One wonders if that
vague Proclivity, might possibly be Creativity – Me.
I have spoken elsewhere about creative inspiration, and have
adequately answered the question of where it comes from:
I have no idea.
All I know is it doesn’t come from me. It comes through
me. Though this has never stopped me from taking
credit – and money – for being the medium of its conveyance. Call it a “Transportation Fee”, and we’ll
leave it at that.
Today, I am pursuing a subset
of the species, one that, to me at least, is equally fascinating.
I am studying a new song with my piano teacher, Gary. The song is “Secret Love” (1953, music by
Sammy Fain, lyrics by Paul Francis Webster.)
I know. It’s a little
cheesy. But I’m studying it for a
specific reason. Gary has assigned me
the exercise of choosing a random ballad, in order to practice dividing the
notes between my left hand and my right hand to create a musically satisfying
chording pattern. I have selected
“Secret Love” for that assignment.
Why did I select “Secret Love” out of the thousands of other
ballads I could have chosen?
All right, I’m busted.
I like the song. I actually like it a lot. The melody has a haunting quality. And the lyrics have a spontaneous flow to
them. Example:
So I told friendly
star
The way that dreamers
often do
Just how wonderful you
are
And why I’m so in love
with you.
So I study the chording pattern, and it sounds acceptably
melodic. So: Mission Accomplished. (As they say on aircraft carriers, prior to
ten more years, accomplishing the mission.)
My next task is to find a rhythmic arrangement that will support the
underlying mood of the melody, which, in the case of “Secret Love” is
“wistful.”
I love “wistful” melodies, don’t you? “Secret Love.” “Tammy.”
Am I giving too much away here?
Gary proposes an arrangement, which I’m not crazy about,
finding it a little too “skipping along.”
You don’t skip when you’re wistful.
Gary understands, and we both think quietly for a moment.
Then, out of the blue, it comes to me – the ideal
arrangement. And Gary thinks so too, so
I’m not just tooting my own horn. Well,
I’m actually doing both.
Understanding that there is no single answer in these matters, I cannot imagine better one. (Duh,
“I can’t imagine a better one”; if I could,
I would have suggested that.)
Normal people might expect a “Celebrational Moment” at this
point. “Oh, my God! It’s a musical miracle!”
But, as a man who refuses to allow the illusion of happiness
to get in the way of true unhappiness,
my thoughts go, not to “Hip! Hip!
Hooray!”, or even “How did that happen?” – I have examined that question that
and have satisfactorily concluded, “I have no idea” – but instead , after an
eye blink of exultation, my mind flies immediately to the question,
“Why doesn’t this happen more often?”
Besides being an instant “downer”, this is actually an important
question, specifically for those thinking of taking the plunge into a creative
profession.
I know I have musical abilities. In a lifetime that is rapidly extending,
making my achievements proportionally impressive, I have written a handful of pretty
decent songs, including the theme song for Best
of the West, a TV series I created.
“Why haven’t I written more
songs?” Is a question I have often
pondered. And, since every one of my
musical inspirations simply “came to me when they came to me”, there comes the accompanying wondering if my gift is
bountiful enough to allow me to generate original compositions “on
demand.”
“I need a song, and I need it by Tuesday.”
Do I have it “in
me” to come up with a song by Tuesday?
My definitive answer to this question is,
I don’t think so.
The pressure of a deadline might be helpful, as it is when
I’m writing, but in writing, I don’t wait for some ethereal inspiration. At camp, I was writing hour-length stage shows
when I was seventeen. It didn’t seem
anything special. They told me write a
show, and I sat down at the typewriter and I wrote it. With songwriting, it’s different. The idea either comes to me, or it doesn’t.
This, according to a definition I just made up, is what makes
me a professional script writer.
But an amateur songwriter.
This is not necessarily a matter of training. Mel Brooks is a self-proclaimed “hummer.” He hums in his head. But somehow, despite being compositionally
unschooled, Mel managed to hum out the complete scores to two Broadway
musicals. (The Producers and Young
Frankenstein.)
Without regularity and reliability, though you might
fervently wish it were otherwise, your creative impulse is merely a
visitor. Why is my “writing mojo” consistently available, while my “music chops”, as wonderful as they are
when they appear, simply “passing through”?
I’m afraid we must go with the “tried and true” on this one:
I have no idea.
What I do know is,
if you are considering a leap into an artistic enterprise, it is helpful to
make sure you are not gambling on a “sometimes” thing, rather than “The Real
Deal.”
2 comments:
Yes, the successful professional learns how to produce good, or at least acceptable, product on demand, but great needs inspiration and only occurs a few times in the career of a great professional.
A great film director may make many good films but only one or two great films.
For feted new artists, this manifests as the difficult second album or novel, the one produced on demand.
Dear Mr. Pomerantz; "I don't know" covers many things. I will now take this into my own philosophy.
-Z
Post a Comment