Hello from Northern California, where I’ve been camped since mid-December or so. I swear I didn’t orchestrate this as an escape from the East Coast winter; at any rate, the house here has its thermostat set to 58 degrees Fahrenheit, which gets my teeth chattering rather effectively. Late last night the power went out in the midst of a rainstorm, while doors kept shutting at random and the patio furniture set about rearranging itself. If New York has fewer ghosts than this place, I’ll be glad to see snow again.
I’m here for the beginning stages of a musical theater project I was invited to compose music for: the new brainchild of playwright Tanya Shaffer, tentatively called Sid Arthur. We jump-started the collaboration at TheatreWorks’ annual writer’s retreat, where we hunkered down in a rehearsal space alongside three other writing teams (including the genre-bending band GrooveLily) and a roving posse of Broadway-caliber actors for a week. By the time Sunday’s “strictly optional” presentation to TheatreWorks donors rolled around, we had three songs and another two in progress, which was dizzying for me, given my usual output rate. I’m still not entirely convinced that I have the first clue about how to do this, but Tanya is pleased with what we’ve got so far, as seemed the audience that afternoon.
I wish the retreat had gone on longer; I was thoroughly enjoying the Brill-Building experience, commuting to a job writing music, walking down the hall to eavesdrop on snippets of other people’s brilliance. And after leaving the office, as it were, ideas for my own material kept coming. Some of them became lyrics, or that long-missing chorus melody, or the first inklings of an arrangement. It’s heartening to find that creative flow is not a zero-sum phenomenon.
More discoveries in the maybe-I-should-quit-music-because-I-can’t-do-that category: debut albums from Jesca Hoop (Kismet), The Bird and The Bee and Mute Math. When those are a little too outgoing for my mood, there’s always refuge in Talk Talk’s Spirit of Eden, or Aqualung’s Memory Man. Track 4 of the latter, in particular, a song called “Glimmer,” is stuck on repeat these past few days. Those effortless key changes, that voice, unearthing the epic from the intimate in the space of four minutes…it’s good to be reminded of what’s possible, pop songcraft-wise. And of course there’s Radiohead. For better or worse, In Rainbows will be inextricably woven with memories of this winter, I’ve worn that playlist out so.
What else…here are lyrics to a song that I’ve been trying out at shows lately. It sounds much more interesting in my head than played live, so there’s some work to be done yet.
Stray Italian Greyhound
oh no not now
please not now
I just settled into the glass half empty
made myself at home
and so why now
please not now
I just stopped believing in happy endings
harbors of my ownbut you had to come along didn’t you
break down the doors, throw open windows
oh if you knew just what a fool you have made meso what do I do with this?
this stray Italian greyhound
these inconvenient fireworks
this ice-cream-covered screaming hyperactive thought
god I just want to lay down
these colors make my eyes hurt
this feeling calls for everything that I am
notI’m not that kind
I’m so good at shooting down any notion
this tired world could change
it’s all been bought
or at least that was my line
no use in spending all that emotion
when there’s someone else to blamebut you had to come along didn’t you
rev up the crowd, rewrite the rule book
where do I go when every ‘no’ turns into ‘maybe’so what do I do with this?
this sudden burst of sunlight
and me with my umbrella
cross-indexing every weatherman’s report
I was ready for the downslide
but not for spring to well up
this feeling calls for everything I can’t afford
to know
is possible nowwhat do I do
with a love that won’t sit still
won’t do what it’s told
what do I do
with a love that won’t sit still