ben wakeman : : Journal

The Ghost of an Old Friend

April 26, 2005

In my last entry, I had started a new piece of writing, with no idea where it came from or where it was headed. One night last week I sat down and recorded a track spontaneously from a simple little riff that I had played earlier when I was sitting in the backyard after putting the kids to bed. It came out as one whole piece in a little under two hours. Just on a whim, I tried singing the lyric from my previous journal entry. It turned into a beautiful discovery for me, but then writing songs always is I suppose. I've never tried recording something literally as it is being written, but it captures the spirit and the vibe of the pure emotion and thought that inspire all songs before they have been rehearsed and polished and proven.

I wrote more lyrics this morning in hopes having having something more to sing than the silly skat that I did when I ran out of words in the recording. I'm always amazed at how the subconsious mind works. Everyone knows how to write songs, they just don't call it that, they call it dreaming. When you write songs, you are simply recording your dreams to music. I had no idea what this song was about, it was simply an emotional impulse, very much like the non-specific memory of a dream. I had just gotten an email from my best friend from childhood whom I have not seen or really talked to in about 8 years, but who I still think about often. He is getting married. This event set something in motion for me far below the surface and at first all I could make out was the basic shape of the thing, much like sonar returns a fuzzy picture of an object in the ocean depths. Even after I started writing words, I had made no real connection. Only this morning after doing a quick mix of the demo, did it all come home to me. I was wrting about Dan, missing him and missing our youth.

Now, armed with actual knowledge of where this song was going, I penned another verse giving me this:

The sun slants through the first new leaves of spring
Making our shadows long for something
As we cross the wet grass on our way to school
Leaving two dark trails in a sea of shimmering chlorophyll

I know this walk will never be repeated, but the passage
Recorded and replayed like an old tape loop reeling,
It's hiss-warble and hum an echo of the warmth imprinted there
In my heart you'll always be there

The twang of cheap guitars in musty basement jam sessions
Three chords, two kids, one fevered dream between us
Scribbled lyrics wailed into cheap boombox recordings
Boxed away forever beneath the stairs in my parents house

I know those songs will never be repeated, but the passages
Recorded and replayed like an old tape loop reeling,
It's hiss-warble and hum an echo of the warmth imprinted there
In my heart you'll always be there

You can check out the recording here. It's basically an orgy of guitars with some backbeat loops, but there's something raw and special about it I think. I know I will go back and polish it later, putting actual words in there, but I wanted to capture the spirit of the discovery so I can remember how it happens and what it's all about.