366 Songs
It had to be a leap year. Back on January 5th 2020, I wrote my first song of a new decade. It was a tardy and unceremonious start to an ambitious - maybe impossible - dream, but at least the wheels were turning. Sometimes just getting moving is the hardest part; I was certainly hoping that it would prove to be the case on this particular journey. I’d never written a song per day for a single week, no less a month. Twelve months? Crazy. I was only five days into the year, and already four songs behind.
In 2019 I wrestled to write a song per week across the entire year. It proved to be a considerable challenge, but I ended up with all of them and even a few more for my trouble. Maybe that’s how I arrived at this song-a-day-for-a-whole-year thing. In any case, my hope was to continue growing as a writer. Up until 2019, I created almost exclusively from a place of inspiration. To be honest, it’s still my favorite creative space, but the discipline of writing at least once a week for a year had taught me some interesting things about myself and my craft, and now at the start of a new year I was looking for a way to learn more.
Writing every day meant that I didn’t always feel like it. One of the first things I had to learn was how to dig for inspiration when it wasn’t just laying there in front of me. I think the excavation probably looks different for everyone so I’ll spare you from what would most likely amount to unhelpful specifics of my own process. The important thing to consider is that at any given time there is a deeply meaningful, eternal narrative to search for, observe, engage in, and describe. This extends well beyond the realm of art, but it certainly brings its weight to bear on the creative process too. The seemingly mundane and routine is suddenly crowned with a dignity that fascinates the senses and enriches the soul.
As a writer, the daily discipline forced me to rely much more on my instinct than my ability. It required me to make quicker decisions about lyrics and their musical accompaniment than I would have previously preferred. At times this was particularly frustrating - maddening even - but in retrospect I found there to be a beautiful congruence in the art that was quickly stamped in a moment as opposed to those pieces which were carefully carved over a longer period of time. The moment itself influenced everything from word choice, to the melody, delivery, key, chords, timbre, and meter; each component shared this common denominator which allowed the whole equation to be neatly solved for. This means of creation by “stamping” was an entirely new experience for me, and there was a surprising discovery of a unique beauty that lay hidden in the discipline.
All of the words and notes penned over the past year, not unlike the year itself, comprised both harmony and dissonance. Perhaps it is the juxtaposition of these elements that is the trademark of true beauty. Tension and release. Light and shadow. Motion and stillness. Discord produces a longing for resolution, for settling, and for home. Somewhere in the middle of the past year full of songs it dawned on me: many of my favorite compositions were born of my most difficult days. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. Like a diminished chord invites the ear to go one half-step higher, so too would the dissonance of a day beckon me to take a step toward the blank page and the tuned instrument, and as the page filled up with words, I’d eventually find a chord above the chaos.