The Bands that Define Them

Writing the post on music got me thinking.  What would my characters’ soundtracks be like? What are their favorite bands?  What do they dance to in the kitchen? (Yes, I do this a lot.) What would be on a road trip playlist?  What are their favorite drinking songs?  What songs do they listen to when they're angry, sad, or happy?

We all have soundtracks.  The songs that mark passages in time.  The songs that bind us to others.  The songs that define us. 

Keeping this in mind, I gave myself an assignment.  I gathered a few of my characters in a room and threw out a question.  I wrote it as if I were eavesdropping on their conversation, transcribing the words and actions as they happened.  When I was done, I decided to share it with all of you.

What are your favorite bands?

Conlin – I’m fairly eclectic.  Tool, Fugazi, Johnny Cash, Zepplin, Tom Waits, Duke Ellington.

Dru – Conman will listen to anything.

Conlin (shrugs) – If it's good music, it's good music.  At least I branch out.

Dru – Hey, I branch out.

Conlin (laughs) – Yeah, right.  What from sludge to death?

Dru (suddenly very serious) – There are all types of metal, man.

Conlin – But it's still all metal, Dru.

Dru – I have not educated you enough, my friend.  Every single metal band, if it's good metal, is distinct.  You have your classic metal – Black Sabbath, Pantera, Metallica, well, the Ride the Lightning and Master of Puppets era.  Then you get into the ‘90s.  Rage Against the Machine. Deftones.  System of a Down. All unique.  Crowbar's from New Orleans.  They're what you call sludge metal. And you can't leave out Meshuggah.  They will blow your mind. Trash metal, death metal, math metal, call it what you will, they are the shit, man.  And if you really want dark and twisted, try Cannibal Corpse.  They –

Kasey (cutting Dru off) – Really, Conlin.  You had to get Cheeto all riled up and waxing poetic?

Conlin – It's too easy, Kase.  Far too easy.  (winks)

Dru – You suck, Conman.  And you, rat, shouldn't talk.  If it isn't Radiohead, it's crap, right?

Kasey – So? I'm a bit obsessive with Radio-

Dru – A bit?  Kasey you followed them around the country.  Twice!

Kasey – There’s nothing wrong with that.  I had the time and -

Dru – The stalker inclination...

Kasey – Not a stalker.  I just like the music.

Dru – To excess. 

Kasey – You can’t OD on Radiohead, so let me have me my fix.  Besides I dig a lot of different stuff, like old school Kraftwerk, for instance.

Dru (rolls his eyes) – You mean, Crapwerk.

(Kasey jumps up from her chair and whacks Dru on the arm.)

Dru – Ouch, rat.  You are stronger than you look.  That hurt.

Kasey – Good.  (Kasey grabs a Mountain Dew and flops back down in her chair.)  What about you, Izz?

Izzy – The Black Keys and Heartless Bastards are on permanent rotation at the moment, but I'm a Texan, so Willie resides in my heart and soul.  There's nothing better.

I think I might write more of these little vignettes.  It was fun and gave me insight into my characters.  Also of note, certain characters demanded floor time.  It’s always interesting to me whose voice will command attention in any given scene.  Kasey and Dru yelled the loudest this go-round.

A Little Book Music

I have discovered, as I have with everything else in my life, I can't write without music.

Music helps me delve into the heart of a scene, setting the tone and pace. Perhaps this comes from my origins in theater. Whenever I do a play, I create a soundtrack for my character. I play it throughout the rehearsal process and each night before I go onstage.

Music has always been a huge part of my life. A song can take me to an exact moment in my life and suddenly I am there again.  I can almost taste and touch the moment.  I hear Blondie and I am roller skating around my cul-de-sac, all arms and legs and Farah hair and uncertainty.  I hear the B-52's and my heart is racing as I fumble in the dark, making out with a boy for the first time.  I hear Van Morrison and I am crying as my best friend travels hundreds of miles away.  I hear The Proclaimers and I am walking down the aisle hand-in-hand, having just said, "I do."

The soundtrack of my life is how I mark time.  Someone will ask when an event took place and all I have to do is associate music with the event, and I know exactly the time and place it occurred.

As I wrote the book, certain music just worked.  There really wasn't a rhyme or reason.  Some was new music; some was old.  One day nothing seemed to work until I drug out an old Belly album and suddenly I was in the groove.

So for those musical fanboys and fangirls, like me, here are the albums that were in frequent rotation while I wrote.

The Decemberists - Picaresque & Hazards of Love
The xx - xx
Florence + the Machine - Ceremonials & Lungs
The Duke Spirit - Bruiser
The Black Keys - Brothers
Phantogram - Eyelid Movies
Thao & Mirah - Thao & Mirah
Belly - Star
Magnet - On Your Side

I'm not sure what it was about these albums that clicked for me.  There was a lot of other music I was listening to that didn't work while I wrote.  I'm curious what the next soundtrack will be.  Will some albums appear again?  Or will they forever be associated with book one?  I know I can't hear The xx without having Conlin and Izzy whispering in my ear.  Their story is most definitely not done.  Mayhaps in book two The xx will slip into rotation when I focus on them, like having their own theme song.  

Mother's Day

I wrote this poem a decade or so ago.  As today is Mother's Day, it seems appropriate to share it now.  It's interesting reading it again after all these years, especially now that I have my own daughter.  This poem is dedicated to my mother and grandmother, my lineage.

Lineage

Circa 1972 and my mother whose belly is round and full, heavy

with the flesh of my unborn body, wakes.

Midnight nears, I kick and squirm, struggling

against the natural course of time, unwilling

to leave her womb without a fight.

Circa 1977 and my bare feet stand on the cold

linoleum of my grandmother’s kitchen floor.  My mother

and grandmother stand close beside me.  One tablespoon

of vanilla.  Stir it in now.  My hand grips the metal handle, plunging

the spoon into the dough. I see my opportunity as they both turn away.

My finger dips into the raw butter, sugar and eggs, pulling

up just enough to taste.

Circa 1979 and my roller skates, permanently

affixed to my feet, move

in unison to the beat of Blondie, skidding

around my cul-de-sac for my first taste of freedom.

I spread my arms wide, absorbing the final rays of sunlight

before my mother calls me inside.

Circa 1987 and I am fighting -

Fighting to get out.

The pink bristles of my shaved head stand in revolt

against everyone and everything.  Patiently,

my mother waits for me to be born.

Circa 1988 and my hand yearns to feel her warm breath.

For a moment, I can feel it.  I see

her chest rise and fall.  Maybe

she’s only sleeping. 

A tear falls from my mother’s eye.

She’s gone.

I look back to my grandmother’s still body and see my mother –

my lineage.

My fists unclench and my arms spread wide,

to embrace the past.

Circa 1948 and my grandmother whose belly is round and full, heavy

with the flesh of my mother’s unborn body, wakes.

Midnight nears, my mother kicks and squirms, struggling

against the natural course of time, unwilling

to leave her womb without a fight.