This Is Your Song…
Personal soundtracks and mixtapes are intensely personal experiences—both in the making and in the listening. I’ve spent hours upon hours putting together mixes for others and mixes for myself, even if its merely for the hours upon hours I might trek through the city on foot or languish on a bicycle along the river that runs through our metropolis. Over time, certain songs become tightly threaded to certain individuals or moments or periods in one’s life.
In one of my recent columns for 303 Magazine, I briefly described the first time I ever listened to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon while driving to the city late one night—it was sublime in a way that language is incapable of doing justice; in short, I ended up high as a kite by the time I reached my destination without having imbibed a thing—all from listening to that record. Neither the memory nor the sensation has ever faded from memory.
Much like that drive all those years ago, I’ve attached songs and scores to people and moments I’ve shared with people…still, it’s the moments that never were and the songs that stain the helpless longing for what never came to be that haunt me most. We know these songs: tracks that set the tone for funerals and memorial services, whimsy that conjures memories out of the dust of years past, and musicians whose name plastered on a marquee instantly arouses the face of the deceased.
There remains one person in my life for whom there is no song. When living, he was my song and between us we shared a lifetime of tunes—too many to declare just one as his and just one as mine. In the decade since his passing, too many records have come and gone during the ups and downs of bereavement; grief and its music is a silent, internal thing—felt, but not spoken. I can pick off dozens of tracks whose notes served to guide through the unending nights and pushed through the days upon days upon days. There are songs for rebuilding, for celebrating, for passing the time…but these remain for my life and not his.
So for now, he remains a song-less wonder and his memory a vast library of singles and EPs and soundtracks not originally released.
For those whose life has been touched with loss, what songs would you bequeath the dead? To give them a song of their own that would somehow honor who they were to you and yet honor the impact their memory has had on your life in the meantime?
Drawing the Line of Personal Privacy Online: Where is it?
The more that I work as a journalist and as a writer, the more I feel the need/desire to censor myself—even just for personal space reasons. I’m a public person for the sole fact that I work in journalism, so boundaries between personal and professional have to be in place to some degree…you have to maintain some level of personal and professional integrity.
The internet was born and came of age after I was born, so the compulsion to share everything and anything about oneself is something I thankfully lack. However, I have struggled at times in deciding what to share of my personal life on this blog and other social media platforms—what do you share that will connect with your readers? What do you share to build some sense of a relationship/friendship with said readers? After all, social media is about and is formed around community, is it not?
Still, I try to keep my personal life out of it…most of the time.
This doesn’t exactly happen when it comes to writing about music. Music is such a visceral experience and the joy in sharing music with others revolves around that innate relationship we all have to music—removing personal experience just isn’t possible. I have the wonderful consequence of listening to some amazing sounds, boomeranging conversations with some prolific songwriters and composers, and at the end of the day teem with an intangible resulting spark.
My work in the industry has undoubtedly led to relationships and friendships that I wouldn’t trade for anything…you find your people where you find your people. What I haven’t wasn’t prepared for (who knows why? It’s the music industry, right?) were groupies (theirs, not mine.) Groupies are different than hardcore fans (All groupies are fans, but not all fans are groupies.) and the lack of distinction between what is appropriate to share and what is far too personal to blast to “public” people IN PUBLIC has me wondering what the hell happened.
Am I just behind on a trend that I find appalling? Or am I the weirdo that looks at the trend of over-sharing personal information as a voluntary violation of personal privacy? Granted, it’s not just groupies that do it…I guess that everyone wants the fifteen minutes of fame that Warhol guaranteed all those years ago. Or perhaps I’m still wrapped up in Marshall McLuhan’s “the message is in the medium.”
So where do you draw it? How personal is too personal? How personal is not personal enough?
And what is the kicker in setting those boundaries?
Transitioning From Print to Digital: A Word from 303 Magazine
Last Friday, one of the magazines I write for announced that after seven years, it will discontinue production of its print publication and move fully digital (which is sad, but exciting!) What this means for all of us at 303 is yet to be seen, but our editor-in-chief, Laura Standley, addresses the transition while pulling no punches in the post above. If you like what I write or support what 303 does or even if you just like to support local publications or whatever digital media you consume, please give the post some love and attention. We are only as good as the community of which we’re a part and that includes our readers.
Sunday Slowdown
“Blue Room” ~ Chet Baker
This weekend has required some mellower tunes for living to. Though jazz can be rambunctious and spirited, the more languorous collection of notes à la a fine trumpet and strutting bass or cello is more my style…at least this weekend.
So, let me present one of my favorite Baker tunes.
Sucking: The Most Important Thing About Writing
Everyone has their own opinion about what makes for good writing: what you should pay attention to in terms of delivering to your readers, formatting, style, and a million other bullshit boundaries that are supposed to elevate your writing on this mythical pedestal, magically illuminating it in all its prodigious potential.
What they don’t tell you is that your writing should suck—to someone. If you’re not pissing someone off with your content or overusing footnotes as part of your style or breaking the rules, you’re not writing well.
And is it not true that fecund writers such as Dostoevsky or Adrienne Rich or Walter Benjamin would not be nearly as prolific without the biters?
