Creativity at the Intersection of Music and Words
By Guest | July 22, 2024 |
Today, it’s our honor to welcome longtime friend of WU Chris Blake today as our guest. Chris is a writer and editor with many years of daily newspaper reporting experience. After leaving the newspaper business in the 1990s, he served for 20 years as a senior manager for several trade and professional associations. He is currently an adjunct journalism professor at Southern Connecticut State University in New Haven, CT, and is the communications coordinator for the Connecticut Bankers Association. He has written an unpublished novel, A Prayer for Maura. Chris lives in Westerly, RI.
Please read on for a beautiful and personal post about the intersection of music and words–and son and father.
On Dec. 31, 2023, my son, Peter, passed away. He was only 25 years old. It was sudden and unexpected. He had an undiagnosed heart ailment. Peter was a talented musician who played the bass guitar. In the months since Peter’s passing, I think about him often and cling to memories of watching him play his upright bass at public performances.
Peter was a creative person at heart. Music was like oxygen to him, much as writing is to me. He was a quiet young man, but on stage he came alive. He leaned into his upright bass and his fingers flew across the fret board. I watched him perform countless times with jazz ensembles at various venues throughout Connecticut, and was blown away by each performance.
Some of my closest friends are musicians, and I am struck by both the similarities and differences in how musicians and writers approach their craft.
Process
In both music and writing, the creative process—the act of writing a song or novel—is unique to each artist.
As a writer, I thrive on structure and order. Peter thrived on (in the words of our esteemed leader, Therese Walsh) “good chaos.” Yet, the bass player joins the drummer in providing structure within a jazz melody. Peter was often part of the house band at open-mic nights at Black Eyed Sally’s restaurant in Hartford, laying down a steady beat, while adapting to the rhythm of the song and the various solos rendered by other musicians. There was always space within the melody for free-form solos. Good chaos.
In an interview with Rolling Stone magazine, Jeff Tweedy, the songwriter and lead vocalist for the alt-rock band, Wilco, was asked about the songwriting process. “I’m not sure I can demystify something I feel wholly inadequate to explain,” he said. “For me, the moments that make my scalp tingle a little bit are when I hear myself sing a lyric out loud for the first time. On occasion I make myself cry. Not because I’m marveling at my songwriting genius or I’m overcome with my poetic gifts. It’s a moment that feels more like I’m witnessing something better than me, or better than what I imagined I could make, being born.”
I get that same feeling, but only on rare occasions. I once sat down and wrote a scene that went on for 35 pages. I was in the moment. Time did not exist. The words flowed out of me. I suspect I was experiencing something similar to what Tweedy discusses here.
I felt that way about Peter when watching him play the bass. In the words of Tweedy, I was witnessing something better than my son. His performances looked easy to the casual observer, but were hard-earned.
What people saw on stage seemed effortless, a musician in tune with his instrument, acting as one. What people didn’t see, and what I often heard, was Peter in his room, practicing for hours on end, his fingertips so raw that he needed a balm to ease the pain.
It’s the same with writers. The reader sees the final product but not the hours and hours a writer spent in front of a blank screen. Sometimes the words flow like a river. Other times, it feels like squeezing the tube to eke out the last dribble of toothpaste. But, in the end, much is the same for musicians and writers: Practice, practice, practice.
Commitment
Musicians and writers make a lifelong commitment to hone their craft. This means putting in the time, whether it’s alone in a room practicing a song, or getting the “butt in chair” and grinding out that work in progress. Years ago, I heard a presentation by Allan Williams at a Beatles convention in Boston. Williams was the Beatles’ first manager and he arranged for the band to play a series of dates at clubs in Hamburg, Germany in 1960. The young musicians faced an alcohol-fueled audience that demanded they play for hours on end and threw beer bottles at the stage when they were unhappy with the band’s performance. The Beatles learned quickly how to make the customers happy, playing tight, animated sets. When the band returned to Liverpool, they were transformed into a high-energy quartet.
One of my oldest and closest friends is a veteran musician who has recorded his songs and produced other artists for 40 years. He cut his teeth as a teen-ager by taking guitar lessons and practicing until he grew calluses on his fingers. He left his childhood home to move to New York City just so he could be closer to more performing and recording opportunities, and he is still there.
Passion
Commitment and depth of knowledge are useful to creative artists, but these traits only take a person so far. Passion is the most important ingredient.
In his brief and excellent book, “How to Write One Song: Loving the Things We Create and How They Love Us Back,” Jeff Tweedy revealed that he works on a song every single day—that’s right, every day—even when Wilco is on tour.
Passion fuels commitment. Passion makes the artist want to learn about the creative process and how the great composers and writers did it. Passion is what keeps me seeking to learn about the craft of fiction, even as I approach my seventh decade of life. Peter had that passion. Shy by nature, he could tell stories about the experiences of the jazz greats that occurred decades before he was born and he was always listening to or reading about music and musical artists.
Talking with one of Peter’s friends after the calling hours, the friend remarked about how knowledgeable Peter was about the roots of jazz and other musical genres. His musical heroes included Bill Evans, Charle Mingus, Jaco Pastorius, and Thelonius Monk. And it wasn’t just jazz. He raided my vinyl album collection and cherry picked albums by the Beach Boys, the Beatles, Elton John, the Rolling Stones and Steely Dan, among others. He listened to a variety of genres, from classical, to hip hop, from heavy metal, and prog rock. Similarly, writers cheat themselves if they don’t read widely in many genres. Peter was a reader as well as a musician and he insisted that I read the Dune series by Frank Herbert. I thought the first three books were brilliant and prophetic. I believe the series lost steam with the fourth book. Though I am partial to family sagas and women’s fiction, I still read genres ranging from historical fiction to romance, from literary fiction to sci-fi. Exploring many genres helps both musicians and writers to see all the possibilities and styles that creative artists employ.
Community and Collaboration
Performing music is a team effort. Even solo artists usually have a band backing them up.
Writing is usually a solo project. Yet, most writers (including songwriters) will tell you that being part of something bigger than themselves is essential to their growth.
During the height of the pandemic, Taylor Swift released two brilliant albums in a span of six months, a feat not seen in decades. Folklore came out in July and Evermore followed in December.
In an interview with Paul McCartney for Rolling Stone magazine, Swift credited her creative outburst, in part, to a collaboration with longtime producer, Jack Antonoff, and Aaron Dessner, a member of the alternative rock band, The National. The lockdown caused Swift to set up a home studio, where she sent music files back and forth and worked remotely over FaceTime with Antonoff, and Dessner, whom she had met the year before on tour, according to an interview in Billboard magazine. Justin Vernon of the band Bon Iver also sang on both albums.
During the pandemic, Dessner had been composing instrumental tracks (lead vocalist Matt Berninger writes most of The National’s song lyrics). Dessner sent 30 tracks to Swift. The first one became the song, “Cardigan,” from Folklore.
“And it really happened rapid-fire like that,” Swift told McCartney in the Rolling Stone interview.
Like musicians, writers benefit from being part of a community. When I began writing fiction in earnest 15 years ago, I sought out a writer’s community. I began following various blogs and, when I discovered Writer Unboxed, I knew I had found my home. A community can provide a source for beta readers, support when writers hit a dry spell, and a forum for knowledge and development, among other benefits.
Two months after Peter’s passing, my partner, Julie, and I decided to go out one Friday night to a cozy bar in Mystic, CT, called Port of Call. It was a spur of the moment decision. To our surprise and delight, the jazz trio that night included saxophonist and drummer Dakota Austin and keyboard player Michael Carabello. Both were close friends of Peter’s and they had played together at gigs over the years. Dakota and Michael played beautifully at Peter’s funeral service. They were preparing to play their second set when we arrived. Standing by the bar, they greeted us warmly and we hugged. They spoke about Peter and we reflected on how much we missed him. And, as the jazz notes floated above us and we watched these talented young musicians, we felt Peter’s presence in the room.
Is your writing inspired by music? Have you picked up any creative habits from your favorite musicians? What similarities have you noticed between musical artists and writers?
Many thanks to today’s guest.
You can read more WU guest posts by visiting this link.
Chris, my heart goes out to you and loved ones at the loss of your son. A life too short, so precious.
Thank you for your words here today. Passion and community are integral. The writing community found here and through accountability partners from the UnConference inspire me to keep going when my enthusiasm disappears. And music? I always have music playing in my mind. This morning it’s Norah Jones’ Don’t Know Why. My current work in progress is inspired by Nella Fantasia, Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen, and Sound of Silence.
Thank you, Lisa. Peter was a big fan of Norah Jones. We used to have dinner each month and Peter would choose the music in the car. He played Norah Jones once and told me how much he liked her music. Best wishes on your work in progress.
Chris–I remember meeting you in Salem, remember your smile and good humor. It’s shocking to read your post and remember you again, knowing now what lay ahead. What you’ve learned as a writer serves you well here in bringing your son to life, for me and everyone reading. For no reason I can think of, it’s very gratifying to know Peter was a jazz musician. But actually, there’s a very good reason: I was first captured, taken prisoner by modern jazz so far back that my early interest coincided with the rise of Bill Haley and the Comets. Over the years, my interest in jazz (not Bill Haley) has stuck with me. As for the importance of community and Writer Unboxed, you couldn’t be more right. I can’t imagine a future without it. Thank you.
Hi, Barry. I remember our early morning walks in Salem when we got to know one another. I enjoyed talking about writing with you. Thank you for your comments about Peter. I didn’t know much about jazz until Peter introduced me to his favorite jazz artists. It’s a difficult genre for musicians and it always amazed me how Peter mastered it. I’m taking piano lessons and I can barely master a waltz in three-four time,. Thanks again, Barry.
Chris, I am so sorry for your loss. Your son sounds like a wonderful musician. I love the idea of “good chaos.”
I will ponder your words about creativity for a long time.
Chris, I neglected to mention a guitar player in the family who refused to learn music and played only by ear. Their father was a music teacher and even the dad had to admit the kid was a really good musician. From this, I saw firsthand that both a free and a more disciplined approach can work for an artist.
I took piano lessons years ago and my teacher was old school. I learned my scales and my chords and did finger dexterity exercises. It gave me a mechanical playing style. No soul. No heart. I recently took up the piano again and my teacher is more interested in how I want to learn and I’m better at playing chords, in root position and inverted, rather than reading notes. We all learn differently. Thank you for your comments.
Thank you, Nancy. I learned about good chaos during Therese Walsh’s presentation last November at the Writer Unboxed conference in Salem. It’s such a powerful concept. I hope the commonalities and differences between musicians and writers resonated with you.
Ih, Chris, I grieve with you. But you are focusing on the healing memories, not the hole in your heart. Good for you. It’s the only way to survive the loss of a child.
I am both a writer and a musician, so I cannot write with music in the background. If it is a song with lyrics, my mind is distracted by the lyrics. If it has no lyrics, my mind wants to create them. So my writing time is best done in silence, a rare commodity in my life.
Hello, Judith. Thanks for your comments. I recently took up the piano again after many years. I learned years ago the old school way of playing the piano. It was very mechanical. My new teacher has me playing chords rather than notes and it’s made a big difference. I can write with music playing, but I carefully select what I want to hear while I’m writing. Everyone has a different process. Thanks again!
Chris, I am so sorry about your son but so warmed by your memories of him and your closeness to his musical mates.
I’m one of those writers who prefers to write in silence. But I often listen to music before I sit down to write. My favorites are Joni Mitchell, Eva Cassidy, and Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. I’m deeply moved by the richness of their voices, layered by the sadness of loss.
Hello, Mary, and thanks for your comment. Joni Mitchell is a favorite of mine. What a remarkable singer and songwriter. Everyone has a process. I like to listen to music when I write. I know many writers who, like you, prefer to write in silence.
Hey Chris–my heart aches for you; I’m so sorry for your loss.
A lovely tribute, full of wise insight. The stuff that lies at the intersection of music and most any other form of creative expression is nothing short of magic. I honestly don’t believe I would’ve been capable of, or inspired to, write anything resembling a novel without it. Other books, essays, paintings, sculpture, photography-they’ve all enhanced my creative endeavors to some extent. But none of them comes close to delivering what music brings to my process.
I got misty while reading your final paragraph. Such a beautiful moment. Thanks so much for sharing so much of yourself, my friend.
Thank you, Vaughn. We find inspiration in so many forms: music, literature, paintings, the beauty of nature. It goes on and on. There is a certain magic that takes place when a creative person finds a spark of inspiration. I remember watching a documentary about the making of Elton John’s double album, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Elton John said he was creatively on fire during the recording sessions in France. He was acually writing new songs as they were recording the album. That kind of inspiration is not always there and that’s why creative artists need to find a reliable process for creating art, whether writing or music. I also am finding that grief has allowed me to tap into my deepest emotions. It reminds me of the advice Meg Rosoff gave at an earlier WU conference. I’m paraphrasing here. Meg said that writers need to go to that deep, dark place and open up a vein. Not easy to do, but when writers can achieve that raw emotional resonance, it is powerful. Hope you are well, my friend.
Chris, a moving and important post. Creativity, whether creating music or words on the page, is a way we heal our losses. My writing has often sustained me when I missed having a father…he died with I was three. Music always sustained our little family, my older brother becoming passionate about classical music and my younger brother about pop and rock. You might smile…the Beatles united ALL of us, every new album purchased as we experienced the growth in their music and sang along with their vocals. There is one song that unites me with those we have lost, and it is a Beatles song: The Long and Winding Road…it brings me comfort, as music often does. Thanks for you post.
Beth, thanks for your thoughtful comments. The Beatles were a huge influence on Peter. He took up the bass guitar after writing a book report about Paul McCartney. His first bass was a Hofner, the model Paul played during his Beatles days. I shared with Peter my vast knowledge of the Beatles. Peter’s mass card included lyrics from the song, In My Life. I found the writing of this post very cathartic. I wrote a eulogy for Peter, but since the time of his funeral service, I’ve had a hard time writing about Peter, but I do want to write more about him. Thanks again for your comments.
Chris,
Thank you for sharing this portrait of your son. I truly believe that all the arts are connected, they all feed from and into each other with their creative energy. When we follow that passion, as Peter did, it’s contagious, moving others to practice and create, too. That energy, I believe, becomes a part of the collective and from the collective bubble up the masterpieces and definitions of an era.
I have two artist/musician sons in their 20s who continually inspire me with their all-in dedication to their art. Their art is their priority (period). There is so much the children teach the parents.
((Hugs))
Thank you, Ada. You are so right about the connection between the arts. My closest friend is a singer-songwriter who has been writing and recording music for nearly 40 years. I often tell him that I don’t know how he can create a song with music and lyrics out of nothing. He then tells me that he doesn’t know how I can write a 300-page novel from scratch. I can also see the synergy of members of the Writer Unboxed community. I have done manuscript exchanges with WU writers and I believe the community Therese has built has elevated each of us. Last month I attended my first music festival and I was blown away by many of the incredibly talented musicians in their 20s and early 30s. There is quality original music being produced and so many artists waiting to be discovered. I wish your artist sons the best. Thanks again.
Chris, your son sounds like a lovely sweet young man and I am so very sorry for your loss. I am so glad that you have videos and memories of him playing and doing something he was so passionate about.
I tend to get stuck on the same song and play it over and over when I’m writing. I’m branching out a bit this time because I’ve found a couple of different versions of the same song, including instrumental, and am using all of them as my playlist.
Thank you, Liz. I was curious about what you listened to when you wrote, Darling Girl. I tend to listen to artists I like when I am writing. I tend to select my music based on the mood I want to create. Some writers can’t listen to music at all. Everyone has a process that works for them. I loved Evensong and Darling Girl and I can’t wait for your next novel. Thanks again!
Chris, thank you for telling us about your son and his music. Oh, but how your heart must ache that he’s no longer with you–I have a 25-yr-old son too and cannot imagine the loss–and here you are sharing Peter with us. He sounds beautiful. May he rest in heavenly peace.
Music has always been a balm to my soul (and even an aching body–I discovered the healing powers of the Gregorian chant). For the past four years, I’ve spent more time on music (I sing in my little Latin choir as well as barbershop chorus, play the piano and recorder) than on writing, but I find that everything I do works itself into my writing. We are creative beings so it makes sense that we naturally have a desire to make things–music, art, stories. Like Mary, I cannot write with music–I love it too much. If it’s a piece of music I love, I can easily get lost in it; if it’s something I dislike, it’s annoying. So silence is best for me to better hear my characters in my head.
Hi, Vijaya. Thank you for your heartfelt comments. Music has always been an integral part of my life. Music has gotten me through many personal crises through the years. I recently took up the piano again for the first time since I was a teen-ager. I have found it has inspired me to write. There is an interconnectivity among the arts. My heart does ache for Peter, but I also found it cathartic to write about him. Thanks again.
I am feeling Peter’s presence in this room too. It’s the details, the stories, the lessons we can learn, the jamming, the improvisation…it’s like he’s playing a set for us right now, or is it that you are?
And how did I not know that you teach at Southern? Or did I? I’m from CT and Peter is doubly real now for the places I know, from Mystic to Monk. (Yes, jazz is a place. It’s where I live now.)
Keep writing from the grief and the love, Chris, I’ll be throwing beer bottles at you. And thanks. This piece is a key change, a chord progression, a riff, and it makes me want to write too.
Donald, thanks so much for your comments. I’ve always had trouble going to that deep, dark place in my fiction writing. My grief has forced me to deal with my emotions, and writing this post was difficult, but healing. As a struggling piano player, I am in awe of Peter’s talent in playing jazz, one of the most challenging genres for musicians. I want to write more about Peter and, in time, I will. I’m glad we don’t throw beer bottles at our WU presenters. I’d like to buy each of you a beer for sharing your expertise.
Chris, that’s a lovely tribute to your son, and to creativity itself. There’s a lot of mystery in provoking the creative spark (and in keeping the flame lit), but as you suggest, there’s also dedication and plain hard work. And heart. Sounds like Peter had them all.
Thanks so much, Tom. Creativity comes from different places and from inspirations that are often a mystery, as you point out. Peter was a remarkably talented musician and he worked hard at his craft. Thanks again.
Chris, what a wonderful tribute, and a thoughtful exploration of such a deep and heartbreaking topic. I know you to be a kind and gentle soul, and I can only imagine how hard this loss is for you and your loved ones. Thank you for channeling your grief into this beautiful testament to the power of art to elevate and connect us.
Thanks, Keith. I believe the best way to honor Peter’s memory is to renew my commitment to writing fiction and immersing myself in music. I also want to write more about Peter as a way to remember him and keep my memories of him alive.
Thank you for this beautiful post and your inspiring words, Chris. I love that you and Peter were able to share a passion for music and that he lives on in the melodies for you. It’s a tremendous gift and a balm to the grief.
For me, music is the heartbeat of creativity, a key to unlocking those places where our best is buried deep.
Our passion for writing is a winged-thing that soars on what lifts our soul. May music always be that for you.
Denise, thanks for these beautiful sentiments. Music has always occupied a central place in my life and I was thrilled when Peter decided to pursue his passion for the bass guitar. He achieved a mastery that I didn’t think was possible. He was very shy and was terrified of speaking before a group, and yet he performed flawlessy in front of large audiences and it didn’t faze him. I often think of Peter when I hear a song we both liked. Peter and I attended many concerts together and he saw artists ranging from Bob Dylan, Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey, Radiohead, Muse, the Killers, Steely Dan, and many other artists. Thanks again!
Considering the similarities between musicians and writers, I would note that they are often the same people; Keith Cronin is a good example.
In my life, the music has been rock and blues for the most part, and the place where that music meets writing is in the lyrics. The poetry of it delights songwriters just as much as it delights other writers. Sometimes the music is just a rack to hang lyrics on, but when both the music and the poetry are great, you end up with something like Aretha Franklin’s “Natural Woman” (Carole King music, Gerry Goffin lyrics), or Annie Ross’ “Twisted” (My analyst told me…).
Thanks, Michael. I am an admirer of talented lyricists. There are a few lyricists who write words that perfectly fit with the melodies and express profound thoughts. Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, and Joni Mitchell come to mind. John Lennon was a talented lyricist, painting word pictures that were at times brilliant and inscrutable. Keith Cronin is a great example and someone I admire. Thanks again.
Chris, thank you (again and again) for this beautiful post, and for sharing Peter with us here at WU. I’m glad you have so many paths for remembrance that lead to joy, and that so many of them involve art.
Hugs, my friend.
Thank you, Therese. I appreciate the opportunity to write about Peter on Writer Unboxed. I thought about “good chaos” when listening to Peter perform. That phrase perfectly captures the magic of creating art. Writer Unboxed is such an inspring and supportive community and I am buoyed by the love and support of my friends at WU. Thanks again!
Chris,
I so enjoyed reading your post. What a tribute to Peter. It read so heartfelt and I loved the link you made to music from musician to writer. You have quite a community here and many can so relate to your loss and how important music is to all of us. Peter lives on in your words, heart and the music he and you shared together.
Chris,
This is a beautifully written piece; and a loving tribute to your son. Sadly, I never met him. Your writing and his friends’ comments make clear Peter had so much to give.
The comment you quote: I’m witnessing something better than me (as well as Peter) or better than what I imagined I could make, being born,” will stay with me. Isn’t that why we strive?
Thank you,
Chris, I feel I know Peter a bit more with each moment you write about him. I hope you do continue to write about Peter and your relationship with your dear son, music, and your wonderful writing. I especially loved these moments as you describe: “And, as the jazz notes floated above us and we watched these talented young musicians, we felt Peter’s presence in the room.” I’m happy to know you, and thank you for inviting me, the reader, into your soul.
Chriss, a wonderful tribute in the music of words. Thanks for sharing.
Chris, Words and notes often elegantly partner in a creativity that may reach the heart with almost a piercing pain. A similar pain comes from grief. Your portrait of Peter gave us a glimpse of the young man that you are rightly proud of. It was truly beautiful. A strange thing occurs when one allows grief to dominate our mind, it opens the many doors and windows to your memories of your loved one. As one is taken from you, a gift of past times is left to assist your journey to peaceful acceptance.