Just One Of Those Things

I am so overdosed in songwriting. Thursdays are notorious for being that kind of a day for me. I have lyric writing for two hours in the morning, songwriting for two hours in the afternoon, with my lunch break usually being spent in a songwriting clinic. I also, usually fail to do the homework for those two classes till the morning of, so, that’ll make it….. a good chunk of songwriting.

Today was quite informative, but a bit overwhelming. Analytical. Right and wrong. Switching around phrases. Melodic maps matching lyric maps. Stress rhythm patterns. Dorian and Mixolydian modes. Hardly enough time to take a breath.

Well, I guess its good because my brain is bursting with ideas, but I haven’t the slightest inclination to pick up my instrument and try it out. I fear, that I will not write anything that will fit in these forms. Ew. I shudder at the idea of writing to fulfill these requirements. That’s not how I ever want to express my emotions and my story.

Another guy in my lyric writing class got his song critiqued for an hour during class. Siting by him, I noticed his hand wavering above his notebook. Pausing after each idea or suggestion. He didn’t automatically accept all these things – and his shoulders would tense when the phrase “just cut that part out” would pop up. I’m glad I’m not alone.

Fine. We’re learning about ‘tools’ to put into the ‘toolbox’ that berklee assumes we keep permanently attached to our hip. But, now I can’t write. It breaks my heart that my guitar will sit for days untouched. It breaks me more when I don’t know what I feel because when I try to sing, my voices catches at each phrase. I think ‘they told me not to do that’ and chord progressions that are proven ‘more interesting’ echo under what I happen to be playing.

I want to quit. I want to stop. I want no more of this. I want to cry over my instrument, pour my heart out into the air, not a page of note paper. I don’t care if it’s a chord tone, or if I switch rhythms halfway through. Where’s the story? I don’t know what my story is anymore, because I have a freaking TOOLBOX that’s too full of musical SHIT to carry around on my shoulders. I’m tired of assignments. I’m tired of the deadlines. I’m tired of everything. I just want to forget it all.

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But. I know better. A bitter, angry, ugly side of me knows better. It knows that the artists who don’t know what they’re doing don’t last. It knows that Jack Johnson will not go down in history as an amazing artist, because he only sounds one way. ever.  This is why Michael Jackson will forever be marveled at, because he did some complicated stuff on his tunes. This part of me knows that its also about the structure, form and mathematical correlation of rhythms and rhyme.

But it’s a struggle, almost every day.

On a different note, it’s been pretty awesomely fall-ish here. The trees (when you manage to find them) are turning colors, the weather is cold, but not horrible. It’s scarf and sweater weather for sure. David and I still have dinner (that I usually cook) together every night, and we love eachother with lots of love. I’m feeling really at home in my apartment, and I love my room a lot. I’m still swinging back and forth between satisfied and horrifically sad, but I do my best to keep the reins tights on my emotions. I look forward to the weekend.