Writing songs is like sex
It starts with a notion, a spark, a gleam in the eye.
You approach it slowly, but with earnest interest.
After you rub and massage the lyrics, stoke the chords, whisper the melody, you begin to find a groove with the song.
The give and take, the songwriter’s passion growing and the song yielding, bending, and undulating as one compliments the other.
Round and round, back and forth, rapidly sliding toward perfection and building to a songwriting climax … and the desire for a cigarette afterward.
Recording an album is like giving birth
Sure, it sounded like a great idea … at first.
But shortly after the passionate start of the process, you feel a bit queasy about it. Sick in the stomach.
With each passing day, you grow more tired of the whole thing.
Each song bring on cravings, for a chord, a drum fill, a background singer.
After months and months the project feels bloated, unbalanced, unattractive.
You finally give it one last, big effort. A gut-busting, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs push to shove the damn thing into the world.
Then many years of regret.