Every weekday morning in 1989, the school bus would scoop me up from the end of my long, gravel driveway in Minnesota and deliver me to Stillwater Middle School. For 23 precious minutes, I got to listen to pop radio blare everything from Madonna and Phil Collins to the Steve Miller Band and Bon Jovi. Eighth grade in America never shone so bright. Popular music, in the ’80s and early ’90s, was a seductive companion—and for many of us, a way to make sense of our world and our human experiences.
Today, I work with musicians of all intentions, ages, and aptitudes. What is common among all of us is that we were initially drawn to music because of how it made us feel. It gives meaning and intrigues us, mind, body, and soul. More than ever before, the ease with which music can be made and consumed has left many musicians feeling invisible, undervalued, and discouraged. This collision between the commerce of music and the act of music-making is where so many of my clients get stuck. It’s the place where outcome and urge meet, and too often we assume the lack of congruence between the two indicates a problem within ourselves. But creativity itself is not tied to commercialism. It’s tied to being human. Musicians don’t create because we’re guaranteed a result; we create because something inside urges us to.
Dedicating our lives to discovering the melodic, harmonic, rhythmic, and lyrical choices that define our personal style in the world can feel like a huge risk. It is, in effect, deciding to become the most potent, most concentrated version of ourselves, even as the world outside may not approve. It is perhaps the most vulnerable action we can take in life. No wonder we sometimes retreat and lose sight of our creative flow.
I’d like to share with you a toolkit for reconnecting with that creative flow and answering the urge to write. The practice of these tools will help you learn who you are as an artist, define your natural style, and pinpoint where you can grow and expand. Think of this kit like a cowriter—there to enhance your natural aptitude and always available to help you hear your instincts more clearly.
The Toolkit
Songs, like conversations, have structure and body language. In other words, the way we deliver an idea matters as much as the idea itself. There are four core elements in our control when we’re writing with a single instrument and vocals:
- Lyrics
- Melody
- Chords
- Rhythm
Each of these elements can be practiced, strengthened, and used more deliberately in conjunction with the other three. Most of us can pinpoint the element, or elements, we’re most comfortable with. Even the genre in which our music fits can often be traced back to the elements we feel most able to control. In many ways, our style chooses us rather than the other way around.
Many times, we write unaware of all the ways we influence each element. I’d like to offer a 30-minute routine designed to invite creative flow and expansion on a more regular basis for seven consecutive days.
In the next three articles, I’ll dive into each element and share exercises for developing the musical “body language” that gives our songs power, clarity, and emotional impact.