Writing Music — Is It That Different Than Writing an Essay?
When my partner suggested I learn to learn to play the bass, I eagerly bought a bright mint-green instrument and even got myself a leopard print strap with my Wedding Planner job money. I wanted to share his passion, so I ventured into the world of music. Being easily influenced, watching him play the drums for hours on end made me yearn to create similar sounds. Perhaps music could complement my writing practice or simply make me feel cooler. However, a year later, I must admit that my musical skills remain rudimentary and underwhelming, much like when I first acquired that mint-green bass.
Soon after purchasing the bass, my partner casually mentioned, "You should write music," as though my abilities were interchangeable. The word "should" triggered a sense of shame, as if I were foolish for not considering it myself. The word carries a certain pressure. Is there truly a difference between writing an essay and writing a song? A, B, C, D — Do, Re, Mi. Words flow from my fingertips as if they were pre-packaged and ready to go. Writing is my life's commitment, so why not venture into a new medium?
The predicament I face is that music requires learning to play an instrument, whereas writing only necessitates paper and pen (and perhaps someone to teach you spelling and reading).
Every story has a backstory.
Throughout my life, I've had a tendency to mold my personality around my partners. For instance, I only have a cat because an ex-boyfriend was infatuated with felines, and I believed that owning a cat would make him visit me more often. It was a simple equation: 1+1=2. He, too, was a musician. On our second date, he serenaded me with his acoustic guitar for a full hour, and although I didn't know where to direct my gaze, I found it quite alluring. Later that evening, he disclosed that he had been diagnosed as a narcissist, to which I thought, "Well, at least he asks questions," setting the bar rather low based on past experiences.
As a child, I had a Russian conservatory-trained Armenian piano teacher. Whenever he arrived to give us our mid-day piano lessons, my brother Jordan and I would pretend to be asleep, hoping that our feigned slumber would deceive him. I would hide behind the pillows on my bed, while my brother lay on the floor in the hallway. We hoped our teacher couldn't discern the difference between our genuine sleep and our act. However, my other brother, Douglas, willingly embraced the lessons, and his dedication paid off — he became a skilled pianist. He went on to study piano and opera in college. Meanwhile, whenever Jordan and I pretended to be asleep during our lessons, our piano teacher would tickle us awake, only to scold us moments later and forcefully press our tiny fingers onto distant keys.
I sang for years, even landing lead roles in high school musicals on two occasions. I even studied opera at the Colburn School of Music in Los Angeles. However, I struggled with pitch and frequently forgot to breathe properly. Catching a tune in my head proved challenging, often leading me to ask, "Can you play it again?" repeatedly for hours. And yet, I no longer make attempts to learn songs. Nowadays, I'm more preoccupied with indulging in marijuana and sustaining an aria is simply out of the question.
Nevertheless, I continue to explore the realm of music.
An act of conjuring.
Writing and music both involve the act of "writing," and since I am a "writer," shouldn't I be capable of delving into songwriting based on my existing skill set? An essay is an attempt, originating from the French word "essayer," meaning "to try." Meanwhile, a song can follow a formula with a chorus, verses, and possibly a bridge if one is feeling adventurous. But then again, both can be seen as attempts, both can adhere to a formula. Can't they both simply be labeled as such? Does a song need to adhere to a specific structure to be heard? Does the same apply to an essay? Ultimately, both mediums result in sound or words on paper. They represent both an experience and a tangible product. However, the process of creating, of conjuring something from the ethereal, feels like magic, and that's where the connection lies.
Both writing and music require a touch of magic — the act of conjuring. In a 1970 interview on the Dick Cavett Show, Paul Simon revealed the genesis of his song "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Pulling out his acoustic guitar from behind his seat, he casually remarked, "I wasn't planning on doing this, but I'll show you how it actually started," before strumming the guitar. After tuning it, he nodded and said, "It started out with me singing a song — the beginning of the song, I had it." He proceeded to sing it, highlighting the influence of a Bach piece in the subsequent portion. Simon continued to break down each component he wrote, explaining how his exposure to various music subconsciously shaped the course of the song.
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