Music Box

This is a song that has been in the shop for several months now. I first sketched out the idea for the song in the spring of 2009 and started writing it a few months later. I recorded an initial demo in September of last year but I wasn't satisfied with it. A year later, this newly recorded demo comes closer to the intangible idea existing only in my mind.




Watching the children, young
men and women
stumble from buildings on Sunday morning.
Sweatpants, sunglasses, concealed eyes
and muzzled mouths with
vodka breath.

And then
you see her walking
behind them
(because she thinks they can
let her sing out).
Spot scars that seem like
someone tried to erase her
to keep a piece.

They go in the cafe,
speaking of conquests, but
she keeps her night from being
sung out.

Eating the food,
greasy and heavy,
its only use is to fill up the void.

But you know where she was last night,
singing for him
while you sat in
the silent room,
except for the notes of the C scale
that drifted through the concrete walls.

Wonder why
it was his fingers that were able to
wind her --
a frail music box
designed to only play the song
that he wanted,
that they all want.

And Monday evening you see
her
again with her
eyes and ears open
to a blue jay perched--
cottonwood --
keen melody,
instinctive song.


The difficulty in translating one's perception of the world into a piece of art lies in the translation itself. Attempt to transcribe it exactly and the art is lost to the telling -- the blatant identification of an idea so there is no possible confusion for the listener. Keep it too close to the original, and you prohibit the piece from fully becoming itself -- you prevent it from evolving into something more powerful than the germ of a inspirational thought.

Finding the balance between the two was the major difficulty I had in writing this song. As I wrote above, this song is a year and a half in the making, and I'm still not completely satisfied. When I first recorded it a year ago, I was scrambling to accomplish something, to get some words and music down into a more permanent form than the loose threads of my mind. I had been writing a lot for my Request-A-Song project and I wanted an original to shake things up -- to focus on my thoughts and ideas instead of the words and suggestions of others. I recorded the acoustic guitar and my vocals and thought I was done.

I played the piece -- at that time, called "Salt Shaker" -- a few times at open mic nights but it felt unnatural. The lines were of varying lengths and I didn't have anything resembling a consistent melody. I enjoy straying from pop conventions, but I like my music to have some semblance of order that pleases the ear. So this past June, I decided to come back to this piece and try it again -- this time, with support from my drum machine. I changed the backing instrument from keyboard to electric guitar and spent the past two weeks completing it.

The biggest change was with the lyrics. I figured that a song called "Music Box" should rely more on musical imagery in its words. I think there is a little more room for the listener to explore, to discover his or her own meaning in the lyrics. When writing my songs, I focus more on the lyrics -- they're the most important part of a song to me. I hope that "Music Box" lets you come to your own conclusions about a little piece of the world.

-Paul

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Subway Sketching

On my two trips to NYC through Elmira College, the one constant was sketching. My first trip we had to sketch on the subway just to help pass time and to constantly work. While on the second trip we were required to fill up two small sketchbooks a week so subway rides became valuable times to fill our quota.

Sketching on the subway is a great thing for any artist to try/use. There are so many variables that go into it. How long do I have to finish this person? What's unique about this person? Who do I choose? How do I draw them without them finding out and knifing me? There are a ton of poses, faces, fashions, objects, time constraints on each car. An hour long subway ride can easily give you 10-20 decent sketches if you time it right. It's perfect for honing in on a certain trait, like feet, poses, eyes, etc. because there are so many options and they are always changing.

Then there's the human element. These models aren't voluntary. Some may not appreciate you staring at them constantly then scribbling in a notebook. From my experience, most people don't mind, as long as you're good enough. Nobody likes to look uglier than they are. People like to ask questions and it's a great way to start conversation in a car full of strangers. You definitely run into people who don't like it, or freak out if there are a group of you all doing the same thing.

Each sketch is like a little battle. How well can I capture someone in the two minutes they're sitting in front of me or the 15 seconds they're next to me waiting to get off. Making anything competitive makes it more interesting so when you "nail it" and look at your page and see the person who just left, or turned away, it's a great feeling. Flipping back through the book days later and remembering exactly what that person looked like is also a great feeling of success.

Sketching on the subway is one thing I'll miss the most about being in NYC. If I ever get back there, I'll definitely make sure I have a sketchbook and pen in my pocket because it's a unique experience at every stop.

In the Works

Back in high school I used to visit this site called www.rocktoons.com (which apparently stopped updating in 2007). Anyways, loving music and drawing as I did, I was really inspired by the site to make my own "rocktoons." I even had a mini ripoff version of the website of my own. I think everything from back then has been lost or deleted, which is good because my stuff was not very good, hahahaha. Anyways the basic process was drawing a band/musician, inking it, then using photoshop to color it.

This past week I got back into that process when I obtained photoshop and illustrator again. A lot of what I know in photoshop I learned during this time in high school from tutorials, experiments and just solid work. I know a little more now and had some experience with illustrator in college so I wanted to see how much better things would turn out.

Anyone who knows me knows I love football and before the NFL season started I had the idea to make a piece every week for who I thought was the player of the week in the NFL. So I have a couple drawings of a few players through week 3 right now (week 4 just ended minutes ago). I didn't want to use markers for these and decided to try the old photoshop method. The results so far are iffy, but I'm going to post them for feedback and ideas.

There's an amazing tool in illustrator (Live Trace) that cleans everything up from the initial scan, so that makes my drawing look 50 times better than it is. I think it may even work better as a black and white line drawing. But I wanted to try color anyways and here are the results so far.


As I said earlier, the line drawings look really good after cleaning them up in illustrator. The color versions on the other hand I feel need a lot of work. I've never been good with realism as you can probably tell and I didn't spend too much time on the color versions. It was basically a refresher. I was trying a different method and I don't have a tablet and blah blah blah. Just excuses. Before the end of this week though I'm going to hammer at least one out as best I can and see how that plays.

I can already tell from these that the line drawings may need more detail, almost like a comic book. Varying the thickness of my lines will also produce better final images. And I tried in the Polamalu (black background) one to use a color line. Although that was out of necessity, coloring the lines will undoubtedly help as well.

I'll have another post tomorrow with more sketches, especially my subway ones, because I've wanted to post about subway sketching for awhile. And look for one or two more posts as well. Thanks for reading everyone and spread it as much you can. One of our goals is to eventually have guest posters, there's already a submission link on the side. So send us whatever you feel like.

Flash Fiction

Here's a little ditty I recently wrote for a class I'm enrolled in this term. I worked harder on editing this than I do for most of my pieces and further edits probably await it for the class, however when I stopped, it was one of those rare moments where I was completely satisfied with the piece. It is far from perfect, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you all enjoy it.

Legs

Judging by just how black the sky seemed, Richard knew it had to be after midnight; he was pleased. He slowed his pace and rounded the final curve of another long but rewarding lap on the empty high school track. Happy with his time, he grabbed his backpack and began jogging at a brisk pace for the apartment. After arriving, he stood behind the hedges that lined the highway next to his complex so he could change unseen. He pulled a black t-shirt over his chilling shoulders and a pair of khakis on over his spandex shorts. With a frown, Richard removed his tennis shoes, gently wrapping them in his soaked track jersey, and replaced them with a black pair of high tops. He composed himself outside the front door and then slunk into the living room. As expected, his father had managed to find his way onto the couch, but not off, and was snoring quietly before the television. He opened his eyes sleepily, and focused on Richard. His relief was obvious, and he of course asked where his son had been. Richard spun a quick and easy yarn about a party at Frank’s place, and looked for the inevitable disappoint in the old man’s face and, as usual, Richard felt regret. He sat down and assured his father that there was no trouble and showered him with the customary apologies. After some time, things relaxed, and Richard saw his father begin reaching for the spoke of his chair. “Don’t worry about it Pop, I got you,” he said, rising and walking towards him. He lifted the man easily and carried him down the short hall, past the framed ribbons, podium photos, and shining trophies. He laid him gently in the bed, taking care to avoid bumping or bruising the soft rounded part of what was left of his father’s knees. Richard returned to the living room and sunk into the couch to watch the final minutes of the old VHS tape his father had been replaying. He saw a much younger man, a stronger man, one who knew very little about fear, insecurity, or car crashes; dominating the final leg of the relay, leaving his competitors far behind him. Richard turned off the tape just as his father crossed the finish line and then found his way to his bedroom in the dark, imaging the roar of the crowd. He unpacked his backpack into a small box kept under his bed, pausing only for a few moments when he was transferring two brilliant gold medals. He stared at the awards with the briefest hint of smile until the shrill sound of a car horn broke the still night air. With that, the medals were dropped into the box , hidden away, and Richard lay across his bed, thinking only of the long and winding turns of the track.