First Song in the Bag!
I had a couple free hours today to devote completely to writing and recording a new song for the ninth single and, with a lot of hard work and focus, got the thing about 99% done! It's a good one, I think. Really noisy! Now it's on to track number two. Thursday and Friday will be pretty busy since I'll be focused on my book selling activities, but I'd like to think that I could get some good preliminary work done which could lead to a finished second track by next Monday. I'm going to take a little bit of free time after I write this brief note to suss out a design for the insert.
The immensely talented and criminally under-appreciated Pete Ham was born on this day back in 1947. The bastard committed suicide, April 24, 1975. Barely missed joining the 27 Club. Asshole.
Have you ever noticed (I'm sure you have) how almost every brilliant musician crafts the vast majority, if not all, of their most memorable work fairly early in their careers and then spends the rest of their lives occasionally, or even routinely in the case of super talents like Bob Dylan and Paul McCartney, creating good, or even really good, material that somehow never quite attains the transcendent level of their earlier best work? Why? Do they simply exhaust their best ideas? Do they lose some part of their genius as they grow older? Do they leave behind the inspirations of their earlier, hungrier life, the life that spurred them to create their finest material as they achieve success? Is any one person only allowed so many highest quality ideas during their lifetime?
Yeah...I know there are a few exceptions to the rule in the case of persons in other fields. For instance, Pablo Picasso painted "Guernica" when he was fifty-five. J.R.R. Tolkien published the first volume of the Lord of his Rings series when he was sixty-two. Harry Bernstein wrote his first book, The Invisible Wall when he was ninety-six. But musicians? Bob Dylan hasn't written anything on the level of "Like a Rolling Stone" or "Visions of Johanna" or "Mr. Tambourine Man" or "Tangled Up in Blue" in forty years. Paul McCartney hasn't written anything as sublime as "Yesterday" or "Eleanor Rigby" or "Penny Lane" or "Maybe I'm Amazed" in 40+ years.
Shit. I spent so much time thinking about this blog that I didn't leave any time to work on the single insert.