A song is not a prison. A cage for time and memory, yes. But a song is not a prison.
People have complex relationships with songs, and part of what makes songs magical is their mutability of meaning, not just within the lyrics, but — maybe even more importantly — also within the contextual framework that defines a song for each listener.
You see, a song is never just a song. It’s the songwriter, performer, culture, listener, and discovery all rolled into one. The entire catalogue of an artist will sound very different to someone who was introduced by an ex than it does to someone who encountered that artist in the wild.Baggage is attendant and ever present, let alone the question of whether we ever like something on its own merit or simply because someone told us to/it connects with some precious part of our past and inner self. A few chords and the truth — but whose truth? What chords? In which order?
In the realm of creative products, there are few entries as humble as songs. Words, melody, rhythm, and harmony. But on a page the lyrics can call the rest to mind for a familiar reader, prompting an invisible Victrola to play a misremembered recording and perhaps casting one into a nostalgic visitation upon their equally misremembered past. The boy who swore he’d never. The year of loss. The corner of Minnewawa and Herndon.
As a songwriter, you consign yourself to knowing that nobody will ever hear the song as you do, and you have no control over this sophisticated ethereal apparatus. So you have two choices: write the song, or don’t.
A song is not a prison, but in my case the process of writing a song can feel like a sentence. I don’t know where creative sparks come from, but I feel an incredible pressure to guard their flame and to bring them to light. Failure to do so is to me a dereliction of duty.
When a melodic, lyrical, or other song conceit pops into my head it becomes a problem to solve. It can be greatly distressing and I will fixate on it until I have cracked enough of the code to ease the tension headache and lower my blood pressure. This compulsion is why I write like I’m running out of time. Songwriting imprisons me. But songwriting is not a song.
A song is not a prison. A song is freedom from time, place, and sense. A song is not a prison.
