An Ode to the Song Hole

To write or not to write. That is the question.

Whether it is nobler in the mind to pen rhymes on scattered shopping lists strewn about the house and suffer the slings and Legos of a complacent four year old in his outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of accumulated junk piled six feet high and ten feet deep.

And by opposing the pack rat tendencies of an indecisive wife, end them.

To write, to think.

To think, perchance to dream.

Aye, there's the rub.

For in that dream of life, what songs may come?

When I have shuffled off those ill fitting clothes, broken toys, and Ikea furniture and finally have time for pause.

There's the respect that makes calamity of such a messy garage.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of a sixteen year old boy who only wants to sing and dance, even if it means totally destroying my ability to compose a melody without the infectious groove of Lady Gaga sneaking her off key harmonies into my middle eight?

 Alas, the song hole is emptied of most of it's clutter. The space is open, the door is closed, there are pens with ink, and countless spiral notebooks waiting to be filled. There are musical instruments of every kind.

 And a leather chair that leans back.

 But I digress.

 Some of the best songwriting advice I've ever been given came from a book.

 That's right, a book.

 Not one of those "Learn How to Write a Top Ten Hit!" kind of books, but a large paperback written by songwriter Jimmy Webb simply called "Tunesmith"

 This book should be required reading for anyone who puts words to music.

 Yeah, its a little outdated now. And some of it is too technical for a dilitante. And my personal copy has broken bindings and dog eared pages, and more than one coffee stain, but its such a nurturing manual for the art and craft of songwriting that I'll probably make Calvin read it as soon as he graduates from Dr. Suess.

 More to the point however is that the book insists that the writer absolutely must create a safe place for themselves.

 A physical space that can't be corrupted by ringing telephones, fights over video games, and the disney channel.

 I have had such spaces in my past. In my single years, it was my room. In my college years it was the space beneath the main stage that housed the old velvet curtains. Just before my nephew was born it was a guest bedroom at my soon to be in-laws house down the street. 

 Since then, however, my song hole has existed only in the quiet of the late evening, or the peace before school lets out. My song hole was always at the mercy of a family schedule.

 My garage is the perfect space.

 But it's not a studio. Even though the door to the house is weather sealed, the outside noises are crystal clear. Any microphone would pick up cars and dogs several blocks away. The water heater and washing machine are constantly battling over "most noisy appliance. And it's simply not breathable during the summer when the styfling heat sucks the life out of me. But when the rain begins to fall and the air begins to clear, I can feel my whole universe slip back into focus. Melodies rise easily from the din of white noise, and lyrics guide themselves as I hold the pen to the paper. Even though I may never use it to record a tune, the song hole is a place for creation.

However, it fills up with clutter so fast that when I go in there to write, I can't even wheel my chair from the desk to the piano. Squeezed by so much clutter I feel claustrophobic and writing becomes a violent act of fighting compression.

 So yesterday I cleaned it out.

 An entire truck load of junk.

 And now I have my space again.  

 And today it begins to rain.