The feeling of writing music
(and the comfort of words and melodies)
This Voiceover was recorded unedited at home, into the microphone on my phone. I’m currently experimenting with the format of these, so there might be the occasional inhale breath, cough and other home-life background noise.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been writing a new song. If I could sum up what that means for me in just a few words it would be: a poem with a melody and an accompanying instrument.
It brings me sanity and joy. Sometimes the songs go somewhere, and sometimes they don’t. But it’s the process which brings the vibes — the enjoyment of playing for playing’s sake. Sometimes I record the songs (at home) and add in other instruments, but often it’s just me and my guitar. Last year I added a song to Spotify. One day I’ll get round to linking it on here. But in the meantime, I’m working on something new and I thought I’d share some of my process here.
For this latest song that I’m writing, I started with the chords that I wanted to use, and these created the basis of the mood of the song. I already had the outline of a story in my mind and the chords were the first elements that brought it into 3D. Once I was happy with the chords (which entailed multiple tweaks) I started experimenting with the rhythm, which brought more life and structure into it. Next came the melody, which found its own way weaving in and around the notes; hummed through for a while first, before the lyrics were added. Writing the words to a song is my favourite part. It feels like a safe way of opening my most personal journal (which is another way of opening myself I suppose). But feelings turned into a song doesn’t feel quite as raw as writing emotions out in a more literal way. It’s a more comfortable catharsis. I should add here that I haven’t completely finished the song yet. The lyrics are still in flux.
Each element of the of the song tells part of the story. Changing the chords and rhythm can change the genre of the song, even if the lyrics stay the same, so each layer is as important as the next.
A couple of years ago I joined a songwriting group where we would play each other our unfinished versions and get feedback. We’d also discuss different ways of writing songs. Sometimes it would be about the structure such as ‘verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus’ or ‘verse, verse, chorus, verse’. Sometimes it would be more abstract, like looking at a random picture and then writing something based on our own interpretation of what was happening. It was a way of making the brain think differently and breaking through bouts of writers block. I found it really useful.
Since then I’ve found my own method of writing songs. There is no right or wrong way to do it (unless you’re a multi-million pound record company who requires mega hits churned out in a tried-and-tested format). I find it difficult to write a song when there’s no emotional connection involved. In other words, what I’ve written so far, (and what I seem to still be writing) are songs which start off as a feeling I’ve experienced or something that I’ve been through. Which brings me back to the catharsis again.
How might it unfold? Nebulous to begin with — just a few scribbles of feelings on paper. Then doodles and patterns, a bit of lucid dreaming and a very rough sketch of words and shapes. After a while, lines are strung together, and layered in with the melody. Eventually — after multiple edits on each section — a song is formed. It takes me a few weeks to finish from the time I start, picking it up in the evenings after work or at weekends when I have longer stretches of time spend on it. I’ll write a bit more about this song that I’m currently writing, once I’ve finished it.
What I’ve noticed is that writing music depends on my environment. For example, we moved house 7 weeks ago and I’ve just started getting back into it after a few months of not doing any writing. Before we moved it was all packing and preparation. Before that in the preceding months the legal headaches and the push-pull of will-we-won’t-we actually move didn’t feel particularly conducive to song writing, and instead it depleted the right side of my brain. I would happily pick up my guitar and have a noodle on it because playing brings happiness and release. But for me, writing songs seems to need stability, even more so when I’m writing about unstable chapters of my life.
But now I’m making the most of the return of words and melodies, collecting once again on paper and steel strings. These abstruse glimmers make the darker times seem worth it.
I’d love to know how other people harness their ideas. Do you have places you need to physically be in order to let inspiration flow? How is it for you? I’d love to hear about it!
