Makin' music

[Jorge]

Just like we have a "writing" thread, I thought maybe this could be a thread where those of us who dabble in music could share tips, ideas, and such.

[Jorge]

As long as I can remember I've struggled with what I call "version-itis." This is when I find a cool chord progression or riff, and I'm really stoked on it, but then while playing around I suddenly stumble upon a DIFFERENT version of it -- same chords or riff but different phrasing, tempo, effects, or maybe I play it palm-muted, or maybe I double-time it, or ...

And now suddenly I have 3 or 4 different versions of the same idea that I've fallen in love with, and I don't know which one to go with, and it causes some kind of paralysis because choosing one feels like throwing several good ideas away.

Wondering if this is something others struggle with and how they deal with it

[spike]

I can relate to that. It’s hard to commit to one progression or version of it for sure. I guess the answer is to develop all of them and see what wins out, but that’s a much larger time/energy commitment.

I assume that’s why musicians often talk about the discipline of writing every day for a certain amount of time - like a job. They’re not necessarily coming up with endless ideas, but making time to really explore a few over a certain period of time.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tree_]

It's interesting how the word "music" is derived from the word "muse", when you must be inspired to create something which is itself inspiring, like a muse eating her tail

[Jorge]

I found that this problem sorts itself out over time. Certain parts have a way of wanting to fit together, and others just kind of fall by the wayside.

I've been reading about motivic development and it seems like a good way to solve this problem but you're right, some pieces just don't fit together... I just feel a pang of remorse "wasting" those parts because I think they're really cool

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[bodysnatcher]

you guys are just describing Kanye's album release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release re-release process

[spike]

I found that this problem sorts itself out over time. Certain parts have a way of wanting to fit together, and others just kind of fall by the wayside.

I've been reading about motivic development and it seems like a good way to solve this problem but you're right, some pieces just don't fit together... I just feel a pang of remorse "wasting" those parts because I think they're really cool

Are they from the No Code sessions?

[coptheriotact]

As long as I can remember I've struggled with what I call "version-itis." This is when I find a cool chord progression or riff, and I'm really stoked on it, but then while playing around I suddenly stumble upon a DIFFERENT version of it -- same chords or riff but different phrasing, tempo, effects, or maybe I play it palm-muted, or maybe I double-time it, or ...

And now suddenly I have 3 or 4 different versions of the same idea that I've fallen in love with, and I don't know which one to go with, and it causes some kind of paralysis because choosing one feels like throwing several good ideas away.

Wondering if this is something others struggle with and how they deal with it

what about using one variant as an intro, bridge or second verse?

or finish the double-time one, and then make an alt. version named something entirely different where you use the other phrasing, tempo.. like a reprise or day/night version etc?

[96583UP]

i just wanna jam, maaan; and let it all, like, organically develop, maaan

true story

once i try to structure things i overthink it and it spoils the feeling and right now don't feel like i want / need that pressure

i just like to play

fine w that

had a good solo drum bashout session earlier

i don't need other people

<looks out the window longingly>

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[E.H. Ruddock]

New word for me! Just looked it up but yes...

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Strat]

As long as I can remember I've struggled with what I call "version-itis." This is when I find a cool chord progression or riff, and I'm really stoked on it, but then while playing around I suddenly stumble upon a DIFFERENT version of it -- same chords or riff but different phrasing, tempo, effects, or maybe I play it palm-muted, or maybe I double-time it, or ...

And now suddenly I have 3 or 4 different versions of the same idea that I've fallen in love with, and I don't know which one to go with, and it causes some kind of paralysis because choosing one feels like throwing several good ideas away.

Wondering if this is something others struggle with and how they deal with it

what about using one variant as an intro, bridge or second verse?

or finish the double-time one, and then make an alt. version named something entirely different where you use the other phrasing, tempo.. like a reprise or day/night version etc?

Yea, i was gonna say, work on trying to combine them. Could be a fun exercise.

i dig music.

[BurtReynolds]

As long as I can remember I've struggled with what I call "version-itis." This is when I find a cool chord progression or riff, and I'm really stoked on it, but then while playing around I suddenly stumble upon a DIFFERENT version of it -- same chords or riff but different phrasing, tempo, effects, or maybe I play it palm-muted, or maybe I double-time it, or ...

And now suddenly I have 3 or 4 different versions of the same idea that I've fallen in love with, and I don't know which one to go with, and it causes some kind of paralysis because choosing one feels like throwing several good ideas away.

Wondering if this is something others struggle with and how they deal with it

This is definitely something I struggle with, and it has gotten worse over the years. I blame technology giving us too many options.

[tree_]

i didn't realize all of RM were actually practicing, and failing, musicians.. just like me! wow

[Jorge]

I just like to play and make songs. No aspirations for anything other than being creative and having fun

[tree_]

I just like to play and make songs. No aspirations for anything other than being creative and having fun

yeah but I mean failing in like, not succeeding in doing what you're trying to do, in not appreciating what you've made, just a big pile of meh.. i hit a wall a long time ago.. i know there's a nice sculpture somewhere in this pile of shit, but i'm unable or unwilling to chisel it out... and i'm OK with that now.. i've accepted who I am

[Strat]

im 2 years deep into writing/recording an album with me band and its all been DIY. Been an absolute blast learning how to record/mix and all that stuff. Im not very good at it but slowly learning with the guiding hand of our very own TRAG via Albini really.

Recording drums was the biggest challenge and also most fun!

nearing the finish line. can't wait to go for round 2 of songs!