I’m in the middle of a song honeymoon. It was another one of those ideas that I tossed off in one of my columns that was too good not to write: “I Wanna Be Your Henchman”. It’s a rockin’, twisted take on – well, I’ll let you figure it out, because you’re bound to hear it soon enough, because when I’m in a song honeymoon, I just want to play the song every moment, of every day, for anyone who will listen, because I’m just that much of a genius.
Unfortunately, I don’t live alone. It would be one thing if I were just cornering the fruit flies and the dust bunnies every time I come up with another brilliant line, but I have a wife, She Who Must Be Taunted. And my wife, patient and tolerant soul though she may be, is a little worn out by my song honeymoons. “I don’t dance around the house reading you the latest chapter of my novel”, she points out, and it’s true. But people don’t read music the way they read books; music is designed to be listened to, and listening to myself in the middle of a song honeymoon is one of my favorite things in life.
What is it about the creative process? I started working on this tune last month, and three days ago, it was just a few lines scribbled in my notebook. And then I started thinking about the narrator’s motivation, and one thing led to another, and two days ago, there was a riff, and at the moment, it’s all I can do to put down my guitar for a moment to type. Seventy-two hours ago, this song literally did not exist, and now it’s a masterpiece. Sure, near the end it’s basically bricklaying, as I run through six or seven different variations on the same idea, thesaurus and rhyming dictionary in hand, looking for something that will match the meter and fit the basic concept. And then, suddenly, a line falls into place like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, and it’s back to dancing around the room.
Actually, you’ve probably seen it in my stage performances, this fevered soup of arrogance and glee. I don’t believe in getting on stage unless you have something to offer, and I don’t believe in getting on stage unless you enjoy it, and for good or ill, I’ve got both convictions in spades. And at that moment when a new song bursts forth, fully formed, with dimples around the chorus and that rosy little intro, well, I could just explode from self-satisfaction. It ain’t pretty. But at least you don’t have to live with it.