TomFlannery.com

It’s odd not being able to sleep. You find yourself doing the strangest things. Last night at 3:45am I was downloading copies of Tom Petty’s “Damn the Torpedoes” and “Southern Accents”. I love Petty, but the timing was a bit strange in retrospect. I mean….it could have waited until (later in the) morning surely.

Tired of writing music at the moment. My latest record meant a lot to me but not much to anybody else apparently, so that’s sorta demoralizing. I’ve placed the guitar in storage for the time being, and just sit and listen now. I’ll only know if things have sunk in when I start writing again.

Sleep is underrated if you’re not getting any, and overrated if you get 8 hours.

And just a Tom Petty thought. I’ve always distrusted people who keep the same hair-style their entire lives. They remind me too much of Jackson Browne, and Jackson Browne always kinda gave me the creeps. Petty is a legit hall-of-famer for sure, but the 70s must have put the zap on his head somehow. Why else would somebody intentionally want to continue looking like the blond Iggy Pop?

In a bit…

tf

Gonna make a power-pop record.

Acoustic of course, as I don’t have 2 nickels to rub together.

Gotta find me some hooks. Gotta change my guitar strings (from medium to light….what the hell). Gotta start scribbling and humming to myself. Gotta channel my inner Brendan Benson.

When to start? Maybe in January. When I’m done I may take up knitting. It pays more.

In a bit…

–tf

Getting real itchy now. Thinking of barreling forward and just making another record. Maybe one of those “and now for something completely different” records. All songs about pelicans or maybe songs with no major chords in them or 10 songs that each contain the same mount of words. Perhaps a concept album about my duel man-crush on Noel Gallagher and Brendan Benson.

So you see, there’s never a shortage of ideas. Just time. And not sleeping can take care of much of the latter. And it’s amazing how your latest record not selling gets you thinking about making a new one. It’s the best record I’ve ever made. Not much I can do about it. Maybe I’ll become famous when I’m dead and Pete Townshend’s Ghost will be the subject of a book by Greil Marcus. Hell, if “Apple Suckling Tree” was deemed genius, I can’t be that far behind.

Now, where are those pills?

In a bit…

–tf

New record is done. I’m proud of it. Nobody really gives a shite.

Now what? I’m bored.

In a bit…

–tf

I’m pretty proud of the darn thing. Cut the last song this morning…and it’s out there for the world now. I hope it does something to or for ya.

Time to sleep for a week. Then maybe write some more songs. Fun innit?

In a bit…

–tf

Ten songs. Complete. Cut. I’m done.

Except I’m not. I’ve decided it needs 11.

I’ve got a song called “The Hidden” that I tried once before and could never get a handle of. Now something is telling me that this is the one to end the record.

Except it’s not really a song yet. It’s just a fragment. A whisper. Maybe it needs to stay that way. It might be the best way to kiss Jimmy goodbye. Leave questions. Leave room for escape…..or total rupture. Finality sucks.

I need to think on it more.

In a bit…

–tf

I’ll be out of town for a few days. Got to get the music back in my head. If all goes well I’ll be able to finalize the CD by next week. Maybe getting out of dodge is just what I need. Some late planes and lost bags and confiscated mouthwash and wondering why to get where I’m going I have to go through Detroit. Getting nabbed for extra screening at the airport because I’m traveling alone and have a vaguely sinister middle-eastern type beard. Cab drivers who don’t speak English and need directions from you and seem mad that you have the temerity to ask them to take you anywhere. Room service and insomnia and plenty of late-night reading in a place where everybody talks kinda funny but still manages to be way more polite than the average Scrantonian, which admittedly isn’t that hard but still comes as a shock to a jaded Easterner from the slums. $2.50 Diet Cokes out of the 4th floor vending machine…..the one next to the ice maker that has been leaking for 4 years. And of course nightly video chats with my kids on Skype…..one of the few good things to ever come out of the internet…..the other being music you can…er…borrow.

I’ll have my legal pads and hopefully something will come to me as I sit and wonder how we can put men on the moon but not fly 500 miles without being delayed 4 hours and told at least 3 times that using your cell phone or Ipod might cause the plane to crash. If that’s the case, shouldn’t they be more concerned with screening for cell phones and Ipods than Scope and Crest?

It’s gonna be around 70 degrees today and tomorrow so I was hasty in saying summer was gone. It will never go away. I’m going to sweat and cut grass forever and dream of snow and skull caps.

In a bit…

–tf

Here’s how it happens.

I’m working on a new song. As usual, I’ve got most of the lyrics written first, and I’m searching for a melody. It won’t come.

I’m sitting on my ratty office couch, playing an E chord and a D chord. Back and forth. Like a metronome. Something pops into my head. I start to hum. Then my daughter yells down the steps. It’s time to take her to basketball practice.

I dutifully get up, walk halfway up the steps, and realize that if I don’t record the little snippet I was just humming to myself, it’ll be gone.

So I spin around on the 6th step, and head back downstairs. A peek at the clock tells me I’ve got time. At least a few minutes. So I plop back down on the couch, grab my lyric sheet, dig out the old hand-held wave recorder that my dog has nudged between the cushions, and play the E-D combination again. I get to the 2nd to last line of the verse. An A chord is obvious. It fits. I sing the entire verse into the recorder. It’s simple. But it works. Much of the new record is based on the E-D-A progression. It’s as old as “Gloria” and as adaptable as a politician facing a voter’s revolt.

In the middle of the recording is my girl yelling for me from the top of the steps saying she’s going to be late.

I need a bridge for the song though. Now what?

You know what. The bridge will have to wait.

It’s the order of things.

In a bit…

–tf

Summer is over. With a vengeance. Fine with me. I hate summer. I long for the crispness of autumn, with it’s explosion of colors. The fireplace pilot-light has been lit. Those late nights, when the house is perfectly quiet and I’m warmed by the fire and a good book (or maybe a good game)…..man….nothing like it.

But now I’m hearing they’re calling for 2 inches of snow on Friday. This is a bit much even for me. The colors I want are red and brown and yellow. Not white. I’m still cutting my grass. I don’t want to break out the shovel. But so it goes. Up and down and ’round and ’round until you’re fortunate enough to be pointed in the right direction. Some dive-bomb into the ground thinking the highway goes on forever. Poor saps.

In the meantime, “Pete Townshend’s Ghost” roles merrily along, with or without me apparently. Still awaiting that final bolt of inspiration that’ll allow me to wrap this sucker up.

Watched my daughter’s basketball team get devoured by 30 points last night. Not good for the creative process.

In a bit…

–tf

Re-cut 3 songs. Again. Totally re-arranged them. Again. I can’t make up my mind on anything. Slow. Fast. Harp. No harp. Strum. Pick. Scream. Whisper. Toss. Keep. Black. White. Send more troops. Nominate myself for the Nobel Peace Prize. It goes on and on.

Got 9 songs. Still need that last one. It’s gotta be killer. So far, my attempts to create it have been interesting, but ultimately horrifying from a songwriting point of view. I’ve cut the proposed title track 3 times, and it still sucks donkey balls. I know it’s a good song. I just can’t figure out how to play the damn thing yet.

Quite the little project I’ve placed upon myself. At the very least,  I’m driving myself completely batshit, so boredom is not an issue.

Some day’s you’re the windshield, and some days you’re the bug. I think Abraham Lincoln said that. Or maybe it was Dire Straits.

These songs will be what they will be. Nothing I can do about it apparently.

In a bit…

–tf