The album you’ve been writing toward
On Minor Moon, bodies of work and artistic life-tasks
One of the albums I’ve been thrilled by lately is The Light Up Waltz by Minor Moon. It’s truly delicious: a sci-fi folktale wrapped inside a lush country rock album. If you’re a fan of Andy Shauf, MJ Lenderman, or even (heck!) Steely Dan, give it listen.
Sam Cantor, the mind behind Minor Moon, says of his latest album, ‘This is the kind of record I’ve been writing toward for a long time … [it] feels like a culmination.’ I’ve never articulated this to myself, but I believe I know exactly what Cantor is talking about. I wouldn’t have found those same words for it, but I’ve been writing toward a record for a long time too.
I first glimpsed it when I was 14 and working at a record store. I picked up a copy of Ben Lee’s Grandpaw Would hoping it would sound like it looked: a pop record disguised as something else, catchy melodies under weird production and dirt. I honestly don’t remember if it delivered. I do remember becoming obsessed with making that kind of record myself. I’ve held fuzzy versions of it in my mind’s ear ever since. If you ask me, I’m yet to accomplish it!
I think many artists feel this way: there’s something we’re trying to say, in a particular way, and we keep saying it imperfectly. For me, there’s immense joy in this quest. I find it pleasurable to daydream about how my next attempt might take shape, and I find it pleasurable to put in the work pursuing it. In fact, these days it’s the driving force behind my continued songwriting, as I move away from actively pursuing larger audiences for my music.
With all of this in mind, this week I’m sharing some memos on how we might use this endless seeking to reframe or fuel our music-making practices.
Big love,
Lucy
Reflections on writing toward
MEMO - Learn to notice when you’ve lost sight of the album you’re writing towards
When you’re in the weeds of making it’s easy to forget what you’re trying to make. It’s sort of hilarious, if you think about it, getting lost in that tangle. Nevertheless, it can lead to difficult decision-making moments. To find clarity—to remember—find higher ground (or climb to the top of one of those weeds). Do you remember your original aims? Do they still make sense to you? When finished, how do you want the work to feel? To look? To sound? See how asking those questions guides your understanding of what to do next.
MEMO - Learn to notice when it’s time to stop daydreaming and doing
As an over-thinker who is definitely a little bit addicted to their own imagination, I continue ‘figuring out by thinking about it’ long past the moment I should have started figuring out by doing. Depending upon how tricksy your mind is, it can be difficult to catch yourself in this ruse. It will differ for everyone, but if you’re prone to this, a good rule of thumb is probably … if you’ve been thinking about your music project, but you haven’t touched an instrument in days, it’s time to stop daydreaming and start doing.
MEMO - Learn to notice when it’s time to look outside your vision
Another unhelpful habit of mine is that I’m a terrible student, or at least a very average researcher. For the longest time, if I were trying to emulate a sound I would do it from memory, as opposed to, you know, listening the original sound and trying to understand how it was achieved. This approach had its merits, but none of them was an accurate rendering of my original vision. I also lost the opportunity to grow my skills. There is a massive amount to be gained from the close observation and copying of other artists’ work.
If it’s not a part of your process, consider including just a little bit in the form of a references playlist. I promise you’ll learn a lot before you compromise your originality.
I’d love to hear from you in the comments: What album are you writing towards? How do your current creative practices support you in that quest?