Caturday dawn musings
“Too many notes!” goes the famous line in Amadeus, Miloš Forman’s classic Mozart biopic. How many notes? I love that scene and may watch it again soon, my goodness, that was 1984? Time does fly. Of course, the depiction of Salieri is unfair and probably very wrong, but hey, movies gonna movie.
How many notes? How many words? Ah, I know! However many the composer wants there to be. I’m no Mozart but I have been a prolific composer of late, and I enjoy it. That’s the first dimension of success, for an artist, I believe, and it is one that is easily overshadowed by the soul-destroying horrors of late-stage fuckery. Does your work get “Likes?” Do people buy it? Are you wearing expensive gear on Instaderp to make your friends and rivals jealous, all this rot. It’ll give you boils.
I love the song Hot Mess, by girli. Like many a brilliant young artist before her, she declares and takes control of her own art and life. I play that song to get moving in the morning sometimes, as it inspires me a certain way. Her live presence is also fantastic, as I have mentioned before in these very pages.
Pages. Pages and pages I used to write, during my protracted bout of the dreaded Writer’s Block. Wait, I wrote, then? What about the Block? Well, that’s the fun of Writer’s Block, campers, it can take many forms. I tried to write. This is not the same thing as writing. Not to flog the tedious but yeah, I wrote, in my teens, fluently. By the time I was 22, I was trying to write. The world had caught up with me, terrible facts of adulting, with nothing making the grand simple sense that it did when I was 17.
Eventually, I learned to write again. And writing is SO much more fun, than trying to.
What brings this up? Oh my, I have ONE more BOX worth of old notebooks from that blocky period, having gone through four already, slowly but surely when I find time, to see if there’s anything in there I want to keep rather than scrap the whole pile. I may tackle it this weekend or next. I am reminded of Spalding Gray’s Monster In A Box, though his meaning was not exactly the same. For me it’s page after page of me trying to understand, which, took the form of trying to write.
This song I wrote Monday, Just Waiting For The Rain, is very short, practically a jingle. It actually got shorter as I worked on it, as the point was pretty simple. It’s a prayer for rain, in context of current events and all that means. There’s no musical bridge, no instrumental lead part, just a strummy, folky hi and bye. Quite unlike much of my material, which can be very wordy and elaborate indeed. Let the song lead, I say, that’s my method, that’s the fun, for me! The song will tell you how many notes.
Glad it’s Caturday, gonna enjoy some maintenance on ye olde studio office home cattery, do the laundry and such, chop wood, carry water. And I suppose I’ll look at the contents of the “monster” box, now that it’s on my mind.
Letters To A Young Poet, by Rainer Maria Rilke. Nancy Hess gave me a copy when I was 25 or so, and it was a significant gift. I recommend the book generally, as it is a fun read, and also specifically, if you or a friend may be wrestling with the ol’ Block.
What moods might motivate me to write again? I do not know! But I feel like a kid on Easter wondering what shiny colored surprises await behind the next hedge. And I enjoy, finally, my complete uncertainty as to how others may perceive the ones I’ve found before. If I get an idea that I like, then once I commit to it, I just try to get out of its way and let it come to life. This can happen quickly and easily, or it can involve considerable effort. Either way fine with me. I like my song journal, now. In 2015, I didn’t. I felt it was woefully incomplete. Now, it feels current.
Ten years since my dad passed, Sept. 25, 2015. A few days after that, I thought, hmm, ya know, I don’t have forever to do this. So I started producing my own material. And all of this happened:
https://ericdin.bandcamp.com/
Many moods indeed.
I don’t use generative Ai for any creative work – writing, images, music, just none, ever, for reasons having to do with The Very Meaning Of Life. But, I don’t judge anyone for trying that stuff, hell, it’s their business, not mine, and after all I get all kinds of writing assistance the gent in this photo. To each and all their own,
Carpe Diem,
Din
Originally posted here
