Beneath
The Remains…
When
I challenged myself to write something and actually publish it online every
week for a year, I thought it would be beneficial to write about a topic close
to my heart and something of which I have knowledge. I decided to write about 52
of the most influential albums in my musical experience with the intention that
I would bring something personal to each “review” and perhaps get some friends
excited about music from their pasts or stuff they’d never heard before. Here
are some reflections on how it all went:
1. I did it. I actually wrote something and
published it every week for a year for no other reason than I told myself to. This
was the first aim: to make me write - to show myself that I could sit down,
think, write, and then show people (who were willing to look – thank you!). Pride
is too strong a word, but I am heartened that I managed this even during busy
times, holidays, and lulls in motivation. This hopefully proves to me that should
I decide to write something more focused that I can finish it.
2. Writing about music is hard. It is especially
so when you realise about a twelfth of the way in to the task that you know three
technical music terms and you have used them several times already. It was
painful to find myself floundering over how to discuss scales or arpeggios without
sounding like a try-hard or, even worse, a complete imbecile.
3. Part of my intent was to avoid the frustrations
of the above by just talking about my personal experiences of the albums. On maybe
a quarter of the published posts I achieved this, but the rest seemed to take
on some sort of commercial review tone or a track-by-track breakdown approach.
Neither of these things was what I wanted to do, so I find it hard to read back
some of those examples when I know there was a better personal story that I
could have told.
4. It is interesting to realise that the
bubbling thoughts and inspiration to write about a topic do not regularly lead
to good ideas or worthwhile writing. I could have sworn that I had something
interesting to say about every album that appeared on that list. This was not
the case. I found myself scratching my head, rereading lyrics, and thrashing my
neck to generate insight or jog my memory, and ultimately, I sometimes found
myself questioning if I really liked some of these albums as much as I was
claiming. But it wasn’t the music. It was the thing that any prospective writer
has experienced: the complete disconnect between electrified, excited synapses
and the combination of words that will somehow express these thoughts,
feelings, and sensations.
5. I have more respect for people who have
dedicated themselves to writing for a living or even a main hobby. It is pretty
lonely and, at times, nerve-racking.
6. I love independent coffee shops. Fair
play to any establishment that gives me the feeling of being social while also
providing decent WiFi, a quiet-ish place to write, and delicious things to eat
and drink.
7. I love music to an un-nerving degree. During
this year of relistening to some of the most influential music in my life I
cried, felt homesick, missed friends, thrashed my neck so hard I felt ill for
days, punched furniture in gleeful livingroom rebellion, smiled and laughed like
a madman while headbanging to joyously heavy music, scared my partner with the
ferocity of my metal dancing, and learned about the amazing things my favourite
bands and artists did to create these absurd, beautiful, twisted, and moving
sounds.
1. I love my friends. I got drunken texts
about blog posts that struck a chord, messages about shared memories of some of
the music, excited comments about who would be in upcoming posts, and thanks
for introducing people to music they didn’t know. One friend managed to make
the whole thing seem worthwhile all by themselves. Thank you.
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