It’s Will’s own chronicle of his journey to discover the secret of songwriting, and in the course of his exploration, he uses his position as journalist to go talk to a host of British luminaries, from Keith Richards to Ray Davies. I’m only half way, but so far it’s been very readable and enjoyable.

Having started writing songs at age 18, I forget what it’s like to marvel at other people’s songs and wonder “how does anyone do that?” I say that about someone’s singing or playing, but not often with writing. I don’t mean to sound cocky, but most of the times when I hear a good song, what I say to myself is “oh yeah, I can do that.” There have been few times in my popular music journey where I went “wow — there’s no way I can write that in a million years.” The most recent was The Mars Volta. Classical music is a different story — I don’t listen to Beethoven’s Fifth and think I can write something as good. But with pop music, I very seldom felt that the heights of those considered the best were a plateau out of my reach. Whether anyone agrees with me is a different story, but that particular belief is one of the major decisions why I haven’t stopped pursuing music.

That’s not to say that I don’t write stuff that are not fit for public consumption. I write plenty of banal, generic, awful music. But so did Lennon-McCartney. We are judged by the number and consistency of our best material — they have the power to make people forget all the fillers we put out in between. The trouble with songs, though, is that the strength of writing cannot be understood unless performance and production (if recorded) do it justice. Unlike film scripts which are still gripping read even if it’s simply read in that format, a song cannot reveal its full girth until the actors and the cameramen do at least a competent enough job. That’s the area where I’m still slowly developing, though with Aries9’s first album I felt that I’ve reached a point where my own skills in those areas have finally reached a competent level.

Of course, I’m aware that if writing is my primary muse, I could have found other people to perform my songs. The thought wasn’t lost on my mind, but there are problems with that plan. The majority of my songs fall in genres where artists traditionally write their own material, instead of using songwriters to supply songs. Where that is true is primarily Nashville-based industry of country and related genres, and I am simply not a country songwriter. The other problem is that the primary reason anyone would outsource songwriting is to produce hits. While I think some of my songs are fully deserving of becoming hits on radio, my primary muse of songwriting has always been that of establishing unique style. Like Radiohead or Tori Amos, my material builds an overall impression from a collection, and picking any single song to give it to someone as an ingredient in their piece-meal effort has never appealed to me.

The bottom line is that I’ve never been all that interested in giving my songs to others. It’d be different if I’d written the song with the intention to suit someone else’s needs. I can do that but it has to be for a specific person commissioning me to write a song for him/her. Otherwise, I would rather try to figure out how to make my life work with my own quarky set of songs to satisfy my own muse than try to play the game of the industry by supplying songs that are designed to meet their demands. My art is my business, sure, but so far I’ve chosen not to sell my writing itself, but to sell what I’ve written.

I’m in this business because I enjoy creating. Last night I was up until 1am writing a song. Whether I make money or become famous is, beside the point. I’m already doing what I love to do, and nothing can take that away from me.

On the other hand — I really long to discover an act that personifies the same brutal anger that SOAD does, without being cartoony.  This is also a problem with most other metal bands, including In Flames, who, along with SOAD, are so brilliant I can’t begin to describe their genius.

Metal bands with their chainsaw voices and cookie-monster gravel, can sound so caricaturized.  It’s one thing if they mix it with clean vocals and reserve the hoarse stuff for the key points — but most of bands, that’s all they do.  It may have an impact at first, but soon you get numb to their anger.  And to me, this compromises the weight of their emotion.  It can sound juvenile, shallow, though SOAD and In Flames are the ones that escape that trap most of the time.  Most other metal bands don’t.

The flip side of this is that I want to be just as articulate and brutal as SOAD in my angriest of songs.  Except I can’t do death metal screams.

Screaming isn’t the only way to express anger.  Sometimes, a whisper can give you more chills than blood-curdling scream.   Just like the best of horror movies are the ones that don’t show the fearsome monster or gory violence.  There must be a way to use restraint and minimalism, so that I can unleash one fierce note and cut through like a over-sharpened knife.  A way to express the desperate anger without walking up to within an inch of someone’s face and yelling into oblivion. This is a territory I want to explore more — try to see if I can incorporate into my own music.

Anybody know an act that can do this?  Be bone-chillingly angry without screaming?  Please let me know.

Since graduation, we had spoken once over the phone during college.  Considering that, we enjoyed a great conversation — it was amazing how we still related to each other after all these years.  It appeared that although we don’t live close to one another and have had totally different life experiences for the last 16 years, the core of our personalities, the part where we connected, remained.

He and I were discussing how we have changed, and he was commenting on how it appeared as though I hadn’t changed much.  (I had sent him a photo of my family via e-mail earlier.)  I agreed with him that I probably don’t look all that different — if it weren’t for my increasing grey hair, I can still pass for a college student. I went on to explain to him that I really haven’t changed that much.  I’m still a teeanger who loves rock guitar.  If you see me driving, I’m singing along to some CD loudly.  If you leave me alone in a room, I’d turn up music loud and start mimicing Steve Taylor-esque mic stand antics.  (I’m not into air guitar, since I’m a real guitar player.  It feels silly to me to air guitar when I can really play it)

Really, my love of music has totally unchanged.  Before, I thought that with maturity I would “slow down” and stop listening to hard, heavy, aggressive music.  No such change — if anything, I can apprecite even heavier music now.  The range of my music appreciation has widened and deepened — I can like some music I didn’t like before, while some juvenile-sounding music no longer works for me — but really, I still love music.  All I need to do is to pick up my guitar and start belting out some songs, and I’m in seventh heaven.  Nothing else gives me the energy I get from music.

I’m in my mid 30s, but I really am not the person I thought I would be at my age.  I still feel very young, and that I have a lot more growing up to do.

If you think about it, rock musicians are expected to mature young — in their 20s.  I can’t think of an artist that became wildly successful even though they didn’t debut until mid 30s.  Maybe Doug Pinnick of King’s X — though I won’t consider them to be “wildly successful” commercially.  Of course, commercial success isn’t the only definition of real success — and that’s not the point of this post.  Rock musicians are expected to get their acts together at young age, although the music itself can suggest decadence and chaos, and similar traits in their life style.  It’s a bit of contradiction.

But in other genres of music, musicians are not expected to mature until much later.  For example, human voice actually doesn’t fully mature until mid 30s.  Opera singers in 20s have to wait for their voices to mature before they begin the serious part of their career.  Classical composers in their 20s or even 30s are considered “just getting started.”  They are not expected to write their masterpieces until 50s or 60s.

Of course, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what the world thinks is the appropriate age to be doing certain kinds of music.  My youthful passion in rock music has unchanged since age 16, and has no signs to do so.

I really believe that our “real” age — not the physical age of how long we’ve been living but the true age of our being — is more based on how we feel inside.  That’s why Rolling Stones and B. B. King and John Williams (the film composer) can keep going in their old age.  Sure, their physical bodies are starting to show its limits, but they’ve been able to sustain their activity much longer than most people at their age.  Rock n roll keep people young longer.  They should market it as an anti-aging treatment.

I’m not saying I haven’t changed at all since graduating high school.  I grew up a lot.  I, for one, would never go back to any previuos eras in my life.  I like me of today better — I’ve kept the good parts and got rid of the bad.  And my love of music has stayed with me the whole time.  I’ve tried to live ignoring it.  But every time I pick up my guitar, or every time I open my mouth to sing, I have a melt down.  It simply feels too good, too energizing not to do it.

I don’t expect to be playing “Diamond Sleeps Tonight” at age 80.  But who knows, I may surprise myself, as I have so far.  I may not be getting younger, but my youth remains.  I’m still the same kid who is in love with rock n roll.

Fading out a song at the end.

There are millions of ways to begin a song. The most common way is to play a riff or the main chord progression — sometimes with just a guitar, sometimes full band. The Beatles turned listeners’ heads when they wrote a song that started with a chorus, right off the bat. Now it doesn’t seem so surprising.

Similarly, there are millions of creative ways to end a song. Repeating the chorus and fading out is pure laziness. The only time where fading out is called for is when that effect actually has a significance. It creates a sense of the continuity, the song doesn’t end, it just trails off…. And yes, I can see that in some places. I would probably do that with some of my songs.

But probably very few.

The other problem of fading out is playing the song live. A lot of times, musicians have help fro producers in stage to arrange the songs — but not for playing live. So a lot of the faded-out songs have really dumb endings live. It just destroys the feeling of the song. You just can’t repeat the chorus 3 times and hit the root chord at the end. You have to properly write endings to make them work.

Like my previous rant on song titles, I just think it’s a missed opportunity. A song creates only a finite space for creativity. You owe it to the song to work it to its maximum capacity (without overdoing it).

We can write brilliant melodies and riffs in a flash. But songwriting is a hard work. Laziness is our enemy.

And in the conversation, I realized that there’s a huge common ground between job hunting and promoting a band.

It’s all about identity.

When you’re promoting a band, it’s crucial to define who you are and what your music is.  You need to have a concise, clear way of describing your identity as a band.  You want all the promotional material to reflect that identity — from band photos to bios to web sites.  If you’re a glorified garage rock band, then you’d naturally want a sense of trashiness in your presentation.  A hushed, quiet folk music, a sense of earth and tranquility.

This is also true about job hunting.

When you’re looking for a job, you’re not just trying to find a job that you qualify for and then show the interviewers how your qualifications match the job listings.

You can get a job doing just that, but that’s a crap shoot.  You’re just waiting to be lucky.

What you have to do is to clearly define who you are, and look for a company that looks like they can use someone like you.  And this is more about culture than specific qualifications.  Different kinds of people work in different industries.  Advertising agencies are filled with Type-A go-getters, they are casual and slick and trendy.  IT tends to be very analytical, confident yet competitive.  I’m overgeneralizing here, but in general this is true.

I myself have had multiple stints in publishing industry and non-profit arts organizations.  Why?  Those industries tend to attract people like me.  I would think I’d fit well in higher-education institutions, too, though somehow I never had a chance to verify that, so I might have been wrong.

My friend is an IT professional, but he told me about how he doesn’t like a lot of IT guys he meets.  It’s very macho and competitive, and while very smart, they can come across condescending and arrogant — even to their customers!  He felt that he was different.  He loves helping people solve their computer problems.  He’s great at explaining technical concepts to people who are not savvy.  I could tell that the helping was the part that drove him to do his job — not the technical knowledge.

When I looked at his resume, though, what he had on there didn’t tell me what he just told me.  So I told him to put that in at the top, nice and bold.

“I’m an IT tech who’s not an asshole.”

While people like my friend may be minority among IT guys, there are companies who would love to hire him.  He himself identified that he felt more comfortable in non-profit, healthcare or higher-education institutes.  (see why he and I are friends?)  He’d be a well-appreciated IT guy in a non-IT industry, where people care about helping other people.

I’m convinced that with this new realization about who he is and where he fits in, he can go and find a great job, sooner rather than later.

You see how the process went:

1. Figure out who you are.
2. Articulate it in presentation.
3. Send that to places where like-minded people congregate.

This is exactly the same, between job hunting and promoting a band.  I imagine, it’s the same, too, if you’re looking for a romantic relationship, or any friends.

We have to first know ourselves, then figure out how to tell others about who we are, before finding like-minded people.  Once you realize this, then you can get better at doing this.

Everything starts with your identity.  Be sure to start close to home.

It’s like owning great tools that you don’t have the manuals for.

One such asset I have is the fact that I am Japanese.  I am completely bilingual, both linguistically and culturely.

There aren’t many successful Japanese rock musicians in US.  There are some Japanese-Americans, a few.  Like Mike Shinoda of Linkin Park and James Iha, formerly of Smashing Pumpkins.  But neither are the “face” of the bands they’re in.

At first, I thought that my Japanese-ness is a detriment to my rock music, not an asset.  It just seems easier, to be a regular Caucasian rock guy.  Being more of what people expect.

I got rid of that idea, but I still don’t know how to use my Japanese-ness to my advantage.  There is a subculture forming, not just US but all over the world, of people appreciating J-Rock.  But typically, they’re focused on a sub-genre within Japanese rock scene — it’s caled “Vis-kei,” or “visual kei.”  It’s referring to bands that are heavily into made-up look, sporting artificial and androgynous surface.  X Japan is considered the godfather of this sub-genre, and they looked like this:

Looks like a take-off on gram rock, doesn’t it?

Well, that’s definitely not me.  I tried approaching sites like J-Rock Revolution, and some J-Rock fans on MySpace — but it’s ultimately a stretch.  At this point, I am more like a Japanese-American than a Japanese.  I was born in Japan, but now I am not from Japan.  I don’t know much about current Japan and its music.  And to be honest, I can’t stomach most Japanese rock. 

A while back, I discovered a band called Heavens Dust.  They were very exciting to me for a short while — because of their brilliant mix of traditional Japanese music into the modern rock architecture.  Unfortunately, their music didn’t grow on me personally, but I still think it was an inspired idea, incorporating our unique cultural heritage into a more universal form.

I relate to their visual image better, too.

That seems more authentically Japanese to me, though still too much influence of typical western rock/punk look.

The problem is that I am Japanese, but I am not Japanese enough to make typical Japanese-born concepts my own.  Like Zen or Karaoke or Anime.

Someone once told me “you’re too wholesome.”  And that’s another asset I’m not sure what to do with.  I eat organic food and humanely raised meat, I don’t smoke and have never done drugs.  I’m more at home at a church than in bars.  I’m a devoted father, but domesticity doesn’t mix well with rock n roll, unless I’m making children’s music.  My wife says I’m bookish, but I don’t relate to the whole nerd or geek outlook — like Weezer (which is a band I do love).

If I were a jazz, classical or even folk musician, I think many of those things make more sense.  It’s easier to make the whole package.  But I am a rock musician.  I make dangerous music.  But I am not a dangerous person, nor do I live a dangerous life style.

In the end, I’m proud of who I am and how atypical I am.  But at the same time, I’m not sure how to incorporate all that into my music, my artistry, my presentation.  I feel rather inarticulate, and that’s frustrating.

But — what can I do?  Derek Sivers says to be “an extreme version of who I am.”  That, I am doing, I think.

I’m a wholesome Japanese rocker.  There, that should be my dot com name.  WholesomeJapaneseRock.com.

What do you think?

To show the sides of our personalities that are appropriate in any given situation.

You may not swear as often in the company of your parents or grandparents.

Or maybe you do.

On your best behavior on your date?  Or talk trash on stage, between songs, like you’ve seen many other rock stars do?

We all have some degrees of personas.  And I do, too.

I think how I present myself in my blog, in my communications relating to my music — is a fairly sincere, truthful persona.  I’m not hiding much.  I think I come across more or less like this in person, especially in one-to-one conversations.

I can’t help but be me, and for the most part, I’m comfortable with that.  But I also have to admit, that I am still in the process accepting this person that is me, making the kind of music I do.

I’ve never heard or seen a persona like this one among rock music circles.  Among those who play heavy/aggressive/progressive rock music.

I’m going to reveal a complete stereotype, but they do fit, most of the times.  Heavy metal guys look, talk and act like heavy metal guys.  Grunge guys have their ways.  I can spot musicians on streets — because they dress and talk and act a certain way.  They emit a vibe.

Or I’m going to confess the flip side.  If I’m out meeting people with my family — and typically, we meet other families.  Dads and moms.  Devoted parents.  And I hesitate to mention what kind of music I make.  My music doesn’t seem like the type of music a parent should make.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re going to say.  Why do you care about “should’s?”   Be yourself!  Make the music you love!  Be proud of it!

And you are right, and I do what I do, and I love it.  I’m not going to change for anything.

But some days, an ugly doubt raises its head.  Is it really me?  Is it really acceptable to be who I am and make the music I make?

When I don’t see anyone else with a similar persona, and making aggressive rock?

It’s a funny thing.  In music, uniqueness is supposed to be an asset.  Yet, you’d also feel unsure, lonely even, when you feel like there’s no precedence.

Now, I am not saying that there are no precedence.  I find great comfort in looking at guys like Steve Wilson of Porcupine Tree, and Stone Gossard of Pearl Jam.  They look like decent, intellectual, thoughtful human beings — like me.    They look like they could be computer programmers.  I’m not saying that most rock musicians aren’t decent.  But you know — a lot of them are punks.    I’m not a punk.  Nor a nerd.  Or a geek.  Or a metalhead.

What am I, then?  Well, you can probably tell me that better than I can. A goody-two-shoes, maybe?  Bookish, too.

I do relate to Stone, and I appreciate him, whenever I see or hear him in interviews.  He seems like a no-nonsense, down-to-earth guy.  A regular guy.  He doesn’t exactly look like a rock star that he is — short hair, glasses, regular clothes.

I’m like that.  People would never guess that I am a rock guitarist, by meeting me in person.

So, I have atypical persona for a rock musician.  Big deal.  It is an asset, something that distinguish me from others.

But in my hours of weakness, I sometimes wonder.

If it would be anyway “easier” if I were more “typical.”

…..

I may be over-sentimental, but I am not dumb.  I know the answer to that question.

Yes, I do.

He’s the founder of CDbaby.com.

He recently released a free e-book for self-promoting musicians. I downloaded and read it, and understood why he succeeded.

The man is a genius.

What makes him so? It’s in his ability to cut through the muck, fluff and BS to the core of things. He’s able to distill issues down to its core essence.

Just read that thing, and marvel at how concise that is.

Another book I appreciate in a similar manner, is Zen Guitar by Philip Toshio Sudo.

That should be a must-read for all musicians, not just guitar players. It is full of lessons about life. Music is a portion of our life — so if you improve how you live, you’re improving your music-making.

In both cases, what I appreciate is that their conciseness. They both say only the things that must be said, and no more.

Yet, there is no room for misunderstanding. What takes me 2000 words to say, the can say in 5 words.

That’s a skill I’m still trying to learn.

I particularly appreciate them, because I’m a quick learner of concepts. I don’t need to read all the explanations and examples. I like concepts presented as it is. If it’s a sound principle, I’ll get it. That’s all I need.

What they say are all memorable and profound. Verbosity only clutters things up. I’m too verbose, because I fear miscommunication and lack of validation too much. I feel like I need to prove myself, and explain all the little permutations and exceptions of my theories.

They’re beyond that. They can cut straight to the core, with only a few words. Their words are super-effective. They’re like well-sharpened knife, or a gun with super-accurate targeting system. Machine-gun approach can get the same thing done, but far less efficiently. They just need a handful of bullets to hit the bulls-eye.

I want to be like them.

Not as much metal.  More of folkier music and “sunny day rock.”

One of the way I think of music is that it’s a sound track to the movie that is your life.

It expresses the mood, tempo, energy, feelings, and so on.  You can use it to reflect how you’re doing at the time, or you can use it affect/change your state of being.

For example, in the morning I like to listen to uplifting music.  Something that gets me going.  It doesn’t necessarily mean something up-tempo or energetic.

Like U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name.”  That song has possibly one of the greatest intros in the history of rock music.  It gives me goosebumps every time.  It inspires me and makes me want to do something — something good.

One thing about “sound track” music, though, is that for me, the production value has to be somewhat high and polished.

There are two approaches to recording.  One is to capture the moment.  Like live recordings, or live-in-studio performance.  You want to preserve the immediacy, spontaneity, interaction of the musicians.  You want to capture the feeling present “in the room.”  This can produce a raw and possible more emotional/direct recording.  When it works, it can cut you straight to heart with unadulterated feeling.

Then the other approach is to make a “studio” recording.  You actually take away the liveness or rawness of the sound so that it doesn’t sound like it’s a capture of a particular time and space.  It is more neutral, and can fit into different contexts.  It’s usually slick and more perfect-sounding than sometimes possible in live situations.  But you aren’t distracted by having to pay attention to the humanity or physicality behind the performances.  You just appreciate the composition, arrangement and production.

Obviously all recordings fall somewhere within the two extremes, but most studio recordings nowadays are constructed in a way closer to the latter philosophy.

And the approach definitely affects the “sound-trackability” of the recording.  If it’s live and raw sounding, it pulls me too much into their setting, instead of it being an accompaniment to my “scene.”  Pearl Jam doesn’t make a good sound track to my life (though I love them) because of this.  My own recording, for that matter, is a bit on the raw/under-produced side, even.  I like raw bands, but since I am interested in high production value and “sound-track” value of my music, I’m hoping to up the production value of my future recordings.

Don’t get me wrong, I am also a fan of raw recordings, and raw rock.  Nirvana’s In Utero is a great, raw rock.  I can’t listen to it casually, though, because it’s so intense.  I like my blues, folk/acoustic and classical music served this way.

But most prog rock guys lean toward the studio side, because their forte is in the composition and arrangements.  And I feel like that’s true also for Aries9.  It’s in the construction of the parts that evoke the feelings I’m trying to communicate — that’s a different thing from playing live, where you’re trying to remove as much filtering as possible to emit direct, pure emotions.

Back to where I started, with changing of seasons, I need a different sound track to my life.  It only makes sense — a bright scene and a dark scene require different kinds of music.  When it was cold, dark and harsh outside, I needed the propelling and heroic energy of my favorite heavy rockers to go brave into my days.  When it’s warm and comfy, I don’t need quite as much pep talk.

So — what am I listening these days?  Midnight Oil’s Capricornia, Blackfield II, Renee Stahl’s Hopeful.Romantic, (she’s recent discovery — too bad she seems inactive right now), and Kalli’s While the City Sleeps.

What are you listening to, this summer?

When I put together my music, I knew that there was a theme to it. I hesitate to call it a “story” but I am seeing a few roles and a sense of progression — something happens to them over the course of the tale.

Of course, I’m talking about my own first album.

It’s kind of like putting together a large puzzle. Without ever seeing the completed picture. Each piece is so small, that putting a dozen pieces or so together doesn’t really tell me what it is. But as you diligently put pieces together, there comes a point where all the sudden you realize what you’re putting together. It may turn out that it’s upside down or side way — and you correct it.

A while ago, I coined the term “progressive modern rock” to define my music. That was an “aha” moment (to quote Oprah). My music is not progressive rock. But it’s not plain modern rock or grunge. It is modern, because it doesn’t sound like music from any other decade. The term “modern rock” was made up in the 90s, however, the era of my root. So I was comfortable with that, but it still didn’t really tell me enough. To say “progressive modern rock” (as opposed to “modern progressive rock”) really felt right. This is a modern rock music with elements of progressive music. Not the other way around. (Allmusic.com uses the term Neo-Prog to describe bands like Dream Theater and Porcupine Tree.)

Yesterday, I was revising my CDbaby description. I’ve never been happy with what I put on there.

Then I recalled the advise from Derek Sivers, the CDbaby founder. He says to trash the industry- and musician-talk. To describe music with things like “complex guitar parts” or “soaring harmonies” doesn’t work. He says we should just talk, as if I’m trying to tell a friend what my music sounds like.

So I started doing that. And, all the sudden it just felt right.

Like writing a blog entry — except this is the “meta” entry, the one that explains a big picture.

And in it, I finally hit upon the right way to describe my music’s concept:

“Darkness Reveals the Beauty of Truth is the first half of a loosely thematic song collection, centering around one man’s struggle and disillusionment with his world.”

I wrote that, and thought “ah — that’s what I’ve been trying to describe.”

The key word for me there was “disillusionment.”

My songs are really conversations. There is a protagonist, but the “I” person isn’t always him, depending on the song or which part of the song. And the other party is the voices from his world. This voice throws out all kinds of conflicting messages. It can be enticing one moment, sinister the next.

The songs are like episodes in this arc. Each song reveals a new layer. For example, Shark starts out with the voices of the world, with a series of lunatic invitations. The choruses are the protagonist’s response. Tiny Toon is definitely the voice of the protagonist. It’s him singing “living with the black guns, not knowing where to shoot.” In general, the earlier songs contain more of the voices of the world, while the later songs really expresses the protagonist’s point of view.

I hesitate to discuss more of my interpretations, as I don’t want to define the “official” meaning of these songs — but now I see clearly what my songs are trying to communicate. In the other words, I see the framework of the story — how you fill in the blanks, is up to each listener (including the songwriter himself). But I needed to see that framework, to set the context. To know where to begin.

And I did say this is the first half. The next album is the conclusion of this tale. And I do know how the story ends.

All in all, I’ve been very happy with how my own songs are growing on me. I don’t listen to them everyday, but it seems like with time, I’m discovering more meanings and depth in my own material, that I didn’t know I had. And that’s very gratifying, as I was hoping to create music that stands up to this kind of exploration. It’s sort of an ideal for me — to create music that is catchy enough to grab you on the first listen, but deep enough to live with it for a long time. All the amazing musicians, from Bach to Beethoven to the Beatles and Led Zeppelin, do that. I don’t think I’m anywhere near their heights, of course, but not a bad start for a batch of songs that were mostly written when I was much younger.

I can’t wait to tell the rest of the tale.