With all the work and thought I’ve been putting in on the play, I thought that the lull between finishing the second draft of A Father Christmas and the Reading Party would give me a chance to cool my heels creatively.
But this hasn’t been the case. I finally have gotten to pick up the guitar for a bit here and there, and I realized this morning that, after a long dry spell, over the last couple of days I’ve got three new songs in various stages of completion. There’s Seasons of Discontent, which spins off of the opening line of Richard III and goes from there. It was supposed to be about guys my age whining about their lives, but it’s evolving into a brief history of 60’s counterculture. The music is in place for this one but I need to finish the lyrics.
Then there’s a random portrait of a character song called Woman in a Red Coat, which I realized after writing most of the lyrics should be called Woman in a Black Coat – but it’s too late now because I’ve filled the words with red imagery that black just won’t do justice to. Lyrics mostly done, needs music.
Finally, another character piece called Three Fingered Mickey. I was scrolling fast down a web page a few days ago and my eyes caught the phrase Three Fingered Mike. Or so I thought. I went back to find it, but it was just a trick my eyes played on me. So I wrote the phrase down. I thought it sounded like a good song title, so I started to strum out a progression for it. Words followed. It’s probably 90% finished.
So much for a vacation.
I suppose this brings up the question of when you’re going to get to hear these. Well, I’m going to have to finish them first. And there are lots of unfinished and unfulfilled notes on songs in my song notebooks. Then there’s the matter of recording them, or at least performing them at an open mic night (when I’ve only done that once so far). And then there’s the matter of whether I choose to perform them or one of the other originals that I’ve already finished and pretty much nailed down.
On the other hand, there’s the theory of obscurity, which states that art is only pure when you remove the need for public consideration.
Art, schmart. These are folk songs (of a sort). The people are supposed to hear them.
So again, when are you going to get to hear them? That’s a really, really, really good question.
Don’t take any wooden nickels
When you sell your soul
A devil of a time awaits you
When the party is over
you’re on your own
(via iTunes shuffle play)