I Think This Post’s Mostly Filler

… as Willow might sing.

I don’t listen to the radio much. And I pretty much never call in to the radio station – except once. I was in college, and I heard this cool new song. The singer had an amazing voice. She reminded me of Debbie Harry: she could go from angelic to savage in no time at all, and she could drown out an army of guitars doing it.

But I missed the DJ telling us what song we’d just heard. And I really wanted to rush out and get that CD, now. So I picked up the phone. And I learned it was Eve’s Plum, singing “I Want It All”. Thusly:

I still think Colleen Fitzpatrick has one of the most underrated voices in rock. I wish Eve’s Plum hadn’t split up after only two albums, because they were great. And I wish Ms. Fitzpatrick would record something new and rockin’, and do it right soon.

Deeper Cuts

Habit I picked up from my last girlfriend: road trips require mix CDs. (Actually she preferred tapes – she could be pretty old-school sometimes – but my car doesn’t have a tape player.) I like to put some thought into the flow of them – not too many fast songs, nor too many slow songs. Not too many instrumentals, but just enough. Balance, flow, and a good groove to keep the wheels turning. A few little oddities sprinkled in to help conversations along, like a cheesy old favorite or an obscure track you love from a band no-one’s ever heard of.

I made one for the last trip I took, which was really just a quick jaunt down to Tucson to meet up with a friend. I was listening to it again today as I was driving out to help a friend run a few errands, and one of my very most favorite songs came on. Naturally I had to sing along. I love the lyrics even more than I love the slow gorgeous anthemic build of it – there’s a whole scene in a novel I’ve been working on that’s very much inspired by this song.

A Little Chillaxation for the Day

Because it’s got a cool groove, and who doesn’t enjoy that of a Sunday?

I just wish I knew what she was singing about. Oh wait! My Google finger isn’t broken.

Coeur mécanique où sont tes piles ?
Perdu dans un monde, tout étranger
Quelle est la raison pour tous ces mensonges
On a plus le droit de se renfermer

Je n’ai pas le temps de perdre la tête
Pour nous sauver de nous-mêmes
Je n’ai pas le temps de perdre la tête
Pour nous sauver de nous-mêmes

Quelle est cette ivresse qui nous entraîne
D’ou viennent tous ces mots qui m’attaquent
Plaisirs incomplets qui m’envoûtent
On a plus le droit de fermer ses portes

Je n’ai pas le temps de perdre la tête
Pour nous sauver de nous-mêmes
Je n’ai pas le temps de perdre la tête
Pour nous sauver de nous-mêmes
Pour nous sauver de nous-mêmes
Pour nous sauver de nous-mêmes

In English:

Mechanical heart where are your batteries?
Lost in a world totally unkown
What is the reason for all of these lies
We’re not longer allowed to lock ourselves in

I don’t have time to lose my head
To save us from ourselves
I don’t have time to lose my head
To save us from ourselves

What is this intoxication that eggs us on
Where do all these words that attack me come from
Incomplete pleasures that bewitch me
We’re no longer allowed to shut our doors

I don’t have time to lose my head
To save us from ourselves
I don’t have time to lose my head
To save us from ourselves
To save us from ourselves
To save us from ourselves

Lyrics and translation from sing365.com.

 

Because Earworms are for Sharing

If I have to keep hearing this – and I do, and I don’t mind all that much – I might as well spread the “pain”.

Thanks to Joe Strummer, Steve Jobs, and Mark Leyner

So here’s how I deal with writer’s block: I get our my iPod and put on some fast-moving hard-rocking ear candy. I sit down and I type out the first thing that comes to mind. Doesn’t matter what it is. Doesn’t even matter if it makes sense. In fact, it’s often better if it doesn’t. I’ve learned to trust myself more.

I type another sentence. I type a third. I follow the thread wherever it takes me. I polish a bit as I go, I think about where I’m going and how I want to jump to the next rock in the river. It’s not all subconscious and Muses dressed like Lauren Graham. I used to think that authors didn’t really sit down and think about all that stuff they teach in lit class – symbolism? themes? resonant allusions and imagery? No way, man. That stuff just happens. It’s art, dude! It’s not Etch-a-Sketch! You just tell your story and then lit professors find all that other stuff in it after the fact. It’s like saying buildings are designed with all those beams and trusses and stuff in them. That shit just happens.

I’ve learned better. You reach into that brain of yours, you find something interesting, and you let that pattern-making evolutionary masterpiece between your ears do what it does best. And once you’ve got it started, you can engage the conscious part of your brain in making it better. Figure out what you’re talking about now that you’re talking, and find the best way to make it work. Recognize the connections between your own work and the giants’ shoulders under your feet. Give a shout out to the giants now and then.