Monday, June 15, 2009

Muso-Writo-Soaka-Sprayo (io)


I frequently chance au havehappen dance upon blogs sloshing wild with writerly tips resplendoid, and have often wondered whether I have anything to say in this regard — whether my scriptophonic wherewithal flourishes in a swamp of subjective blob-blossom, or whether I might have hit on anything constituting tips for the benefit of all.


Still undecided: wild presumption so to wonder.

Meanwhile, as I write this (with Geoff sniffing cactus as yet unflowered), I’ve opted to exercise my motor neuron voila to music. Smack my chops for being a softie, but grim experience has taught me that I can’t write to save my life with any kind of music blaring, less with any kind of distraction. However, two songs into Made of Bricks by Kate Nash, I pat myself on the back with a pseudo-rubber back patter for having (at very least) got this far.

So — what’s the problem? I suppose I’m bound to be distracted by the lyrics, and the associations roundabout fuzzed, and if the beat gets in any way funky, there’s every chance I’ll simply down tools, strip to my underwear, and gad le Bop Fantastique a la person too old to be doing that kind of thing like Madonna in her purple leotard (only without the shapely thighs, note). Er...nope...I don’t think there was too much mention of that in the last number — but if it helps, I’ve uncoupled my mithril Write Like A Gladiator breastplate.

Or is it that I might be taken to a world of fancy whose fancitivity meshes not with my previously beheld plot and dialogue wonders — moved to dispensing fluff instead of previously wriggleflung something-stuff?

Perhaps the trick is to listen to something vapid, with no lyrical narrative to trick me asunder twixt glory of anal riff? But then I might as well boat off to Africa, and with legs nestled comfortably in the oar slots, hop across the searing veldt to pay homage to the soothing ambient muse-throb of giraffe stomach linings regenerating themselves in the heat of the sun. Or not.

So that’s where I am with music as a source of inspiration. I’m prepared to have my arse whipped up into my gob by it but it’s only ever the fancifullest fancy.

That said, I’m enjoying Kate ‘just a little too Mock Es’ Nash , and as I gaze out of the window at the foxgloves swaying top-heavy in the breeze like the stonedest of lofted Hendrix fan lighters, I can’t help thinking that the opportunities for being smothered by life’s pre-evident wherewithal are vast compared to the shrill and selfish desire to chop out a narrative (fictional or real) through to some uncertain future.

So — that’s my muso-writo soak ‘n’ spray for now...

7 comments:

Anna Claire said...

Love, love, love Kate Nash. "We Get On," "Pumpkin Soup" and "Nicest Thing" are my favorites. Oh and "Foundations." And "Mariella." And....

What works for me on the music front is that I've got a "writing" playlist full of songs I feel meh about. They're not good enough to make me want to sing along, but they don't annoy me, either. Makes for pleasant background noise, at least.

Whirlochre said...

Rumour has it that Ozzy Osbourne employs a similar tactic when composing his best Satanic riffs, listing among his favourites such notable Maestros of Meh as Burt Bacharach, Max Bygraves and Nana Mouskouri...

Kiersten said...

I'm kinda digging setting Pandora to Explosions in the Sky. All instrumental, so none of those distracting vocals.

Of course, I need the music to disconnect from reality since I have to write sitting out on the family room couch. I've found even when I listen to stuff I like I'll have gone ten songs without even registering what they were.

However, if you can write and edit without music, more's the better, I say.

ril said...

Though I'd heard of Kate Nash, this was the first time to hear Kate Nash, and I must admit I'm rather taken. Jolly little tune, and so refreshing to hear an English artiste not singing with a mid-atlantic accent. Reminds me a tad of Alisha's Attic who I also rather enjoy.

I used to be able to do homework, write, anything with any kind of music blaring in the background. These days, though, I find myself distracted by anything with lyrics. Particularly if they're good lyrics (Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits, that sort of thing).

So it's instrumentals when there's work to be done. Difficult to get distracted to the point of boogie by Tangerine Dream or Klaus Schulze or Philip Glass. Only problem with Glass is one tends to end up repeating repeating repeating repeating repeating repeating repeating repeating repeating...

Whirlochre said...

Kiersten


Silence is golden, but I may experiment with this.

Ril


I have a 45 minute recording of Sock Monkey swishing his tail which has quite an ambient feel.

JaneyV said...

I enjoy Ms Nash's bolshy edginess. I also like Amy McDonald but I'm thinking she might be a little trad/folky for your Whirldom.

I can't write to music. I was the only teenager I knew who turned the radio off to do homework. (normally in the middle of those endearing Lilets ads on 208). I find I can only be lost in words or lost in music. And music is generally louder.

Robin S. said...

I have a novel-writing soundtrack. I play it loud loud loud, to keep out the rest of the world while I'm in my own.

I'm not married to it - but I do like it.