So far, I got 3 songs to “record-ready” status, meaning, it has the structures and lyrics down mostly. These things change as I record them, but they are good and settled enough to start recording. Plus, I have over a dozen snippets — riffs, melodies and chord progressions — that I’m really excited about.

What’s been amazing to me is how inspiration-free all of it is. I wasn’t waiting for the muse to strike me. I just sat down, picked up my guitar with the intention to write songs, and hammered them out. Usually the very first thing I play on it is a gem. Once I hear one chord, riff or melody, I can hear what should come after it that fits. There was one night when I wrote a complete song from scratch in a matter of a couple of hours. Of which, I probably spent 1 hour and 45 minutes on lyrics. And days later, I’m still humming the tune and feel jazzed about it. It’s as good as any I’ve written.

It’s been really like flipping a switch. I never knew that I could be this efficient of a song factory. Before I would sit on songs for months, years, waiting for the muse to strike me to finish them. Now I make myself work on them, and usually most of the stuff are keeper.

If the first riff I play isn’t going anywhere, and if I find that nothing is happening on music front that night, then I immediately switch gear to lyrics. I open up my trusty rhyming dictionary and I’m off. Like the music, there have been some really happy accidents with lyrics — metaphors and hooks fitting in in more ways than I imagined.

I’m having a ball doing this. I can’t wait to share these songs!

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.

All the songs on my album are special, but Half Step goes one “step” (ha ha!) further in its “specialness” in my mind.

Why? I’m not quite sure if I can put a finger on it. Maybe it just has all the qualities I like to have in my music: aggressive and catchy riff, dramatic shifts, memorable chorus, unexpected turns, poetic and emotional lyrics.

I remember the moment when I stumbled onto this song. Typically, I write verse and chorus in one setting (bridges are often written later — sometimes, much later). I came up with these colorful chords that strangely fit together. The verse goes back and forth between C#m7 and D7. The chorus, G#m7 (with top E open) and A5add9. (Wow, they look complicated when I write them down — the last chord is simply an open A, but with B string open)

And the melody came floating, on top. I do remember grimacing, though, when I came up with it — for it was way too high for my range!

Until these last 2-3 years, I always thought that I was a tenor. I don’t have a deep voice, and I can’t sing that low. My choir directors confirmed this belief — to an extent. I was always a “2nd” tenor.

For those without choral experience — tenor are the half of guys who sing the higher parts among men. They are often broken up further into two groups: 1st tenor sings the highest, 2nd tenor, the next highest. Bass sings the lowest part, and baritones sing the part above that. Though there appears to be a big difference between 2nd tenor and baritone — as we would sing different parts if the choir piece had 4-parts, instead of 8 — actually, that difference is paper thin. I knew baritones who had very light voice and could sing pretty high (they are sometimes called “lyric baritones.”).

Well, I was a tenor who couldn’t sing very high. Thom Yorke is what I think of as a quintessential tenor — high, piercing, light. I used to think that I was like him, until I realized that — well, I’m not. Duh.

I also used to write songs without regards to my own range. Back in those days, I dreamed of finding a singer to form a band with — and a good male vocalist should be able to sing high, I erroneously thought. Besides, this song had such a melody. It goes up and down dramatically. It’d be great for Thom Yorke.

So I let it be, and have had love/hate relationship with it ever since. It’s in a range that I can only hit when I’m very well-warmed up. Some days, I tried to sing this song and fail miserably, and I would feel terrible about myself. Especially after I realized that I better sing these songs myself, as I wasn’t going anywhere with my search for a singer.

On the record, I did pretty well — and relatively quickly. I mean, I didn’t kill the song in a single take, but I thought this was the song that I would labor on for days, doing hundreds of takes. Well, I did that with others, but not this one. I recorded all the vocals in a single session.

I’m particularly fond of the “choir” parts at the end. I wondered if that was too much for this record, as this was to be mostly more stripped-down affair. (well, that idea really didn’t stick around, did it?) But I wanted to have this big, majestic aura with this song, and once I tried building up the choral part, I just couldn’t discard it just to make it more “stripped down.”

On the other hand, I do feel like I didn’t quite do justice to the choruses. I added vocal parts in the background there, too, to add interest as the song progresses. But I think it left the main vocal line somewhat weak and repetitive-sounding in comparison. After the climactic bridge, the last chorus sounds a bit anti-climactic. It’s something I hope to improve when I start playing live with a band.

And speaking of playing live — I’m going to tune down guitars and put this song in a lower key! Nowadays, I write specifically for my voice and I also come to realize that my voice is much stronger in the lower half of my range, even though I can’t sing that low. In the other words, my lack of low range still doesn’t make me a baritone — but I like my voice the best (not to mention it’s much easier to sing) when I’m in the lower half of what little range I do have.

All that said, I still consider Half Step to be a central piece of my first album, the song that I would probably play if I had one song to show for my first record. It’s really impossible to distill my musical range into a single song — but this song covers more ground than others.

And above all, I love the song.

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.

Rhythm is everywhere in life, in the nature.  From the speed at which butterflies flap their wings to our heart beats, rhythm is built into the world.

No wonder it forms the core of music.  Rhythm is like the connection between our primal nature and the articulation of our feelings that music is.

There is no such thing as a rhythm-less music.  Even those don’t have overt pulse or beat, has rhythm.  It may not even be regular pattern.  All music has rhythm.

One of the earliest purposes of music was to serve as a dance music.  Rhythm helps us to move our bodies.  When you have rhythm, sometimes you don’t need anything else.  Have you ever witnessed the power of live African drumming?  It reverberates in your core.  You feel filled with energy.

When I was at St. Olaf College studying classical music, once every so often Macalester African Music Ensemble would come over to do a recital.  I tell you, that was one of the most memorable concert experience in my life.  It’s so much more than music just to listen to.  It is a whole-body experience.  It was a funny sight, seeing white-as-milk Norwegian-descent church musicians, normally stiff as a bean pole, get up and dance all over this classical recital hall.  But none of us cared.  We all got up and danced.

Now, this power of rhythm is unfortunately lost on many people who make some of popular music.  They think rhythm section is just a subordinate, accompanying section to singers and guitarists.

What a big loss.  This is another area where much potential remains lost and untapped.

It’s no secret that good drummers are always in demand, and this is why.  Not only good drummers build a rhythmic foundation to the music, but having a creative drummer always equates to good music. He/she doesn’t need to be a virtuoso — but this is one area where there has to be technical competency to hold down time.  And its potential is limitless, if the drummer is inventive.

Listen to great bands, from Led Zeppelin to Wilco to Dream Theater to King’s X.  Subtle or pounding, their drummers’ personalities really come through.  Couple them with a creative bass player, and you really don’t need to write great songs, to make great music.  Really!  Have a great rhythm section have a go at the most basic, generic song.  It’ll still be very worth listening to.

I am a guitar player, but I’m always watching drummers and bass players.  Bono once said that rhythm is the sex of music.  I say sex is our most treasured, most personal, most important core of our identity.

Wanna make good music?  Make sure it has good rhythm.  Interesting rhythm.  Moving rhythm.  It never fails.

Interesting rhythm makes interesting music.

Something for everyone.

Now, that doesn’t mean that I’m trying to write songs that appeal to everyone who listens to it. Not in the least. I write songs that I fall in love with.

But the kind of music I fall in love with, often has layers. Not layers as in how many instruments are playing in the song — layers, more in terms of creative depth.

A better way to describe may be that the music will grab my attention the first time I hear it. But then, it doesn’t get tiring after repeated listens, because there is so much to listen to.

And that’s what I mean when I say “something for everyone.” An ideal song, to me, appeals to both casual listeners who just want to some groovy tunes to play when they’re driving or exercising or whatever, to people who want to sit down and listen intensely to music.

Not many people achieve this, but it’s certainly possible, especially if you intend to make your music this way.

This is a product more of arranging and production than pure songwriting. Like someone famous said, a good song is a good song even if you sing it alone with just an acoustic guitar. (this rule doesn’t apply to metal, though)

With arranging and production, you can spread your creativity to every corner of the recording. So that each time someone listens to it, there are new aspects, pieces to discover and appreciate.

This feat becomes possible when you realize that being sophisticated isn’t mutually exclusive from being catchy and/or accessible.

Look at the Beatles, or Led Zeppelin. These guys made incredibly adventurous and experimental music. When you call some music “experimental” though, you almost expect it to be something weird and inaccessible. Not so with those guys. They messed with song structures, employed radical production techniques, used weird instruments (playing the electric guitar with a violin bow, anyone? Or a theremin?)

All without ditching great melodies, riffs, and hooks.

Again, they all start with great songs. It’s gotta sound good in its simplest forms.

But then you cook it with loads of dares. Throw in little spices, hidden layers, subtle effects. Experiment in little pieces — add an extra beat here, splash echoes there, have instruments drop in and out, etc. But make sure they don’t get in the way of the core song.

For example, let me point out some details of my songs that may not be obvious on the first listen:

• Diamond Sleeps Tonight, 2nd verse — the drums are playing differently from the 1st
• Tiny Toon, last chorus — what new elements get added there?
• Empire, the guitar solo — listen to it with headphones. Can you hear it moving?
• Half Step’s choruses — good luck trying to figure out what the “choir” is singing
• Throwing Away the Key — the verses are full of little twists, especially the bass

These are the little details that make repeated listens fun. I love listening to music in different settings (different speakers/boomboxes, headphones, etc.) and discovering things I didn’t hear before. The music remains like a chest of hidden treasures — you keep opening it back up to see what you dig up this time.

When I was young, I used to listen to Michael W. Smith a lot. Beneath his catchy pop tunes, he was incredibly adventurous with his music. I remember watching his tour video, and his band mate describing how Smitty’s music is actually quite progressive. Little extra bars that come and go, keys changing, complex vocal harmonies, etc. I learned to play some of his songs on piano, and discovered all these sophistications myself, and this excited me to no end.

Don’t get me wrong, some songs, you serve up straight. Some folk songs or more classic rock n roll are better that way. Death Cab for Cutie’s “I Will Follow You into the Dark” is brilliant in its simplicity — just a voice and a guitar. To add anything would take away from the performance’s immediacy, intimacy and starkness.

And that’s what’s exciting about making music. Not one approach works for every song. I think cooking metaphor is appropriate. You get a great, fresh, raw material — and need to cook it in its own perfect way.

This part of making music, you can learn. I don’t know if I can teach anyone how to come up with an amazing melody. I don’t know if I can come up with one on the cue, either.

But this is a skill, a craft that you acquire. You can pick apart great masters and figure out how they did it. and make it your own.

This is part of my passion, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Throw me a raw song and I immediately hear how I can cook it. It’s become effortless.

I’m a good chef. I can cook something for everyone.

And have fun doing it.

—-

This post was included in the Carnival of Rock and Roll, July 1, 2008.   Check out more fascinating posts about our favorite music!

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.

Why?

Because that’s too easy.

I have this habit of noticing and questioning these assumptions. I’d say 99% of all songwriters just whip a song title out of the most prominent line from the chorus.  Even the best of them do that.  As if there’s a mathematical formula telling them that’s the natural law of the universe. Like animals needing a male and a female to procreate.

Yes, it’s obvious, yes, it can be argued that it’s natural. And I’m sure I’ll do that for my songs in other genres. But with Aries9, I want to create music where I’ve really thought out every detail. I don’t want to overwork the songs (and that can happen, I’m aware of the danger), but I want to make sure that I’m engaging creatively in every element.

And that includes titles of my songs.

Song titles are very important. It is the name of that song. It frames it, brands it, give it an identity.

Now, it’s hard to come up with a song title that’s so intriguing that it makes you want to listen to the song, just by hearing the title. A title is not a description. Some artists try to do that, and a few succeed occasionally, and I applaud their efforts. But I didn’t want my song titles to get too contrived, especially since I’m not trying to be overtly humorous or quarky with Aries9.

So the goal of my song titles, instead, is to look beyond the obvious, and to find a metaphor or a concept that truly summarizes what the song is about. And that encompasses more than just lyrics and covers how the music as a whole feels to me.

As with the lyrics, I sometimes don’t worry about making perfect sense — for example, I can’t tell you exactly why “Diamond Sleeps Tonight” came to be, except to say the lyrics does contain two of those three words. But that title just sounds right to me, for that song.

On the other hand, songs like “Shark,” “Tiny Toon,” and “Cult” are all taken from its lyrics — just not from the chorus.  I picked out a metaphor that nicely framed the song in my mind.  Again, they just felt right — the words/images just felt that it represented what the songs mean to me.

And really, that’s what I’m looking for. Something that feels right, and that includes avoiding being too obvious. Mystery is good in my book — tying up all the loose ends leaves little room for imagination.

So I hope you have fun pondering them, as I have myself. I’m proud of all the names I’ve given my songs.
Because great songs deserve great names, and I worked way too hard on them to let them out with easy titles.

I was so amazed when after about 2 hours, I realized that I just wrote the lyrics to the whole song, from the beginning to the end. And it’s as good as anything I’ve written! I was elated.

Many writers advise trying to write on daily basis — whether it’s good or not. We don’t produce great material by simply turning the switch on. We produce by simply churning out a lot of stuff, and then picking up the best from the duds. I’ll be the first person to admit that most of what I write are generic, boring music. What I choose to release to the public, though, are stuff that are the exception, not the norm.

Plus, I am not a very fast lyrics writer. I can write music pretty quickly — sometimes it takes as long as the song is. Play it once, capture, and there it is. But words come slowly to me usually.

So it was very surprising that I just flipped the switch on and cranked out stuff that meet my standards on the spot. That’s not to say I won’t tweak it in the future — I’m a tweaker with lyrics. I keep playing with words and details until I start committing vocals to tape (and then tweak some more….). But the skeleton and theme and tone are all set. The song went from vague and ambiguous to focused and realized.
I think it helps that I’m “branding” my music for this Aries9 project. This is my progressive modern rock — I put all my heavy, aggressive and complicated music in this bucket, with the lyrics focusing on darker stuff. I know what I demand of myself when I’m making music for Aries9. It’s like knowing exactly what my client is looking for.

It also helps because I’m at a point where I’m not really trying to make a “point” with my lyrics. Some artists consider it very important to communicate a lesson or a moral with their words — and I used to think that way, too. Except the songs I wrote with that kind of intention didn’t age well. The songs that stay with me tend to be abstract collages, assemblies of rhymes and metaphors that tell me how I’m supposed to feel but doesn’t really tell me a clear story or a message. I like swimming among my words, twisting and turning, wondering what they all mean. I sometimes discover a new way of interpreting my own lyrics, years after the song is written. That’s what I love about my songs. Or should I say — that’s the ideal kind of lyrics to me for this style of music. The music is pretty heavy-handed, so if the lyrics get preachy, it can be a real drag.

I can also tell you that I am a writer who adjusts my style to the style of music and who I’m writing for. In the future I plan to release/pursue other styles of music, and they will feature a completely different kind of lyrics. A folk song, for example, is a better vehicle for a more cohesive story with concrete details, in my opinion.

Anyway, it was very gratifying to just sit down and be able to write stuff that I get excited about. Writing songs is fun, fun, fun. I can’t wait to put it all together and share it with you and the world.

Perfect blue
That’s my color
Perfect peace
That’s my policy
Don’t disturb my noisy slumber

I want more
I have more
Give me more

——————————–

The lyrics to this song is rather crude and primal. There’s really nothing profound, mysterious or mature about them. They don’t rhyme, either.

But for this song, I really feel that this is OK. Its brute honesty feels refreshing to me. And that honesty is what’s probably kept me drawn to this song for so long — this song being at least 13 or 14 years old.

I’ve always been a goody-two-shoes with secret admiration of punks and rebels. They just don’t seem to care what other people think. (which is far from true, now I know) They didn’t restrain themselves, tidy and pretty-up themselves to make themselves “acceptable” to the society. It seemed like a freer way to live.

Well, this song is me coming clean with one of the fundamental impulses of humanity: greed. There’s a fine line between our innate desire to grow and pure and unjustifiable greed.

The truth is, as much as I detest and condemn greed found in our governments, large corporations and selfish individuals, that same impulse lives in me. I’m trying to do the cat walk and restrain my primal greed, but not far beneath my socially acceptable surface lies this rather ugly monster. And this song is his outlet.

I’m guessing that I’ll be attracted to this song, as long as that animal inside stays insatiated. I hope, that in my graceful old age, I’ll be able to look back to this song and chuckle at my youthful aggression. If I still related to this song in my 70s or beyond — well, that’s a different picture from what I envision those years to be, that’s for sure.