"I hate puzzles. Nothing makes me feel more inept than trying to build a puzzle (EDIT: See calculus).
When I was a kid my parents used to keep these old, ratty puzzle boxes stacked in the beach condo we spent our summers at. At some point, I’d get a burst of inspiration and wander over to the pile of boxes, grab one with a puppy or flower pot on the cover and think How hard could this be?
I’d sit down, dump the 100-odd pieces across the table, and start pulling out the most obvious corner pieces.
Easy enough. I’d start congratulating myself for finishing the puzzle at a Guinness-World Record pace. Then shit got hairy. I’d reach for the next piece, and when I couldn’t connect it with a corner slot, I’d get flustered.
This is stupid. A little voice would say. The hundred little pieces on the table would multiply into a thousand, and I’d feel stupid.
Then the voice again. You suck. I’d give up. Who cares about some stupid puppy puzzle, anyway?
Writing a song is a lot like building a puzzle. Perfectly written songs don’t just fall out of me. I’m not one of those people. Fuck those people.
For me songwriting (and writing in general) is a slow, arduous battle from the second an idea is born, to the finish line. It’s a battle against the voices telling me I suck.
I spend a long time fumbling when I write: I sing nonsense melodies and lyrics until a light goes off. Something excites me.
I’ll take that little piece and set off building this grand, scheming picture in my head of what the finished song will look like. It will be THE BEST SONG I HAVE EVER WRITTEN.
And then...something won’t connect; I won’t know where to go with the chorus or how to finish a verse.
That’s where the voice kicks in: Nope, no chorus here. Maybe check in the fridge? Patty Griffin already wrote this song 10 times better. Are your thighs bigger? You should get to the gym. Where is Seth Glier touring this year? Your metaphors suck. Never should have dropped out of college. You suck. -- I was explaining the entire creative process to a friend recently - and apparently, there’s a name for it: The Hype Cycle.
That point when the voices kick in? Aptly named: “The Trough of Disillusionment.” It’s what stands between me and every piece of finished work.
Here’s the thing: 99.9% of everything I've ever written started out...kind of sucking.
Case in point: check out this early brainstorm of the first verse of my song, “Sweet on Me”: [audio mp3=""http://alytadros.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Sweet-on-me-early-demo-for-blog.mp3""][/audio] I sound like a babbling idiot, right?
The song continued to change and develop, until I finally got to the finished product...
ONE YEAR LATER: [audio mp3=""http://alytadros.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Sweet-on-me-finished-product-for-blog.mp3""][/audio] - The NUMBER ONE reason I didn’t give up on that song: I gave myself permission to be weird.
I’d literally just read an interview with Tom Waits where he talked about writing nonsense lyrics for fun. So I let myself be silly.
When the pieces didn't connect, I kept moving like nonsense was my job. And eventually, I fell in love with this silly little love song. I’ve done “songwriting lodges” where my goal was to write 20 songs in 12 hours. In those cases, it didn’t matter what I wrote: could be a space opera about falling in love, or a commercial jingle for mattresses. The only thing that mattered was that I finished.
I knew that going in; so when the voices inevitably started up, I kept writing. I had to. I had a job to do. Eventually, writing became fun again.
Here’s the thing: the asshole voice in my head never really goes away. The point isn’t to banish it. It’s really more about tipping my hat to it and saying, OK, crazy pants, I get that this song might suck. I get that you think I look stupid and everyone will hate it. But I’m going to keep going. Because I have to.
I have to give myself permission to be mediocre, or kind of weird, or flat out suck. If a song sucks, it’s not the end of the world. If I stop creating, it is.
For me, being creative is about survival. It’s my pressure-release valve.
As Jesus of Nazareth said (yes, I’m quoting Jesus): “Bring forth what is within you, and what is within you will save you. Do not bring forth what is within you, and what is within you will destroy you.” - The asshole voice in my head doesn’t know that.
The asshole thinks that by stopping me, it’s protecting me from harm. Silly asshole. I know better. Every awkward line is just another piece in the puzzle; my work is never really done. That’s what making art is: expression, and evolution.
So you want to be an artist? Give yourself permission to suck.
Then suck more.
When I was a kid my parents used to keep these old, ratty puzzle boxes stacked in the beach condo we spent our summers at. At some point, I’d get a burst of inspiration and wander over to the pile of boxes, grab one with a puppy or flower pot on the cover and think How hard could this be?
I’d sit down, dump the 100-odd pieces across the table, and start pulling out the most obvious corner pieces.
Easy enough. I’d start congratulating myself for finishing the puzzle at a Guinness-World Record pace. Then shit got hairy. I’d reach for the next piece, and when I couldn’t connect it with a corner slot, I’d get flustered.
This is stupid. A little voice would say. The hundred little pieces on the table would multiply into a thousand, and I’d feel stupid.
Then the voice again. You suck. I’d give up. Who cares about some stupid puppy puzzle, anyway?
Writing a song is a lot like building a puzzle. Perfectly written songs don’t just fall out of me. I’m not one of those people. Fuck those people.
For me songwriting (and writing in general) is a slow, arduous battle from the second an idea is born, to the finish line. It’s a battle against the voices telling me I suck.
I spend a long time fumbling when I write: I sing nonsense melodies and lyrics until a light goes off. Something excites me.
I’ll take that little piece and set off building this grand, scheming picture in my head of what the finished song will look like. It will be THE BEST SONG I HAVE EVER WRITTEN.
And then...something won’t connect; I won’t know where to go with the chorus or how to finish a verse.
That’s where the voice kicks in: Nope, no chorus here. Maybe check in the fridge? Patty Griffin already wrote this song 10 times better. Are your thighs bigger? You should get to the gym. Where is Seth Glier touring this year? Your metaphors suck. Never should have dropped out of college. You suck. -- I was explaining the entire creative process to a friend recently - and apparently, there’s a name for it: The Hype Cycle.
That point when the voices kick in? Aptly named: “The Trough of Disillusionment.” It’s what stands between me and every piece of finished work.
Here’s the thing: 99.9% of everything I've ever written started out...kind of sucking.
Case in point: check out this early brainstorm of the first verse of my song, “Sweet on Me”: [audio mp3=""http://alytadros.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Sweet-on-me-early-demo-for-blog.mp3""][/audio] I sound like a babbling idiot, right?
The song continued to change and develop, until I finally got to the finished product...
ONE YEAR LATER: [audio mp3=""http://alytadros.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Sweet-on-me-finished-product-for-blog.mp3""][/audio] - The NUMBER ONE reason I didn’t give up on that song: I gave myself permission to be weird.
I’d literally just read an interview with Tom Waits where he talked about writing nonsense lyrics for fun. So I let myself be silly.
When the pieces didn't connect, I kept moving like nonsense was my job. And eventually, I fell in love with this silly little love song. I’ve done “songwriting lodges” where my goal was to write 20 songs in 12 hours. In those cases, it didn’t matter what I wrote: could be a space opera about falling in love, or a commercial jingle for mattresses. The only thing that mattered was that I finished.
I knew that going in; so when the voices inevitably started up, I kept writing. I had to. I had a job to do. Eventually, writing became fun again.
Here’s the thing: the asshole voice in my head never really goes away. The point isn’t to banish it. It’s really more about tipping my hat to it and saying, OK, crazy pants, I get that this song might suck. I get that you think I look stupid and everyone will hate it. But I’m going to keep going. Because I have to.
I have to give myself permission to be mediocre, or kind of weird, or flat out suck. If a song sucks, it’s not the end of the world. If I stop creating, it is.
For me, being creative is about survival. It’s my pressure-release valve.
As Jesus of Nazareth said (yes, I’m quoting Jesus): “Bring forth what is within you, and what is within you will save you. Do not bring forth what is within you, and what is within you will destroy you.” - The asshole voice in my head doesn’t know that.
The asshole thinks that by stopping me, it’s protecting me from harm. Silly asshole. I know better. Every awkward line is just another piece in the puzzle; my work is never really done. That’s what making art is: expression, and evolution.
So you want to be an artist? Give yourself permission to suck.
Then suck more.