sometimes I think the only place I can make a song is when Iโm at the grocery store, listening to the sound of people while waiting in the checkout line.
I keep an eye and ear open for what people cast off: half-sentences. corner store English. if the timingโs right, Iโll catch a major blowout between a girlfriend and boyfriend over something way small but way raw and emotional.
or Iโll listen in on a tableful of friends workshopping loveโs particulars at the place where I work. I donโt think of it as eavesdropping. it’s more like hearing confession. Iโm this donut shop ecclesiastic listening to the human heart as it bares its brokenness.
and so I listen, and write and hear melody. and as I do I polish what Iโve found, and as I craft it into a song hopefully expose a genuine, consoling truth in the brokenness.
I look for things I donโt ordinarily notice or personally experience. often thatโs the only way to encounter the truth. because a lot of what I write and sing about isnโt personal stuff. Iโm talking about myself only a part of the time.
the places where I notice people, and whatโs happening to them, and what they’re saying, most of it may not appear to be anything special, at first. but thereโs nothing romantic anywhere unless your heart is like that.
Leave a comment