It’s taken a while – I’m feeling a bit thick at the moment, the hot weather dulls my senses – but I’ve just realised something…
The way I work, is the way I work. Despite little forays into what I think is the unexpected, I end up doing things in a very similar fashion.
Take the songwriting… I want to submit a song for an exhibition. Just a song, to stand alone. This will be the first time I’ve done such a thing, as the songs have, up to now, been another layer/facet/aspect/voice of the visual work.
So to make sure it’s a good one, what do you do? You keep working on it. Adding more sounds, vocals, words… and some more…
I have two versions of the song now: one is very simple, my voice, and a very spare double bass. I love it. But to make it “worthy” I decide to add stuff, all manner of sounds, effects and so on. I love doing this patchwork layering of sound, I love weaving these unexpected noises between the words. I love it when it has become so intricate you fool people into thinking the washing machine spin cycle recording is a musical instrument… that the train running over tracks is percussion. This is the way I do music. I take the sounds and chop them up and stitch them back together. Same as the textiles.
But, I must remember, that process is not the same as product.
I look back at my original lyrics hand written in my note book. I think about the emotional response.
So, having had two full days worth of mucking about in GarageBand, having great fun, it has to be said, I have reached a conclusion.
The song I will submit is the simple version.
A woman’s voice.
Words expressing a craving to not be invisible, to reclaim that which she didn’t know she had until she lost it.
A double bass… throbbing, deeply affecting, a physical instrument… you feel it in your gut, and you can feel the floor vibrate beneath your feet.
That’s all it needs.
The rest is just fog.