Part 2
Once you've started, how does the song gradually emerge from from that?
It starts off as an image or something on the guitar. That's the inception. The thing that makes it grow is a willingness to hear it again, a willingness to play it again. And then it starts snowballing. A chorus comes out of nowhere. A bridge comes out of nowhere, just by repeating the song in my studio, or in my bedroom or in my living room.
I think if you are a writer, a novelist or something, once you write those first few lines, something is going to happen to finish that paragraph. You trust time, you trust your instincts. And that's how it grows. It's just giving it time.
And knowing that not all songs you write are going to be great. I normally tell myself, you have to write about 10 Bad songs before you have one that has any value. Or 10 bad photos before you have one that has any value.
Maybe you have a full day where you took a bunch of bad photographs. Give yourself that space, don't beat yourself up. Be patient with yourself, and good things will come out of that patience.
Getting back to that quote about music not being a job, it seems like there is nonetheless a perseverance aspect to it.
Yes, yes, you have to stay with the song. And stay with the production side of it, which is sometimes another test of my patience. But the song will tell you if it's ready to be put on a record or if it needs to be put in the recycling bin - which is a very, very normal thing for me to decide.
When I watched your Tiny Desk concert, I noticed the astounding dexterity of your fingers - the stretch you can make between your little finger and your thumb … It reminded me that what we can physically do with our body will, in a way, also dictate what we can create artistically. Paul McCartney would be on the other side of that argument. When he recorded his latest album, III, he was in his late 70s and you can hear him battling against his voice. I find it quite moving, but clearly he's working with limitations there.
Yes, limitations are a beautiful thing.
As far as the guitar goes, if you challenge yourself to learn a piece that seems impossible - that's how you grow. And even if you have to create a chord with your left hand and it seems like you'll never be able to do that – work at it for a little bit longer. You'll figure out a way to make it happen.
And if not, you'll change the tune of your guitar and create something new that way.
Do you think your range as a songwriter grew as your range as a guitarist grew?
I think so. But even more important was not being afraid to change guitar tunings. Because that will feed you melodies that you would have never thought of if you stayed on standard tuning. That's the way my brain works.
Do you have a lot of guitars?
I have about 10 maybe. And I left them all at home and travelled with a Gibson J 45 which is my favourite backline guitar because it will not resist changing tunings a lot. Normally, they stay in tune very well and they have a really nice bass response which is important.
When you're writing on one song does it also happen to you that you find that this song is leading you in different directions? And if so, what do you do with these different ideas?
As in, does the writing of one song splinter into two songs? I got to think about that. I think it does down the line but like maybe years will go by and an idea from one song turns into a new idea …
But in general if I'm writing one song I stay focused on that. If an idea does spring out, it normally stays within the confines of that song. I don't think I've ever really written two songs at the same time ... that would be amazing.
You've mentioned the relevance of production and I actually think the production on supernatural thing is what elevates it far beyond many other singer-songwriter albums. What were some of the considerations after having written the songs? How do you make them come alive through bigger arrangements and with collaborators?
Well it starts to snowball once you find a song that you've been living with for either a couple of months or a couple years and you realise I'm excited to play the song again. I'm excited to play it to other people. I'm excited to share it with my drummer to see what he comes up with. Then it starts to have a life of its own.
The percussion is such a big part of it. And I've been working with two percussionists these days. And stuff just starts building and a lot of it is mysterious. But your your mind just fills in the blanks and at a certain stage, I'll start hearing other people's voices. Whether it's first Aid Kit, or Niko Case, or in this case, Shovels and Rope collaborating on a song with me - "Mr. Dixon".
If you write enough songs, the song starts speaking to you about where it wants to go. I don't mean to sound mystical, but that's the way it is.
Would you say that a song has a definitive arrangement or that it could have an infinite number of realisations?
I think a song is good if it can be dressed up in different clothes, and deconstructed and turned into a completely different beast.
It should be versatile to different kinds of listeners and versatile to different kinds of musicians and different kinds of writers. I think that speaks to the strength of a good song.
Creativity can reach many different corners of our lives. Do you feel as though writing a piece of music is inherently different from making a great cup of coffee?
It's a good question. I think making a pot of soup would be a better analogy because coffee is just beans right? So just one ingredient in the water - but there are many ingredients with cooking.
Sometimes I think about producing a record is like cooking. Quite often a song can stay too long in the oven. And that is the process of thinking about the song too much. Stewing over the production. No pun intended …
Stewing over production is not a good thing?
No. There should be a good combination of structure to what you bring to the studio but you should also be leaving your mind open to accidents and improvisational additions and then end with a little bit of cream.
So, yeah, the act of cooking something from scratch is a good analogy, better than making a cup of coffee.
Or quite possibly I just don't know coffee well enough.
