Paraphrasing Shakespeare: What’s in a Track


“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Not too modest a prologue, I know ;-) But wanted to use some catchy phrase for a headline, hence.

Ok, so I’ve been going over some songs and files I started to write a while back, which I haven’t even looked at for quite some time. I did so in order to identify, whether any of them were worth spending the time and making the effort to complete. I found eight more tracks in addition to the five I have released in the past years. (Why does it take me so long? That’s for some other time to “discuss” – if at all, that is). Some of those eight projects are mere musical note taking, stubs, random ideas downloaded from memory and stored for later. They don’t qualify as songs or compositions just yet, some are mere patterns or maybe a theme or something. That’s not a problem. Most times, I fairly quickly find something to add to them and ultimately come up with a chord progression, theme variations, interludes and overall structure that qualify as a song. The hard part is – mustering the enormous patience it takes to record tracks, listen to the recorded material, edit it, where necessary, walk away from it, come back, listen again, finetune, adjust, mix etc. etc. It is an effort that feels gargantuan to me. Somehow I lost the playful approach and excitement by which I went about the tedious parts of the process. And there are lots of very very tedious things involved in writing a song and “downloading” it from your brain to the fingers into the software and ultimately make it audible.

On the other hand: I can’t seem to find closure with this whole music thing. Not just yet, anyway. I’ve more than once wished I had closure and was able to just walk away from it and not look back ever again. Because… a great many things that come after the creative process – including performing – I don’t seem to have as much fun with or ever had in the first place. And that’s putting it mildly… All the sore spots I’ve been doing my best to let heal are being mercilessly pounded upon with everything that happens – or should we say might happen – after the writing process is completed. Plus, I’d have to go via crowdfunding anyway as many artist have been doing or are doing in order to get their projects off the ground. But those artists are for the most part established ones, some even stars in their respective field and genre. I’m light years away from that. Or so it feels. And setbacks have this annoying tendency to push me back another perceived (light-) years. Ugh…

But – next to the kind encouragement I am receiving from my friends on Facebook and some in real life, there is this feeling of responsibility mixed in with Capricorn’s stubborness that I… can’t vanish from the planet without at least one CD or album of (largely) original compositions. Huh. Talk about a catch 22 situation. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Hm. Maybe I can continue to work on myself to smoothe some of the edges that give me a hard time – and have the potential to give others a hard time with me as well :( If it were for some other activity, I’d say, I’m three thirds of the way there. This music beeoc* however – is a most taxing thing on every level. At the end of the day, it probably has to be this way. What do I know… :)

So back to the grind every now and then…. (P.S. I know – gratitude… and humility. Must find me some at the respective store… ;-)

logic_screenshot

P.P.S. This might help as a reminder, too – so moving!

Post Surgery Report


Hi,

just to fill those in who were curious about where I had been last week and what had happened: I underwent throat surgery, which was long overdue. About 12 years ago, an ENT doctor found a stone in one of my salivary glands, which had settled quite a ways in the back of one of the salivary ducts. He opted for the stone to come out by itsself, but that never happened. Over the years, that thing caused painful and disfiguring inflammations, which produced a full state of sickness including high temperatures and overall grogginess. I actually lost a major career related opportunity for an interview with Joyce Cooling at the 2010 Smooth Jazz Festival Augsburg that our late friend Levon Mitchell had arranged for (not the interview per se, but Ms. Joyce Cooling’s appearance in the first place). To this day, I can hardly forgive myself for having missed out and trust you me – I only miss out, when I’m really spread out flat and almost “dead” beat!

Anyways, the surgery was long due, but I had been nervous about the associated risks, which involved permanent impairment of the facial nerve in addition to your usual “standard” risks with surgery. The mouth section of the facial nerv runs in close proximity of the area that had to be cut into and removed. In very rare and very unfortunate cases there is a possibility that this nerve gets accidentally severed, in which case it will never regain its previous functions, which control a lot of mimicking, smiles, pouted lips etc. etc., in short: Most of your facial expressions to begin with. The result could have been some disfiguring condition along with slurred speech or otherwise impaired articulation and limited facial functions (even something like kissing wouldn’t have worked as before, just to give you an idea). In yet different words: A nightmare for professional speakers, singers and anyone needing to speak in public a lot. As singing is part of my musical skills – although I don’t use it much at this time in my life – it could have meant the end of that, not to mention speaking in public – and in this day and age we’re all more or less public all the time as we engage on social platforms and skype and chat via visual link all the time. So, I guess you will see the scope of my concerns there. It wasn’t so much about being scared of surgery or anesthesia in general or for reasons of vanity, but for this specific concern of facial functionality with regard to speaking, singing, articulation.

So I’m very – very! – relieved and thankful to be able to report that everything went well all things considered. They tried to remove that stone prior to removing the entire gland. However, that thing had wandered towards the back of the duct and had settled somewhere around a “corner” so that the surgeon was unable to grab it and pull it out. On the other hand, I’m satisfied now, because even if they had succeeded in removing the stone, chances were that the inflammations would have returned due to major scarring from all those previous inflammations and infections. I see the bright side of the outcome. And the brightest outcome of all is that I feel content about having conquered my fears of going in in the first place. As a lifelong sufferer from post traumatic stress disorder and complex post traumatic stress disorder due to recurring trauma in my infant and toddler years all of which happened in a medical/hospital setting, going inpatient is always a major, I mean a major trigger of unresolved trauma for me. Think of the worst nightmare you ever woke up from in cold sweat and screaming and it still doesn’t come anywhere near the feelings I reencounter with retriggered trauma. It feels like hearing your death sentence and then being hand-cuffed and lead to the gallows. No kidding, this is how something like this feels. I can keep telling myself “no, it’s a new situation, don’t feel this way” a thousand times – makes no difference! The feelings are stored in the body. So, a major part of my relief is about having overcome these deeply stored and still virulent fears that produce a full “fight or flight” reflex in the system. But I realize that I’m digressing now. For those of you, who are interested in learning more about this debilitating condition, follow the two previous links in the text above or google “PTSD” or “C-PTSD” (or go here and here). But there is a silverlining and positive outcome with this as well: Having managed to overcome this fear reminded me that it can be done, that I still have the power and choice to rise above whatever fears may be stored in my psyche and system (and they are, make no mistake about that).
I am going to do my best to ride the wake of this personal triumph in order to reclaim some more control over myself and ultimately my life at some point (although the latter is pretty much in pieces for the time being. But whatever… I’ll keep doing what I must do)

So, with these words, I wish you all a great weekend and hope you’re all being fairly safe, sound and all around happy campers.
Have a great one!

w., June 2013

P.S. Find some – slightly graphic – pictures to entertain yourself with my bubble face ;)

More Souvenirs from Memory Lane


Upon my asking, these old analog photos emerged from the vault of my home folks’ personal nostalgia collectibles: Pictures from the first ever public gig I played with the first band I played in. We called ourselves ‘Icarus’, which is the name of an ancient Latin myth figure, who builds himself wings to fly. Upon drawing too near to the sun, his wings made in part of wax melt from the heat and he fatally falls to the ground. Errrm… what were we thinking when picking that name…? ;)

Artist vs. Musician Reprise – inspired by Janice B.


What? Artist VERSUS Musician? What is this about? Don’t they come in one (crazy) package? Well, some do, some don’t. Apparently, I must fall into the latter category according to Janice B.’s brilliantly written contemplation on the subject. Reading her article as to what sets the two apart in a way, reminded me of the first time I may have – more subconsciously – found out about that. I am going to have to elaborate a bit for this statement to make sense.

I started playing in bands at around age 13. I had been playing guitar for four years with some minor formal education for two years until the local music school’s teacher ran out of material to work on by saying something like “I can’t teach you guys anything else.” (doh! LOL). I then continued to work with the only other student in my class and we’d somehow figure out how to play Beatles songs on acoustic guitars and singing along in harmony. Something like that. From that and “performing” around campfires – I was being asked to join a band, which I gladly did. From whatever pocket money I had, I bought my first electric guitar (I recall it being a Fender Stratocaster copy) and shared the guitar amp with the other guitarist in the band. Rehearsals took place in the basement of the keyboardist’s parents house and let’s just say that basement was in questionable condition… But I didn’t care, I was so pumped about being in a band and getting to perform in front of people, I put up with mold, freezing temperatures, damp fingers, lack of light and oxygen for hours on end, bickering and disputes over song arrangements and the correct phrasing of vocal and instrumental parts, the usual amount of friction between “ego mammals”, transportation issues, juggling school and other chores, making time for rehearsals, bugging out Mom to take me there in winter, in other words: The usual “side effects” of being a musician – right? Right.

So, I kept doing that for a while. At 14, a former buddy comes to visit and runs me over with his moped. Result: Ruptured ligament in the left knee, hospitalization for… the entire summer break (6 weeks in my country)! Back in the day, that meant full surgery under anesthesia, total immobility for two weeks after that, cast, crutches for bathroom “breaks”, bed-time, in short: No fun at all! (and this in summer, with high temperatures and such. Can anyone say “scratch me under that thing there? Like NOW!!!!”) My dad signed me out of hospital prematurely, so I got to be in my room at least (right under the roof, during the summer the equivalent of a George Foreman grill for human beings). All my friends were gone for the summer break, so noone came to visit. My sister was out and about. My parents were considerate enough not to go on vacation without me. So, no walking around the house or garden, bathroom breaks had to be scheduled, distraction was scarce. What was I to do? … Yup! You guessed it: Pull out the guitar and play all day! It must have been way above 100 degrees in my room (“I like my wesbound well done, please. Thank you! Got a bun and some mustard to go with that? A cold beer? You know, white people tend to be a little chewy”… LOL). I can still feel the sweat running down my chest and back from only thinking about that. But: I believe it was then when the Muse hit me in full. I would actually listen to the records I played along with, analyze what made ‘em great for me, emulate the guitar parts as best as I could and improvise with the modest skills I had then (and consider not to be too different by now). So: This may have well been my defining time as a musician first. I say “musician first”, because as I went along in understanding, what made the greatness of the song for me, I instantly wanted to do like those great composers and artists. Which is how I got into songwriting, I believe.

To come back to the subject at hand being discussed in Janice’s article: I am in total agreement with her as to what makes a musician. And there’s no judging on my part as to that, either, whatsoever. Matter of fact, it is now that I feel the ambition to become a better musician and look into ways of accomplishing that (practicing at home is just a part of that equation). And as to artist: In my book, I believe this species to be a being, who look into ways of expressing themselves and their experiences by way of their artform of choice (music, painting, writing… you name ‘em). There is a prevalent urge in saying something in such a way that everyone (with open ears and mind, that is) can relate to it. Much as for Janice, to me the greatest joy and reward in music is to write a song. Work out a chord progression. Find nice sounds to go with that. Optionally lyrics to tell a (personal) story. Make the “inner track” audible to the public. That sort of thing.

I’ve been writing songs eversince (I trashed a large stack of unfinished lyrics when moving out from home at 18). 25 years later – I have just started out (again). With a bit of life on my hands. Some insights, some lessons, some pain and some joy. I consider myself that bottle of wine that stayed dormant in the basement. The door has been opened, new light falls into the room. Time to pick up the narrative and journey.

Care to come along?

Peace,
wesbound, July 2010

P.S.: On a little less serious note: When you forget the lyrics, it’s still better to hum and look involved. Like this: