How to Write One Song: Loving the Things We Create and How They Love Us Back - Hardcover

Tweedy, Jeff

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593183525 ISBN 13: 9780593183526

Verlag: Dutton, 2020

Inhaltsangabe

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • An accessible and inspirational guide to bringing the art and creativity of songwriting into your life, from the Grammy-winning cofounder of Wilco and Uncle Tupelo

There are few creative acts more mysterious and magical than writing a song. But what if the goal wasn't so mysterious and was actually achievable for anyone who wants to experience more magic and creativity in their life? That's something that anyone will be inspired to do after reading Jeff Tweedy's How to Write One Song.

Why one song? Because the difference between one song and many songs isn't a cute semantic trick—it's an important distinction that can simplify a notoriously confusing art form. The idea of becoming a capital-S songwriter can seem daunting, but approached as a focused, self-contained event, the mystery and fear subsides, and songwriting becomes an exciting pursuit.

And then there is the energizing, nourishing creativity that can open up. How to Write One Song brings readers into the intimate process of writing one song—lyrics, music, and putting it all together—and accesses the deep sense of wonder that remains at the heart of this curious, yet incredibly fulfilling, artistic act. But it’s equally about the importance of making creativity part of your life every day, and of experiencing the hope, inspiration, and joy available to anyone who’s willing to get started.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

As the founding member and leader of the Grammy Award–winning American rock band Wilco, and before that the cofounder of the alt‐country band Uncle Tupelo, Jeff Tweedy is one of contemporary music’s most accomplished songwriters, musicians, and performers. Jeff has released two solo albums, written original songs for eleven Wilco albums, and is the author of the New York Times bestseller Let's Go (So We Can Get Back): A Memoir of Recording and Discording with Wilco, Etc. He lives in Chicago with his family.

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There are few creative acts more mysterious and magical than writing a song. But what if the goal wasn't so mysterious and was actually achievable for anyone who wants to experience more magic and creativity in their life? That's something that anyone will be inspired to do after reading Jeff Tweedy's How to Write One Song. Why one song? Because the difference between one song and many songs isn't a cute semantic trick--it's an important distinction that can simplify a notoriously confusing art form. The idea of becoming a capital-S songwriter can seem daunting, but approached as a focused, self-contained event, the mystery and fear subsides, and songwriting becomes an exciting pursuit. And then there is the energizing, nourishing creativity that can open up. How to Write One Song brings readers into the intimate process of writing one song--lyrics, music, and putting it all together--and accesses the deep sense of wonder that remains at the heart of this curious, yet incredibly fulfilling, artistic act. But it's equally about the importance of making creativity part of your life every day, and of experiencing the hope, inspiration, and joy available to anyone who's willing to get started.

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Introduction

Songs are mysterious. Where the fuck do they come from? I’ve written tons and tons of songs and STILL the best I can think to say after I finish one I’m happy with is “How’d I do that?” It’s confusing when you can DO something and not know exactly HOW you did it (and then somehow expect to do it again.) 
 
I think that’s why so much mysticism gets attached to songwriting when people try to talk about it—you hear things like “I’m just a conduit” and “The universe wanted me to have this song.” Whatever you say, man. I’m pretty sure it’s still ME doing the work. Some partnership between my conscious mind and my subconscious gets results, but when things are going right, the distinctions between the two get blurry, and I’m never really sure who’s in charge.
 
So the idea of teaching songwriting feels to me more like teaching someone how to think. Or how to have ideas. Because songs, to me, are much more like individual thoughts than other works of art. They’re hard to hold onto—Air-like and ephemeral. They pass through time. They’re here then gone . . . yet they’re portable, they can linger as a memory and, even crazier, just pop into our minds for no discernible reason. Other art forms, like paintings or books, have physical shapes and permanence, but how many of them can you hum a few bars of?
 
So understandably, I think we all sort of assume songs are more conjured than written. And it makes sense that people are skeptical about the idea that songwriting can be taught. I mean, it’s easy to see how a step-by-step approach might be applied to the “craft” of songwriting—music theory, traditional song shapes, meter—but in my experience, that’s just the architecture. How do you teach someone to write the kind of song that makes someone else want to write a song? A song that you can fall in love with, and song that feels like it’s capable of loving back. Can you teach that? I’m not sure.
 
But I have a feeling that part of the problem is the enormity of teaching someone how to write “songs” plural. Instead, I believe the only way to teach someone to write “songs” would be through teaching them how to give themselves permission to write ONE song. To teach them how to teach themselves—starting with one song.
 
To me, the difference between one song and “songs” is not some cute semantic trick; it’s an important distinction, and it’s more precise about what it is you’re actually doing. No one writes “songs” plural. They write one song, and then another. And it’s also a reminder of what you really want. Or what I think you should REALLY want, which is to disappear—to watch your concept of time evaporate, to live at least once inside a moment where you aren’t “trying” to do anything or be anything anymore. To spend time in a place where you just are.
Ok? Ok. That’s all . . . That’s something that doesn’t happen through “songs’ plural. It only happens when you’ve lost yourself in the process of making one song.

1. Why? Or Do You Need a Reason to Write a Song?

Why I Write Songs

Long before I wrote my first song, I thought of myself as a "songwriter." I would say to people, "Guess what? I'm a songwriter," not "I might like to try my hand at songwriting someday." Just "Yep, I'm a songwriter." It was bonkers! I think I was around seven years old. I was delusional. I was a delusional seven-year-old, and I had stumbled onto some internal TED Talk-level trick of self-actualization. It worked! It turns out that the reason I started writing songs is because I happened to be a songwriter. That, plus the looming sense as I got older that it would only be a matter of time before someone would say, "Boy, I'd love to hear one of your songs!" So I guess I found the desire to NOT be revealed as a complete fraud quite motivating as well.

Does that sound like you? Do you like the idea of what it would feel like to be someone who writes songs? Is that your answer to the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Maybe minus the awkward transition from "I'm thinking firefighter . . . maybe cowboy . . . You know, I'd like to be something in the firefighting realm, but I'd also like to be on horseback if possible" to the crazy conviction of "Songwriter! Next question, Grampa!" Maybe your internal dialogue sounds something more like this: "I'd really like to be able to maybe write songs someday?" OK. Let me just settle this right off the bat: You are a songwriter! No doubt about it-and definitely as much as I was before I wrote any songs. Phew. I'm glad we got that out of the way. All right then, thanks for buying the book.

Just kidding. Ha! That was hilarious!

Sorry. I'm going to come at this from another angle, because I think it's as close to the core philosophy of this book as I can get, and I believe it's worth repeating in a way that might be understood from a broader perspective than just songwriting. The truth is that as I got older, the answer to "What do you want to be?" became much more difficult to say out loud. Even though I always had a pretty good idea that I wanted to write poems and songs and play music, I always had a hard time telling people that I wanted to be a poet or a songwriter or an artist. It still feels wrong sometimes to label myself as something so grand in my estimation. Why? Is it false modesty? I doubt it. My ego seems sturdy enough these days to tolerate some aggrandizement.

I think the disconnect is more related to the idea of "being" anything when it's the "doing" that's most rewarding. Being something isn't real in the same way that doing something can be real. Everyone has a different idea of a "songwriter." We all picture that differently. Your "songwriter" wears a beret, doesn't she? I knew it! If you can pull off a beret, you can definitely write songs. Anyway, my "songwriter" doesn't wear a beret or really think of himself as a songwriter at all unless he's writing a song. That's another main reason I wanted the focus on ONE song to be reflected in the title of this book. When you're in the act of creating, when you're actually focused on that one song, and that focus is allowing you to disappear (which we've already established is ideal and to be desired), there isn't anyone else's image of who you are to compete with. In fact, even the image you have of yourself can take a breather.

So You Want to Be a Star?

It's soul-crushing, at any job, to aspire to BE something versus being driven by what you want to DO. Do you want to be a "star"? Don't bother. You're going to lose. Even if you make it, you'll lose. Because you're never going to be exactly what you're picturing. But what do you want to do? You want to play music in front of people? You can do that. You want to see if you can get better at playing in front of a larger group of people? You might be able to do that. I can even see someone deciding that they're going to create an outrageous persona and experiment with new musical forms. And that might end up making them a rock star, but I doubt the title is anywhere near as satisfying as the creation part. Maybe it's a clichŽ, but you have to focus on verbs over nouns-what you want to do, not what you want to be.

Keep things simple. You want to be heard-listened to. We all do. So as stupid as it sounds, that only means you have to make a sound. Many songwriters have aspired to be Bob Dylan, including me. And is that an overambitious desire? Both yes and no. Did I truly want to BE Bob Dylan? No. I wanted...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Dutton
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2020
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593183525
• ISBN 13: 9780593183526
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 176
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: preigu GmbH & Co. KG; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; Niedersachsen; 49078; Deutschland