TomFlannery.com

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

I get the thing close….and then it rolls back down to the bottom and nearly flattens me. But I got a few more attempts left in me before my arms fall off.

Always remember…..if shit was gold the poor wouldn’t have assholes.

That’s the kinda world I’m forced to try to be creative in.

Just wrote and cut a song today called “Pills and Jesus”.

Four eyes and a mixed up head
beer cans underneath the bed
short skirts, fruit, and snakes
and time to transubstantiate

You think you have issues?

In my spare time I’ve also come to the conclusion that Joe DiMaggio killed Kennedy. It’s so obvious I’m surprised it took me this long to figure it out.

I’ve discovered Will Hoge too…..got about 6 of his records. Killer stuff. Honest straight ahead rock and roll….and he sings like Otis Redding just to make me even more jealous. His music is certainly helping me deal with my latest crisis, which is merely the potential for utter catastrophic financial ruin. Ain’t no big thang. I’m actually kinda amazed I’ve avoided this for so long.

Anyway….gotta twiddle some more.

In a bit….

–tf

Spent all day Sunday recording. Eight songs done. Like the flush of young love, I felt better Sunday night than I did on Monday morning.

Some good stuff there I think. Some dreck too, which needs to be addressed. Some re-writes are in order…..which I hate because I’m never sure if I’m trying to make a song better or make it less terrible.

Need a few days to clear the head. Then back in the cold water…

In a bit..

–tf

Have decided to scrap the recordings I have….and re-do everything all in a single session. That should give the songs some continuity of sound, which should help hold the perceived narrative together. Such is the hope anyway.

Still working on the last few songs. Getting more excited about it now. All I really need is about 6 more hours in a day…..and the ability to take caffeine intravenously as well as orally. I couldn’t imagine my giddiness if I was actually getting paid for this shit.

As I type this my dog is at my feet literally ripping the stuffing out of her stuffed blue bear. She may be trying to tell me something.

In a bit…

–tf

Just wrote this song.

Of course Jimmy wants to be a rocker. What kid doesn’t? He wants to swing his arm like a maniac and tear his fingers apart until they bleed and leave shreds of Gibson’s and Telecaster’s in his wake……and then go backstage and plunder like a Hun.

Nice work if you can get it.

In a bit…

–tf

Sat down late last night at my desk….in the dark except for a dying green tinted desk lamp, and out came a song called “I’m Still Me”. Jimmy is taking all the hits….from a Mother who has turned to television preachers to a Dad who worships at the altar of Jim Beam. Jimmy’s face drones away in the hallway like a teacher in front of a sleeping class, too long in the job. He’s no more than a blip on somebody’s statistical survey map. But without the struggle to become something other than piped in store Muzak, what’s the point? So he contemplates his next move….

As do I.

In a bit…

–tf

Been struggling with a song called “Another True Believer”. Think I finally got it right last night. Time will tell. Such a simple little song, but it kept squirming out of my grasp. Like trying to pick up water with your hands.

Been a tough few days in the neighborhood. We all lost a wonderful piece of our lives, and it hurts individually and collectively. Sometimes you just wish you could turn back the clock. But time hits you like a train. Anyway, work is the refuge, as a friend once said. I believe that to be true. I’m trying to lose myself in mine.

Over the last few weeks I’ve also stitched together a rough first draft of the play for high school students I’ve been asked to write. I need to type it up, as right now it’s all scribbled in longhand all over a legal pad. Hopefully there’s some coherence buried in there.

Have a new lyric I’m going to try to lay down today. A few more ideas. I’m putting my Jimmy through the ringer. But he’s a kid. He can take it.

Anyway, don’t take anything for granted. It could all be taken away. Do what you do, and do it to the best of your ability. And if you can do it today, don’t wait until tomorrow.

In a bit…

–tf

Five songs are done. Cut them during my lunch hour today.

Now the sprint to the end. Jimmy has already been through a lot. I see more clouds on his horizon.

In a bit…

–tf