among other duties, the Judges are responsible for determining and adjusting the rates and terms of the statutory licenses and determining the distribution of royalties from the statutory license royalty pools that the Library of Congress administers.

The current judges are : * William J. Roberts (two-year term) * James Scott Sledge, Chief Judge (six-year term) * Stanley C. Wisniewski (four-year term)"

Constitutionally speaking, this triumvirate should favor protection for copyright owners, who are often songwriters, and they often do. But... sometimes the actual copyright owner is a Publisher or a Record Company, and sometimes there are conflicts between these groups when it comes to rights.

So, the advocate for the Publishers is the National Music Publishers' Association (NMPA).

From the NMPA Mission Statement :

"The National Music Publishers’ Association is the largest U.S. music publishing trade association with over 700 members. Its mission is to protect, promote, and advance the interests of music’s creators. The NMPA is the voice of both small and large music publishers, the leading advocate for publishers and their songwriter partners in the nation’s capital and in every area where publishers do business."

"The interests of music’s creators"...now surely this organization is your daddy right? Not so fast.

Back in December 2005, the NMPA and MPA (Music Publishers' Association) announced they would be targeting websites that traded user-generated guitar chords and tablatures. One copy of a letter sent by a law firm on behalf of the NMPA/MPA was transcribed and posted on Guitar Tabs.com:

"The versions of these publishers' musical works that you post on your website are not exempt under copyright law. In fact, U.S. copyright law specifically provides that the right to make and distribute arrangements, adaptations, abridgements, or transcriptions of copyrighted musical works, including lyrics, belongs exclusively to the copyright owner of that work."

Says Michael Carroll, Associate Law Professor at Villanova University :

"Rather than work with this online community that has formed around the music, by perhaps adopting an advertising-based and value-added approach, the publishers want to disband it and preserve a sales model that would force (consumers) into a passive consumption role."

Consequently the site was shut down.

But are there benefits to the copyright owners who allow their lyrics to be posted for free?

Yes. How many times have you heard part of a song and Googled a phrase or two, and found the lyrics, title and artist listed on a lyric site? And if it was an obscure song it was probably not posted on a sanctioned lyric site. But when you found what you were looking for maybe you went to itunes and bought the song. This scenario happens hundreds if not thousands of times per day.

Like many songwriters I want people to know the words to my songs so they can sing them. When I get requests for lyrics I just email them to people. I don't ask for a dollar. According to my publisher I'm violating his rights.

Similar conflicts of interest arise when published songwriters try to promote their own music with MP3s and videos on the Internet. Recently I did several videos for a company called Blue Comet Cafe.com. The website streams videos as a showcase vehicle for singer-songwriters. The budget was very tight, and I requested a gratis sync license from my publishers. Universal and BMG consented. EMI wanted a hefty $250 per song, which was impossible. Keep in mind, I'm trying to promote songs I wrote that EMI owns administration and publishing rights to. My own publisher, a member of the NMPA, prevented me from promoting my own songs. Ludicrous.

And let's be honest, many songwriters have to audit publishers to get all of their royalties. My catalogs have been bought and sold so many times I'm not even sure who owns them anymore. But, in this particular battle over the future of Mechanical Royalties, ok, we songwriters are in bed with you, NMPA. But we don't trust you, so don't take us for granted.

The MPA (Music Publisher's Association) is a similar organization.

"Founded in 1895, the Music Publishers Association is the oldest music trade organization in the United States, fostering communication among publishers, dealers, music educators, and all ultimate users of music"

Note the emphasis is "users" and "publishers". If you don't publish your own songs, you may at times run into conflicts with this group.

The DiMA (Digital Media Association)

Here is how their website defines the organization :

"DiMA was founded in 1998 by seven leading webcentric companies that agreed on a common principle - that consumers' desire to enjoy digital entertainment should not be hampered by outdated laws, regulations and business models. At the time there were no trade associations representing companies whose core businesses depended on the distribution and streaming of digital entertainment content. The founding companies believed that webcasters, technology companies and online music and video retailers needed a stable legal environment in which to build ideas into industries, and inventions into profits."

Clearly not your Daddy. In fact, as David M. Israelite of the NMPA cites :

"For interactive streaming services, which some analysts believe will be the future of the music industry, NMPA is proposing a rate of the greater of 12.5% of revenue, 27.5% of content costs, or a micro-penny calculation based on usage. The RIAA actually proposed that songwriters and music publishers should get the equivalent of .58% of revenue. This isn't a typo - less than 1%. And DiMA is taking the shocking and offensive position that songwriters' and music publishers' mechanical rights should be zero, because DiMA does not believe we have any such rights!"

This organization exists purely for the purpose of compromising copyright income from the Internet. They want it cheap, they want it all, and songwriters can eat dirt.

The RIAA (Record Industry Association of America)

From their "Who We Are" web page :

"The Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) is the trade group that represents the U.S. recording industry. Its mission is to foster a business and legal climate that supports and promotes our members' creative and financial vitality. Its members are the record companies that comprise the most vibrant national music industry in the world. RIAA members create, manufacture and/or distribute approximately 90% of all legitimate sound recordings produced and sold in the United States.

In support of this mission, the RIAA works to protect intellectual property rights worldwide and the First Amendment rights of artists; conducts consumer, industry and technical research; and monitors and reviews state and federal laws, regulations and policies. "

Hmmm... as far as I can tell, the word "songwriter" doesn't even appear anywhere on the website. You'd think they made records out of thin air.

This organization never was and never will be serving the interests of songwriters. Stephen Foster earned $.015 (1.5 cents) for each copy of sheet music he sold. Since there were no records, we can only compare apples to crab apples here. Up until recently (during my career) the mechanical royalty rate was $.0375 per record sold. That's little more than a $.02 earnings increase in a over a hundred years, a period which has seen the price of sheet music go from $.25 to $3.95, or roughly a 1600% increase. No doubt, if there had been records in the mid-1800s, there would've been a similar price hike. We've managed to get the rate up to $.091 and now the RIAA wants to slash it back to 1980s rates? Hey, RIAA, bite me.

Support the NSAI.

They may not be perfect, but they're still the best allies we've got.

NMW Spotlight : A Conversation With Nathan Bell

2008-01-24T12:00:00.000-05:00

From Nathan's Bio:
"Songwriter-singer/guitarist Nathan Bell toured the US and Canada throughout the '80s, playing at clubs, concert halls, and (as a member of the duo, Bell and Shore) most of the premier North American acoustic music festivals, including the Walnut Valley Festival, the Winnipeg Folk Festival, and the Mariposa Folk Festival. His work on acoustic, National steel-bodied, and electric guitars was often overshadowed by his songwriting, which is an amalgamation of ideas inspired by writers ranging from Jack London, William Faulkner, and the poet Marvin Bell to Townes Van Zandt and southern short-story master Larry Brown. He stopped touring in 1992, and with the arrival of his first child in 1995 left the business altogether to concentrate on raising a growing family. During the '80s Bell shared the stage with Emmylou Harris, Eddie and Martha Adcock, Stompin' Tom Connors, Townes Van Zandt, Kathy Mattea, Mary-Chapin Carpenter, Ricky Skaggs, and a whole cast of scofflaws and gypsies from the folk and bluegrass archipelago. During the early '90s he was a staff writer for Ten Ten Music in Nashville and was regularly featured at Nashville's Bluebird Cafe, often as part of the "writers in the round" series with many notable songwriters, including Grammy-Award winner Don Henry, Craig Bickhardt, and CMA award nominee Angela Kaset. In 1991, he recorded an album of songs with producer/guitarist Richard Bennett (Steve Earle, Emmylou Harris, Marty Stuart) that was never released. His first cd release in almost 20 years, "In Tune, On Time, Not Dead," is now available from CDbaby."

Going where many fear to tread lyrically, this tough-voiced rock poet may put some in mind of a more aggressive Richard Shindell or Richard Thompson. There's a heart and soul here that belies the street tough demeanor. For one thing, Bell is willing to sing about fatherhood in a deeply tender way (listen to "The Nest (Go Slow)" next time he posts it on MySpace). When he has a political point to make, he doesn't hedge (listen to "Six Long Years" and "Traitorland"). He may well be the best kept secret on the American indy rock scene.

I recently had the chance to discuss songwriting and artistry with Nathan.

Ninety Mile Wind : Tell us a little about your upbringing. You're a mid-westerner, as are so many great singer-songwriters-- Dylan, of course, Woody Guthrie, Steve Goodman, John Prine, Jimmy Webb. There's an earthiness and an expansiveness of imagery that's distinctly different from southern, west coast, or New England writing. What is it about the mid-west that turns out such great songwriting and how do you think the local color affected you or the memories you draw from?

Nathan Bell : I was raised primarily in Iowa City, home of the University of Iowa Writer's Workshop. My upbringing was decidedly bohemian but in a grounded way. I was expected to work, as are, I think, most Midwesterners. Midwesterners are by and large a realistic bunch. Being realistic tends to set one up to not think too highly of one's prospects, which in turn leads to an art informed by a kind of personal modesty. I think it's interesting that Dylan, the one mid-western songwriter to truly become an international phenomenon, reinvented himself immediately upon his arrival in New York City as somebody more exotic...because it's true that it isn't very "exotic" to be from the middle of the country. I would probably still be living in Iowa if I hadn't decided to follow the songwriting dollars to Nashville and then leave those same dollars on the table and keep going South. I miss the local color of the mid-west a great deal and always consider myself first and foremost an Iowan. We're sneaky...nobody even knows where Iowa is anyway...

The expansiveness comes from the geography, something that's been explored in painting as well. When you can see a long, long way you learn to see very small gradations...a sunset looks different from each corner of a cornfield and from different places in the rolling hills of Eastern Iowa. I'd say growing up there taught me to look very carefully before making up my mind.

Being mid-western means being taken for granted by the rest of the country and not minding all that much! I hope this makes sense. So much of where I grew up just settled in my heart and defies explanation.

NMW : Yes, it makes sense. Another thing that seems to spring from the mid-west is a great, dry wit. This goes back to Twain, of course, who remains one of the funniest writers ever to set pen to paper. You notice it in some of Dylan's, Prine's, Goodman's, and your songs. Great humorous songs are probably the hardest types of songs to write because jokes tend to get stale if they aren't somehow interwoven with pathos, romance, imagery, and intelligent concepts. How did humor intersect your evolution as a songwriter -- what influenced you, did you read Twain, was there humor in your family, or is this type of writing something that's innate ?

NB : My family pretty much laughed all of the time and continues to do so to this day. My favorite media art has always been driven by comedy. I read Twain, of course, and listened to the great comedy albums of my childhood, Steve Martin, Richard Pryor, Firesign Comedy Theater and everything by the great core group of National Lampoon writers. TV was mostly sports or Monty Python, Bob Newhart, MASH, Barney Miller, and a host of other well-written shows. I was late to the Smothers Brothers but that kind of sly political comedy-- where sooner or later the powers that be figure it out and run you out of town-- also appealed to our clan. I also remember vividly getting Martin Mull's live album and playing it over and over.

Humor has always leavened tragedy and I guess the humor of songs like "Dear Abby" that had an underlying sense of humanity helping to make the song relevant even after the joke was no longer new influenced me a great deal. I think it's interesting that Ghandi had a terrific dry sense of humor that he wielded brilliantly during the darkest hours of the rebellion against the British.

My favorite movie of all time is Slapshot, a Paul Newman/George Roy Hill movie that profanely and beautifully tells the story of a dying minor league hockey franchise in a dying mill town. It is a story of corporate greed, malfeasance, and manipulation told in a way that reduces people to gasping for air.

My other career choice would have been to be a stand-up comic but that's the hardest thing of all and I wasn't that brave.

NMW : I've always been intrigued by your ability to create unique characters in your lyrics-- "Walking Iron" about the Native American steel welder who thrived on the heights of skyscraper construction; "King Of The North" about the kick-ass hockey player; "Johnny El Gato Miguel" about the faded career of a professional barrio boxer. Many songwriters would like to know more about this ability, myself included. How much of this from your imagination, and how much of it is just keen awareness of the world around you?

NB : My father [Marvin Bell] is a poet whose bread and butter was examining the "regular" things around him for irregularities, and writing about the beautiful flaws in our lives. I grew up with an understanding that every moment something was happening and all you had to do was open your eyes. My father is a keen observer of people and I think I have inherited that from him. I often understand the motivations of others almost immediately upon meeting them. "King of the North" comes from that "gift" -- I played a lot of sports and often found myself a member of that group of athletes who may have unique talents on a small scale but find that on the big stage they fall short. This character's defining moment is his realization that it's better to fail at something amazing than to only wonder if you could have succeeded. For me this is the noblest of things, to make your life great and look back only for historical perspective and amusement.

NMW : I think that's the essence of the American Dream-- attempting big vs. the regret of never trying. You and I have talked about your own optimism before, and how it colors your world view. There's even a heroic quality to some of these characters, not Rambo heroics, just the heroism of people who rise to adversity. Very un-superhuman. Is that intentional ?

NB : You'll find that almost all of my characters are fundamentally optimistic and kind when they could easily be bitter and harsh. So I suspect that my characters reflect how I most want to be perceived. My father also insisted that I should experience a lot, so I've worked more jobs than I can even recall -- out in the cold picking up 200 pounds of something, cleaning out drains and grease traps in a restaurant kitchen, working my 75th hour with little sleep, or, as in the last 13 years, managing people with seriously real lives and problems. I didn't go to college, even though I spent one official year at Boston University. This means I spent a lot of years rubbing shoulders with the characters in my songs. I never found my own thoughts about myself anything but a nuisance, a roadblock to living a mindful life. Therefore, in writing about others I avoided boring myself.

NMW : It's interesting that some writers are self-obsessed, Thomas Wolfe for example, who had to medicate with alcohol to keep his memories from driving him crazy. That's what I appreciate about your writing the most-- your ability to inhabit these characters so completely that they come alive and they're different in every song. It sounds like you're somewhat of a student of human nature. This is precisely what great actors do and I suspect to some extent it's the same type of study that produces some great writers. What else do you do to study or observe characters ?

NB : I also read constantly, much of it American fiction, contemporary and otherwise. Some of my favorites are London, Hemingway, Robert Olmstead, Craig Leslie, and Rick Bass -- writers whose characters are often flawed in common ways yet have uncommon approaches to life. The American Dream as it applies to all Americans, all of us immigrants, has been my thesis since I started to write. It helps that I've lived a parallel life with many of these characters. I also read a great deal of sports journalism. Sports Illustrated often has the best non-fiction writing you will find anywhere. Writers like Gary Smith and Frank Deford have introduced me to people who also find their way into my songs.

NMW : Boxing seems to have attracted a number of great writers, and of course Hemingway loved Bull Fighting. Maybe these intensely physical activities are so sensually stimulating that they help distract a writer from his own existence to some extent. Do you find a certain amount of distraction helpful when you're working on a song ?

NB : I am hyper-sensitive to the world around me, often able to fully understand my song ideas only while I'm doing something else, almost like my brain must be diverted enough to allow a free flow of electrons. Most of my writing takes place not on paper but in my head as I drive, or ride a road bike, or walk. I am a slave to my small notepads and micro-recorders. I work very quickly when I do work, but the ideas ferment for as long as it takes. I've found that the songs I record are often almost instantly playable from memory after being committed to paper. I am also a vicious editor, terrified that somebody will find one lazy line. I'm sure that such lines can be found, but before I even write a song down I try to kill as many of those bastards as possible!

NMW : It's good for writers to understand this process of incubation and self-editing . Too many writers believe that a song is just born and that's the end of it. I want to get back to character for a moment because many of us are interested in that aspect of writing. How do you create such authentic characters ?

NB : A wonderful conversation from the movie Good Will Hunting really sums up my approach to writing: Robin Williams' character (Sean Macquire), sharing a bench in Boston Commons with Matt Damon's (Will), acknowledges Will's genius but condemns his lack of experiences. Every character of mine -- even though I obviously didn't fight in Vietnam or weld beams on a skyscraper-- contains a piece of something I have done. If I can't feel what's in the song, or if it's ONLY about something I've read or heard, I won't write it. At the end of the day I write about the people I admire -- the people I still hope to live up to.

NMW : You and I were recently discussing the lack of a leading "voice of social conscience" like Dylan or Seeger or Joan Baez among the major artists of today. Very few of them want to sing about tough issues, but you aren't afraid to do that. Most of the audience seems content with American Idol or else they're half brain-dead when it comes to musical taste. Do you believe a singer-songwriter's role should be to speak truth to power, or rally the disenfranchised, or take on a socio-political cause to sort of wake the sleeping masses ?

NB : An artist has to create based on what is around him/her at the time. When I left the business it was during a time of relative prosperity, when a man could lose his chance at being an NHL hockey player, or in my case, a musician, and reach out, grab the ladder and climb up to something else. So I wrote about specific lives and the positive if sometimes wistful choices the people in those lives had made. Now the choices seem fewer and I've returned to writing at a terrible time for the human animal. If I didn't write about that what would I write about? And almost all of our ills are being caused by a very few wealthy, white men. Men who by all standards of decency and justice could be convicted of war crimes. I never thought that I'd see the day when any governing body or president would even consider that our country would have a civil defense policy with even the smallest amount of allowable torture. And add to that the blatant, brazen use of the tragedy of Sept 11th to make even more money for these men and their friends, eventually leading to the outright murder of Americans trying to nobly serve their country, which is something so hideous, cynical, and impudent that to not call attention to it as best I can would mean I had chosen to ignore it for my own safety and gain.

My father is Jewish. So it's easy for me to remember that silence equals death. And as the son of the son of relatively new immigrants, I believe in what this country stands for. I even carry a pocket constitution. I own property, travel, work and speak my mind freely, protected by the greatest set of laws ever devised. I want the traitors that would use fear and economic pressure to control the populace to be removed from office and sent to prison for their crimes against the good will and faith of the people of the United States. Can I do that with a song? I don't know, Craig, but songs can be damn powerful sometimes so it's worth trying!

NMW : No doubt about it. You've mentioned something that I was actually leading up to. I personally found this courageous, and I know this will interest all of our readers. About 15 years ago, after making a couple of records that received some critical raves, which led to a tenure at a major publishing company in Nashville, you turned your back on the music industry, moved to Chattanooga, and took a day job. Writers ask me all the time if they need to live in Nashville, or if they're washed up if they don't fit in with Nashvegas's idea of music. Talk a little bit about your decision, how it affected you, and also about how it feels to pick up the recording and writing again. You seem genuinely inspired.

NB : My father has always said that writers write. So you write wherever you are about what matters to you. Making a living is something different. William Carlos Williams was a Pediatrician. I actually went back to working day jobs while still in Nashville and then after finding a better and bigger day job followed a great opportunity to Chattanooga in 1997. Although nobody but my close friends who understand how my mind works believe me I didn't pick up the guitar at all for most of those years. I think I played twice for more than a lullaby in all that time. Honestly, I had reached the end of my creative road, or so I thought. I fully intended to never play or write again. I threw myself completely into a corporate job and raising my children. And I wouldn't change a thing. It made enough sense that I'm not sure it took a lot of courage. But I appreciate the compliment.

Don Henry dragged me kicking and screaming on stage in 2006 and in the process of learning a couple of my own songs to play with him at a wonderful little club in Lafayette Georgia called "Music on the Square" I found myself really enjoying the guitar again. I came back from a business trip a short while after to find that my wife, Leslie, had converted a walk-in closet to a guitar room/studio. I recorded "In Tune, On Time, Not Dead" on a Roland BR-600 8 track and then decided to just put it out and see what happens. I've also enjoyed playing all the instruments...I think it's my belated tribute to the first really great JJ Cale album!

When I started playing again I felt more "one" with my self and somehow that has led to this run of songs...I have another CD, "Traitorland" that will be released this spring and upgraded my studio to give myself a little more range while recording. A third CD, tentatively titled "Incendiary" will follow shortly after that. I figure if the Who, The Stones, and all those people could put out 2-3 albums a year I sure as hell can.

NMW : Having left Nashville myself two years ago, I've learned this lesson later in life than you did ! I have one final question for you. The new music "business" has meant, for artists like us, empowerment and liberation. Yet some songwriters seem overwhelmed by it-- the technology, the Internet options, the sheer number of participants in the game. What advice do you have for people who may be hanging back, clinging to the old model, somewhat fearful of taking the plunge into the wacky world of do-it-all-yourself ?

NB : I tell them to listen to "Every Picture Tells a Story" , the radio single version. The tempo is all over the place, the vocals are distorting all over hell, the cymbals eat up all the frequency and who can even tell what the bass player is playing? And it's a great record, one brilliant piece of music from an album filled with noisy, messy songs, each brilliant and imperfect. The one thing nobody should be afraid of is making a mistake...make the right mistakes all together at the same time and you get genius!

Discography:

Buy The New CD

Nathan's Website

Nathan Bell on MySpace

5 "Must Read" Music Business Articles

2008-01-22T12:25:00.000-05:00

In a post script to my previous blog entry regarding the cause of the RIAA's troubles, read this comprehensive article posted by Music Row attorney Barry Shrum.

An optimistic view of the New New Music Industry written by Raghav Gupta.

David Brown's wise article entitled Ten Ways To Fix The Music Biz in Spin Magazine

From the BBC : why there can't be a true alliance between the artist/writer and the record label over copyright.

David Byrne's insightful piece about surviving in the new music industry featured in Wired

6 Tips For Surviving A Visit To Music Row

2008-01-22T12:00:00.000-05:00

Buy A Trampoline

and get used to bouncing around...that's my daughter in the pink bikini.

Take The Opinions With A Grain Of Salt

You'll hear a mountain of differing opinions in Nashville. It's very easy to get led astray. Remember that all of the breakthrough acts, blockbuster hits, and trend changing events in the music industry were totally unpredictable. Anyone who thinks they understand a demographic or thinks they have a formula for success is proved dead wrong in the end. The most successful people ignore opinions most of the time. They stubbornly believe in what they do and pursue their own path with determination. The confrontational nature of Nashville is designed to put off people who lack self-confidence. You have to decide for yourself whether you have the talent and the goods. Go to Music Row with an open mind but don't expect it all to make sense. Learn to laugh at the absurd contradictions and you'll be healthier.

Understand What The Code Words Mean

"Too safe" - means : "I've heard this idea a thousand times and there's no way you'll ever impress me with it".

"Not right for this artist/record" - means : "I don't like your song right now, but I might be having a bad day so you can bring it back next year".

"You're close" - means : "I've criticized you too much already so I'm trying to be nice and this is the best I can do".

"I'll take a copy" - means : "I don't want to make up my mind about this song right now so I'll put your CD on the floor of my car until I do".

"I'd like to put this on hold" - means : "I don't want anyone else to grab this song before I have a chance to get a second, third, and fourth opinion about it".

"I love it" - probably means : "I'll love it until either the second, third, or fourth opinion tells me they don't".

Leave The Personal Songs At Home

All of us write personal songs sometimes. We experiment and probe our psyches and write cathartic tear jerkers that no one else will ever want to sing. Leave those songs at home. You're only asking for a deep wound if you play them for busy industry people. You may dearly love these songs. They might be like children to you. But if they aren't what Music Row is looking for, you won't feel much love.

Avoid Burnout

Don't try to see too many people and attend too many writers nights. You'll be overwhelmed and probably feel like a drop of water in the ocean. One or two appointments and one show per day will give you plenty to ruminate on. It's a mistake to cram two co-writing appointments into one day, also. This may give you a false sense of accomplishment, but I doubt very much that those songs will get recorded unless you've had several brilliant moments in your day. Most of us are lucky if we have a few brilliant moments in a year.

Stay focused On Your Best Work

Don't come to town with a dozen songs and try to get a reading on all of them. Do some of the screening in advance. Choose 3-4 of your very best commercial songs and concentrate on pitching/playing/critiquing them. You'll get 20 minutes in a meeting, that's all. It's barely enough time to say hello and play 4 songs.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

5 Lies You'll Hear In Nashville

2008-01-16T14:43:00.000-05:00

"It's the illegal downloading, stupid."

People are hip to how much it really costs to record and manufacture a great CD (under $20,000). Yet the major record labels continue to dump ridiculous amounts of money into over-hyped acts and then over-charge consumers for their product. Why spend $17 on a CD that sounds like a collection of Clear Channel jingles ? Ask anyone in the Nashville music business if they listen to country music after work and you'll find out they hate country music. If you want a great CD look to the indie labels, which incidentally, are booming and profiting because they don't operate on bloated budgets designed to keep the suits well-fed while the artists do all the work. The Indies are mostly in it for the art. Read the blogs and the comments and you'll find that most consumers are still buying the music they love and they have no problem paying for mp3s. But they do have a problem with paying twice what they ought to pay for crappy CDs, and with the bullying practices of the RIAA.

"We're looking for something really different."

Has anyone noticed how quickly country music assimilates the latest sound into it's sea of sameness? Shania and Mutt put a banjo in a track and now you can't make a record without a banjo in it. I'm not knocking banjos, I'm criticizing producers for their lack of innovation. Most great songs in Nashville never get recorded precisely because they ARE different. Most of the best songwriters that I know have no publisher at the moment. They all write very fresh, wonderful songs. This lie pushes all my buttons.

"It isn't a conflict of interests."

Of course not. Sony publishing and Sony Records don't play favorites with each other. If a producer runs a record label, produces several acts, and owns a publishing company, he can be still be objective about songs. That's why artists like Faith Hill are shocked to discover that great songwriters also live in Massachusetts, because Faith is hearing the best songs her producer wants her to hear, right? Good work, boys.

"You have to live in town."

Intrinsically there's NO reason why anyone has to live in Nashville. Many writers are collaborating over the Internet these days, and lots a great writers such as Hugh Prestwood and Jimmy Webb NEVER lived there. Living in Nashville is fine if you like it there, and I did for a while. But now I get regular emails and comments from writers who say that Nashville is ruining their writing. They can't be spontaneous, it's all done by committee, they fear being criticized for writing anything too artistic, and they must collaborate with artists, many of whom are not songwriters, never will be songwriters, and only show up for the money.

"Don't worry, I can hear the song."

No you can't. If the demo doesn't sound exactly like what's on the radio, forget it. You're a musical illiterate. If I brought you guitar-vocal demos of the next Bob Dylan you'd pass. You useless sack of shit.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt

15 Minutes To Understanding Rythmic Theme And Variation

2008-01-15T16:37:00.000-05:00

This is the rhythmic notation for the melody to the song “Summer In The City”. In my notation there are four color coded, repeating patterns. Three are in the verse. One is a series of three sixteenth notes followed by a dotted eighth note indicated by the red lines below the staff. The second is a series of four sixteenth notes indicated where there are blue lines above the staff. Technically these would be called rhythmic motifs because they’re too short to be considered themes. The third pattern is a longer series of sixteenth notes and eighth notes indicated by the green lines that sounds like dit-dit-dah-dah-dit-dit-dah-dah. This would be considered a theme, made up of two four-note motifs.

Now notice there’s a variation of the green rhythm in bar five where it is shortened to six notes so that it sounds like dit-dit-dah-dah-dit-dit. The green rhythm is repeated again in measure six so we get this rhythm: dit-dit-dah-dah-dit-dit, dit-dit-dah-dah-dit-dit. Then there’s an even shorter variation of the green rhythm at the end of bar six where it only goes dit-dit-dah-dah, which is just the four-note motif that the theme is based on.

Now, at bar ten, where the chorus begins we find a new five-note motif that features an eighth note/ sixteenth note combination that sounds like dit-dah dit-dah-dit. This pattern is indicated in yellow. Then notice how the red, green and blue motifs from the verse are woven into the chorus.

Now, this entire melody is only 15 bars long. But in this 15 bar melody the blue rhythm repeats 6 times. The red rhythm repeats 7 times (it’s a continuation in bar 13-14). The green rhythm repeats 6 times with variations, and the pattern in yellow repeats 3 times. That’s four patterns of rhythm repeating a total of 22 times with slight variations in the combinations of all four of them. The themes and motifs move around to different places in the measures. There are also a couple other short minor motifs, but least one of the four MAIN ones appears in nearly every measure.

You can see how this ties the melody together in a very tight way. This is a highly memorable song, and not so much because we’ve all heard it a zillion times, but because it was memorable the first time we heard it. It was easy to capture it in our minds. Of course there are other hook factors in this song that contribute to it being a memorable tune. But Theme and Variation in the rhythm contributes a lot to its catchy quality.

Now here’s another important point: the second cycle of the verse and chorus of “Summer In The City” doesn’t change. It’s exactly the same rhythmic pattern syllable for syllable. In other words, this is a very tightly constructed song. The rhythmic and melodic themes and motifs get pounded into the listener’s head so much that it’s almost impossible to forget this song after hearing it once. That’s the value of rhythmic repetition.

It’s usually much easier to recognize melodic themes that repeat, or repeat with some variation, for example the melody to “Every Breath You Take” by the Police. The first two lines are nearly identical in notes and intervals as well as rhythm. Then the final lines contain an accelerated variation of the rhythm—it doubles up or moves twice as fast—this is called: Diminution. That’s also a trick you can use to unify and strengthen the impact of your melody.

The important thing to remember is that the human brain perceives patterns quickly and interprets them as “order”. So, try to detect some potential “Theme and Variation” in your melody. Look for repeated patterns in the notes and rhythms. Remove some notes if necessary, add a few notes in certain spots until you hear some repeated phrases and some “echoes” or similar melodic patterns. Be especially conscious of unnecessary clutter that may have gotten into the melody due to a “wordy” lyric. Try to distill the essence of your melody down to simple, pure phrases that all lead to the musical hook.

Even if you only partially simplify your melody the result will be a more memorable song. When you do this, sometimes you’ll see that some of the lyrical clutter is unnecessary, too. In other words you simultaneously compress your lyric and your melody and the song gets tighter which gives it more IMPACT, more immediate Memorablility.

If the melodic or rhythmic theme you’re using is a particularly long one, try repeating or echoing only part of it to see if this leads to some fresh musical variations. The more variations of the hook’s phrasing you can find, the more options you’ll have for the rest of the song’s melody.

copyright 2008 by craig bickhardt