FOLKS FEST

Songwriting contests inherently bring up something strange in me. What I often esteem as an organic, creative, painful, beautiful, spirit-generated process of songwriting and performing becomes a bit distorted. Instead, it moves towards being a competitive, anxiety-ridden, heady process that challenges me to stay present.

And so it was, this past Friday when I got to perform on the Big Stage - that is, the main stage at the Rocky Mountain Folks Festival. We ten finalists (out of over 700 they said) were invited to perform two songs in the showcase. We were performing for cash, exposure, and a chance to be invited back to perform a full set at next year's festival.

We drew lots to determine the order, and as luck would have it, I drew #1. Lucky? Unlucky? Who can say. I was happy to get my anxiety over with quickly, but was less than thrilled about having to warm up the crowd.

At any rate, I did my thing, felt pretty good about how I sang and performed. As I then sat through the next 9 performances the evaluation began: are they better than me? What does that even mean? Ooh, I don't like this song - so I must be better than them. So many ways to evaluate this occurrence: vocal performance, guitar chops, stage presence, lyrical content, phrasing, melody, likability of each tune. What a bizarre exercise to be placed in a pecking order and determine a "winner."

OK, so I didn't win. Didn't even crack the top 5. I found myself disappointed and envious of my friend Megan Burtt, who did take home the title (and a nice custom guitar). My malaise lasted an hour or two, until I decided to spend the rest of the day backstage taking in the VIP treatment afforded to us finalists.

There, my fog quickly lifted as I found myself having dinner with, chumming with, laughing with, and telling stories with Ani DiFranco, David Wilcox, and Jonatha Brooke. Pinch me! This went on for hours.

As I was talking to another musician friend (Amy Speace) and relating her my joy at talking with these folks, she looked me in the eye and said, "You belong at the table."

So moving forward I am trying to integrate that, to fully believe and embody that. I am so exceedingly grateful for the experience, and hope to be back again. More contests of course to enter next year, to see how "good" they think I am. How strange.

Desperate Mama

DESPERATE MAMA

I originally intended this blog to be accompanied by my first video recording of me playing one of my new songs, but I am momentarily technically challenged, and have not yet found a suitable time to sit down with the flip camera. Soon, dear readers.

I do, however, have happy news to report, and that is this:

I am one of 10 finalists (out of nearly 600) for the Folks Fest Songwriting Competition here in Lyons, CO this year. So on August 13th (Friday the 13th of all days), I get to play two songs on the main stage to kick off the festival which later includes sets by Ani DiFranco, John Prine, David Wilcox, and more. I am giddy. The better I do in the contest the more money I make, and the winner gets: cash, a custom guitar, and an invitation to perform a full set at next year's festival.

In lieu of the aforementioned video recording, I have decided to post the lyrics to one of the two songs I submitted for the competition. The story behind the song is this: My assignment was to write a song with some lyrics that were stolen from a conversation had by others. In other words, I had to eavesdrop and steal lyrics.

After a few weeks of not overhearing anything of interest, I heard one woman remark to another, "As we say down in Texas, 'have a good day and don't kill anyone.'" My first thought was, "weird." My second thought was, "interesting." And the song was born. A dark song, to be sure, but it helped get me into the finals.

Desperate Mama

Round about here in the Texas sun
We say "One day at a time and don't kill anyone"
But I got a little problem and it's growing inside
Way down yonder underneath my pride

I sold that away so long ago
In the back of a truck down in El Paso
I never even learned his Christian name
But I heard him calling Jesus just the same

Now I'm in a pickle and I'm in a bad way
Can't keep the thing could never give it away
Me and that boy shoulda never been
I wanna get it done, but I know it's a sin

Desperate mama, desperate mama
Got a lot of worries not a whole lot more

I'm praying to God but I swear he's blind
Got me looking for a reason or a simple sign
Can't be living with myself now either way
It ain't what you have it's what you're giving away

Now I'm in a pickle and I'm in a bad way
Can't keep the thing could never give it away
Me and that boy shoulda never been
I wanna get it done, but I know it's a sin

Desperate mama, desperate mama
Got a lot of worries not a whole lot more

I found a way it won't hurt I'm told
Gonna meet my maker before I grow old
I love you Papa and to all my friends:
Don't you do what I done this is how it ends

I was in a pickle I was in a bad way
Couldn't keep the thing and couldn't give it away
Me and that boy shoulda never been
I had to get it done but I know it's a sin

Desperate mama, desperate mama
She don't worry 'bout a thing no more
Desperate mama, desperate mama
She don't worry 'bout a thing no more

MONEY

MONEY

When I was 7 years old I was over at my best friend’s house. We were discussing riding our bikes to the local general store to spend the entirety of our allowance on candy. As I asked him how much money he had to spend, his mother yelled from the back room, “You don’t ask that question of someone! It’s none of your business how much money someone has.” I was stunned, felt shamed, and the lesson stuck with me: Money is taboo. Make it, save it. But don’t you dare talk about it. The original Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

As human beings we place weight on numbers. How much do you weigh? How much money do you make? What version of the iPhone do you have? And the subsequent evaluation begins. How do you measure up to me? Am I skinnier? Am I wealthier? I hope so. If I make more than you I might feel better, more able, more resourced, more accomplished. If I make less I may feel envious, seeing you as luckier, smarter, more fortunate and I grow resentful – putting you on a pedestal and me in the pit. My thoughts and expectations about you and how much of the dinner tab you pick up are influenced by the information I have about your numbers. These are the things we don’t talk about, acknowledge, and own.

This is the backdrop to my recent fund raising campaign through which I aim to raise the money to record, mix, master, press, and release my next album. With this knowledge of societal mores I am blatantly and shamelessly asking people to invest in me, to contribute their hard-earned cash to my dream, to support my musical career with money that could otherwise go to non-profits, family vacations, and IRAs. I am offering things in return, however - $50 gets 2 autographed copies of the album, $100 gets those + a Jeremy Dion T-Shirt, etc. Still, in deciding to proceed along these lines, I was keenly aware that this proposition would ruffle some feathers.

I have consciously embarked on a campaign that has been called “tacky” and “gutsy,” “inappropriate” and “inspiring.” Some are eager to contribute while others are philosophically opposed. We have unspoken rules about money and some will perceive that I have broken them.

There is no question that there are many in this world more needy than I. I do not have a disability, a disease, or life-threatening situation. I simply have a dream, and a vision. I create music that draws upon my experiences, and seeks to help you know yourself more fully, so that you may realize your inherent perfection. As a musician and psychotherapist, this is my mission.

I know a number of musicians who have created similar fund raising campaigns, and I am following in their footsteps. I trust that those who feel inspired to invest will do so, and those who do not will still be able to understand why I was willing to challenge our unspoken rules about money and self-sufficiency.

Thank you to those who have been willing to invest, and to those who have not for their honesty. I rest in the knowledge that we grow the most at the border of support and challenge.

Therapy and Music

I have, for the past seven years, made my living as a psychotherapist. And as much as I dream of making the switch to full-time musician, I am keenly aware of the lyrical treasure trove that my current profession affords. Few other contexts would allow me to probe the human psyche quite so thoroughly, to so consistently ponder the intricacies of relationship, and to explore the innumerable ways we come to know ourselves through relationship with others.

Many is the time I have begun the lyrical portion of the songwriting process contemplating people and issues that were presented in my office. Yet by the time I reach the second verse, I realize that I am in fact writing not about my client, but rather about my own life. This reflects a commonly held belief in the therapeutic world that we, as therapists, attract the types of issues (in the form of clients) that we ourselves need to examine in our own existence. And I remain convinced that this phenomenon is not relegated to the therapeutic world.

We are all attracting people and events through which we have the opportunity to see ourselves more clearly. Sadly, few of us recognize the magnificence of this occurrence, and spend more of our time cursing the other (person, event, etc.) rather than feeling gratitude towards ourselves for creating the unique and perfect circumstances for our own evolution.

As a songwriter and a therapist, these are some of the many things I ponder. May we all continue to expand our self-awareness.

Songwriting

I've been giving some thought to this blog, and am still pretty uncertain and unstructured about it's intentions. Yet for today I have decided to write (an ongoing series, hopefully) more about my internal process as a songwriter. The purpose is twofold: First, discussing a topic like this has been frequently requested by friends, family, and other musicians. Second, I think it might serve me and provide some unique insights for me, the writer. And since I am quite clear that nobody does anything unless it serves them in some capacity, there you have it.

Songwriting, for me, can be as easy as falling off a log, and as painful as a root canal. Often in the same day. There are times when I feel "tapped in" to Spirit (Source, God, intention...pick your name) on a more profound level than at other times. When I am fortunate enough to find myself there, the songs seem to write themselves, and I often have trouble moving the pen quickly enough to capture the lyrics that are flowing through. The chord progressions sound new, ideas are quick and fresh, and songs often come through in a form that needs little or no editing afterward.

That is a precious, and rare experience.

More commonly I find myself having to structure songwriting time, rather than waiting for the muse. In these moments I usually proceed in an common fashion -

Chords first. I play and play my guitar, noodling around with various scales or chord progressions until something catches my ear. Then I'll groove on that for awhile and try and listen to where it wants to go. When I can get my head out of the way (which happens less often than I would like), the song often finds it way.

Melody and phrasing next. Once I have a chord progression that sticks with me and feels good, then I start to sing - no real words at first, but sounds and rhythm. Again, when I remember to breathe and stay present, not over-thinking, I often feel/hear a certain pattern to the syllables and the melody line.

Lyrics last. Once I have those pieces, then I know what lyrical phrasing pattern the song is calling for. But then the real work begins for me, because the lyrics are often the part I struggle with the most. I rarely have a concrete idea of what I want to write about or express. So often I am guided by the phrasing section mentioned above. Meaning, a single word, phrase, or line has popped out from who-knows-where, and then I get an idea of what the song might end up being about.

"Wintertime" is a prime example of this. The first lyrics that became concrete in this process were the chorus, "Wait awhile wintertime." I didn't know what it meant or why it was there, but then I set to thinking about what it could possibly mean and crafted the lyrics from there.

Is this a common process for other artists/songwriters? I don't know. Many people I know can craft songs around already written lyrics or poems. This, to me, is as foreign as someone who can paint portraits, throw a 90 mile an hour fastball, or read music. I can't do those things. But I can write songs. And as proud as I am of the first album, the songs I have been writing lately will, I think, blow the first album away.

Thanks for reading.

JD