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Part 2: Creative Process

Where does the impulse to create something come from for you? What role do often-quoted sources of inspiration like dreams, other forms of art, personal relationships, politics etc play?

On very rare occasions, I’ve been inspired by dreams. A melody will come to me in a dream and if I’m smart, when I wake I’ll figure it out on guitar or at least hum it and record it on my phone. Most often though, the impulse is spontaneous and accidental.

Is there a preparation phase for your process? Do you require your tools to be laid out in a particular way, for example, do you need to do 'research' or create 'early versions'?

No, it’s all very accidental and unplanned. That said, occasionally I find myself doing research after I start down a certain path towards a topic.



For example, the song “Sweeps” from the new EP uses aspects of the television industry as metaphors for failure and desperation. I came up with the lyrics for the first verse and chorus and really liked the direction, but as often happens, expanding beyond that was not as easy.

So, I’ll admit to a lot of Googling and looking at Wikipedia pages about television industry jargon to help me continue the narrative and assemble a coherent 2nd verse.

What do you start with? How difficult is that first line of text, the first note?

99% of the time, it starts with an accidental chord sequence. I pick up the guitar and chance upon a combination or chords or a riff that excites me. From there, I’ll usually come up with a phrase and vocal melody--typically the opening line of a verse or chorus.

In all modesty, it’s usually not that hard to come up with those pieces. The hard part is figuring out what comes next. I’m guessing but it feels like more than half of my ideas never make it past that stage. I often paint myself into a corner, creatively speaking. The riff and opening line might be great but I just can’t come up with a way to build on them. And having already tied the riff to a certain phrase or subject, I’m almost never able to repurpose the riff and substitute in completely different lyrics on another topic.

It should be doable, but I can’t think of a single time when I’ve pulled it off. The idea usually is discarded, at best living on as a song-fragment demo that I can’t use but also can’t quite throw away.

When do the lyrics enter the picture? Where do they come from? Do lyrics need to grow together with the music or can they emerge from a place of their own?

As I said, the song starts with a riff and an opening line. The challenge then is to build a song around that idea or mood. At that point, I don’t necessarily know what the song will be about.



For example, on “When This Gets Out” from the new EP, I initially came up with the opening guitar riff and the line “When this gets out, imagine the panic.” I crafted the lyrics around colorful descriptions of the general public’s reaction to some event that was enough to inspire revolution in the streets. The lyrics definitely had internal cohesion and logic, but I didn’t fully understand the picture I was painting.

It was only a few months ago, when I had to sit down and write a blurb about the song for PR purposes that I realized the lyrics reflected the insanity of the Trump presidency. Seemingly every week, Trump said or did something outrageously awful. At first, those of us who opposed him would think, “OK, now THIS is it! This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back and ends his presidency.” But then a week later, he’d say something even worse and we’d all move on to feeling outraged by the latest incident. Eventually, it became clear that nothing would change, and many of us stopped paying attention.

So, in retrospect, I think that “When This Gets Out” is a reaction to those years. It imagines some event, scandal, admission, or insult that was finally bad enough to break through the noise and produce change and lasting consequences.

What makes lyrics good in your opinion? What are your own ambitions and challenges in this regard?

Personally, I invest a lot of time and energy in my lyrics--except when I don’t! Every once in a while I’ll write what I refer to privately as a “big dumb rock song.”



For example, I knew as I was writing an older song called “Pretty Boy” that the lyrics were … less than profound. But the riff was catchy and they worked together.

But otherwise, I craft the lyrics very intentionally. Sometimes they rhyme, but most often they don’t. I find myself going for alliteration and consonance more than rhyming. The phrasing is very important to me, to the point where I’ll change a line at the last minute in the studio if I find a way to express the same sentiment in a way that’s better rhythmically.

Topically, I really try to steer away from trite, obvious subjects like love or relationships gone bad. I’m more likely to write about mental health challenges, my struggles as a musician seeking low-level cult status, or even reviled 20th century British politicians like Neville Chamberlain.

As for how I address those topics, I usually prefer an oblique approach. I’m definitely not a storyteller or a writer of heart-on-my-sleeve anthems or confessionals. I’m more interested in painting a mood and suggesting a story, while leaving the interpretation to the listener.

Especially in the digital age, the writing and production process tends towards the infinite. What marks the end of the process? How do you finish a work?

I read about bands that go into a studio and knock off 10 songs in a day. Or bands that even in this digital age deliberately record on 2-inch tape so that the performance is what it is, warts and all, and there’s very little you can do after the fact. That’s absolutely not me.

I’ll admit to being a perfectionist. Not an epic one but a perfectionist all the same. Typically, I’ll spend the equivalent of a full day in the studio per song, recording vocals, guitars, and background vocals. I always record at least 3 takes for every part because I like to have options.

In the past, I’ve been very involved in the editing and mixing process but not hands-on. However, on the new EP, I did most of the editing myself for the first time. In the hands of a perfectionist, it can be a painstaking process, especially since I was new to it and faced a learning curve. It’s very difficult for me to leave a mistake in the final product if there’s a feasible way to fix it. Even if it’s something that only I would likely notice.

So, generally, I’ll get mixes of the songs and listen to them on my phone when I’m out walking, making mental notes of edits that are needed, mixing changes, or additional vocal or instrumental parts that could improve the arrangement. It’s not unusual to go through 5 or more revisions for each song. I stop when either the song satisfies me or it’s not exactly what I’d hoped for at the start, but I’ve reached a point of diminishing returns.

The final step is to send the songs for mastering. I almost never ask for any changes. Every year, I laugh to myself about how I’ve been paying a very talented mastering engineer for almost 10 years to master my songs but I still really don’t understand what mastering is.

Ultimately, once a release has been mastered and sent off for CD manufacturing, I will have listened to each of the songs--in one form or another--literally hundreds of times apiece. That goes a long way towards explaining why I almost never listen to my own songs after I’ve finished them.

I used to read interviews with famous musicians who claimed to never listen to their own music and think they were being a bit precious. But now I get it.

After finishing a piece or album and releasing something into the world, there can be a sense of emptiness. Can you relate to this – and how do you return to the state of creativity after experiencing it?

Every year after a Persian Leaps release comes out, I feel let down and disappointed. As I’ve described, I go through a pretty long, laborious process with each song. No matter the good reviews or sales, it never seems to be quite enough. I’m a glass-half-empty sort of person, and I suspect that I’d feel that way even if the release were wildly commercially successful. I frequently tell myself that I should be grateful for the support I do receive (and I truly am) and that I should scale back my expectations, but it never sticks.

Returning to creativity after experiencing that emptiness can be very tricky. To be honest, I’m already struggling with it and Drone Etiquette isn’t even out yet. The pandemic has intensified those feelings. Making the new EP during the COVID lockdown required some major changes to my process. Collaborators I’ve loved working with weren’t available because of elevated health risks, so I had to try new approaches. They worked, but they also require a lot more effort on my part. What used to seem easy and approachable now feels daunting.

But I’ve got a new batch of songs for next year, and I hope that I’ll feel inspired to get back to the studio in November or December after some downtime.

Creativity can reach many different corners of our lives. Do you personally feel as though writing a piece of music is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee? What do you express through music that you couldn't or wouldn't in more 'mundane' tasks?

Personally, I don’t think of what I do with The Persian Leaps as art with a capital “A.” My punk rock credentials are nil, but musicians who very self-consciously and self-importantly proclaim themselves to be artists turn me off. I’m immensely proud of what we’ve achieved and produced, but it’s not high art.

I really think of myself as more of a meticulous craftsperson--perhaps like a skilled woodworker carving and assembling a custom-made chair or armoire. There’s skill, training, and inspiration behind each song. No one else can write a song exactly like I do, but at the end of the day they’re just pop songs.


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