Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 12

923 TOO MUCH JOY

Because the thing is, with music, there is spontaneous genius. But what allows for the spontaneity is that it's built on a structure. I was too harsh when I decided Hamlisch was a fraud–the genius that is improvisation is always built on a structure and Hamlisch's mastery of so many different possible structures is actually quite impressive.

But what does all this have to do with me? I'd sort of decided that I was better than him because I could do it–write a fresh song on any topic you could think of–without relying on the really tired, played out musical cliches of doo-wop or the Broadway musical or whatever. I could write original music that wasn't like the rock and roll or pop that came before it in any overly obvious way.

Or at least I used to think that I could. Now I wasn't sure I could write a song about anything.

I sat down at the piano–Sarah had a cushy piano performance stool instead of a bench–and opened the book of staff paper. It was spiral bound with a pencil in the wire and the pages blank inside.

Hey, I thought. How about writing a song about... not being able to write a song? That's a great topic for a song.

I wrote: I don't know what this song's supposed to say / I don't know what these words are supposed to do.

A little light went on somewhere inside my brain. The song can be metaphor for a relationship where you can't communicate.

I wrote another line that I liked the rhythm of:
I've got these feelings that don't fit on the page

And then as I often did I wrote some potential rhymes in the margin:
page/stage/rage/cage

The work didn't get beyond brainstorming some more possible lyrics, a couple of stanzas, because of course nothing really gets set until you can figure out the music around it, the melody and the riffs and the rhythm. Sometimes the "right" syllable count doesn't matter if the line doesn't flow.

Ziggy came in wearing an oversize T-shirt of Sarah's and kissed me on the cheek. "The gals are starting to stir. I think we should keep Madge overnight. She needs a break."

"What's she in New York to do, exactly?"

He spewed buzzwords: "Working with some insane postmodernist Swedish performance art guy on a project transforming sacred music into the profane and vice versa. But like I said, she needed a break. Did I mention the guy's insane?"

"You did."

Ziggy ran his fingers along my bare shoulders. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt? Never mind. I like you like this. You know what Madge has never done? She's never seen Rocky Horror."

I spun to face him on the stool. "What? Isn't that, like, part of the required initiation ritual for goths?"

"She's old enough that she pre-dates it, maybe," Ziggy said, a small frown between his eyebrows as he tried to work out the math. Then he focused on me. "You've done it?"

"Yeah. When I was still in high school." One of those nights I'd escaped into the city and didn't sleep until after I snuck back into my bedroom in New Jersey.

"By yourself?" Ziggy asked.

I nodded.

"Me, too. I had to sneak away from the gang I was running with because they would've gone apeshit if I got caught doing something so... you know."

"Gay?"

"I was going to use a dirty word for it, but yeah." He raked his hand through his hair and it stood up. "Anyway, since we're all playing hooky this is perfect. We get dressed up–made up, I mean–and then no one will recognize us."

"Like we did for Pride."

"Yeah, except I'm not going to call Bernard on such short notice." He bit his lip. "Come on. It'll be fun."

I kissed that lip and felt the edge of his teeth. "I'm not wearing a shirt because I don't have a clean one. And you don't have to try to convince me to go out."

"I don't?"

I wrapped my legs around his. "You don't. But I do think we should tell Tony where we're going."

"He can't come with us. He's too conspicuous and any fan worth her salt knows he works for me."

"I didn't say come with us, just tell him where we're going."

Ziggy thought for a moment. "I'll tell him to pick us up at the theater and take us clubbing after."

So it was that our plans for the next ten or twelve hours were set.

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