Tag Archives: jay reatard

Soundtracking

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but writing a novel is kind of hard. One the main reasons it is so hard is the time needed to complete it, time that can be spent in so many ways that don’t involve sitting at home by yourself in front of the computer screen. Not to mention that simply being at a computer screen offers so many distractions. I’m constantly worried that I’m “missing” something on Twitter; breaking news about the Mets, perhaps, which I am semi-professionally obligated to keep on top of, or perhaps a hilarious meme that cries out for my contributions.

One of the biggest enemies of novel writing is lack of focus, be it internet enabled or just the wandering of mind that tends to happen when you have to do one thing and one thing only. My biggest problem is I’m a multitasker by nature. I find it extremely difficult to work on one single thing when I have ideas for a dozen others, all of them vying for headspace. When it comes to shorter nonfiction stuff, there’s nothing necessarily wrong with working on more than one project simultaneously. But that method is deadly for fiction writing in general and novel writing in particular.

Colson Whitehead (whose novels The Intuitionist and John Henry Days are in my own person canon) wrote a great piece about this a few years back for the Times, “What To Write Next.” The intent was humorous, but even more so than the jokes, what struck me about the piece was its subtext: The writer’s fear that you’re toiling away on one thing when you can and should be working on something else, an impulse that can prevent you from doing anything at all.

An excellent way to combat this lack of focus is through music. I’m far from the first person to point this out, but I feel compelled to share my thoughts anyway, as I owe a debt to all the music I listened to while writing this book. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do it without clasping headphones to my dome and letting music push the outside world away for a while.

I found listening to albums (remember those?) helped the most. A complete album–a good one, anyway–immerses you in a universe, which helps you focus your energies and attention for the running time and hopefully beyond. The albums I listened to most often while writing Love and a Short Leash were:

  • Miles Ahead, Miles Davis
  • Double Nickels on the Dime, The Minutemen
  • Mikal Cronin S/T
  • David Comes to Life, Fucked Up
  • Under the Bushes, Under the Stars, Guided By Voices
  • Get Happy!, Elvis Costello
  • Singles 06-07, Jay Reatard
  • The Tyranny of Distance, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
  • Melted, Ty Segall
  • Murmur, R.E.M.

In addition to these records, I also got sucked into various boots of Petit Wazoo/Roxy and Elsewhere-era Mothers of Invention shows (1972-1974). I can’t quite explain why; I listened to a ton of Frank Zappa in high school and college, but only rarely since then. This was an addiction I thought I’d conquered. Whatever the reason, my desire to listen to this music again reemerged right when I was finishing up my final draft, and I’m glad it did. I found the funk-and-jazz charged jams of this era of Frank Zappa’s oeuvre to be helpful for this particular stage of my toil.

I found that commercial radio doesn’t help me all that much, with its incessant breaks and complete lack of imagination, but listening to WFMU definitely did. I did most of my work on the weekends, and the Saturday afternoon block of Michael Shelley, Fool’s Paradise with Rex, and especially Terre T’s Cherry Blossom Clinic powered me through many marathon writing sessions.

To honor this debt, I wanted to share a playlist of songs that were often drilled into my ears when writing the novel. Some have particular resonance for reasons related to novel’s plot/subject matter, some are mood setters, and some are just bitchin’ tunes. I’ve arranged them in an order that helps my own process: Get pumped up, settle in, shot of energy, scale back again, repeat. I’m not sure if this will be instructive to anyone or if it really shares anything except a glimpse into my weird headspace. But hey, you get some rad tunes, so shut your noise. Playlist available here, deets after the jump.

Continue reading Soundtracking

Holy Goddamn! 006: You Can’t Show Me Any Kind of Hell I Don’t Know Already

slater.jpgHoly Goddamn! is back for another action-packed episode. Sorry that this one’s a little later than usual. I’ve tried to adhere to my self-imposed every-other-week schedule, but some unforeseen issues have plagued the Scratchbomb Home Office of late–most of them not good, as chronicled here. As you’ll probably notice, these events, and my attempts to defy them, have greatly affected the song choices (as have my reflection on baseball seasons past and present).

In episode 006, I have a long chat about fantasy baseball with Skip “Wheels” Slater, a frequent Scratchbomb and Holy Goddamn! contributor. You’ll also hear some wise advice from Vin Scully, some more nostalgic sound bites, and a closing tune that’ll make you wanna run out in the street and punch somebody in the face.*

* Please don’t actually run out in the street and punch someone in the face. Unless they deserve it.

And please forgive the inclusion of a song from my old band. It just seemed to fit the flow and theme. I vow not to engage in such reflective narcissism again. Probably.

Holy Goddamn! 006 Setlist:

“Watch me paste…”/Intro
“Have you seen the schedule…”
Les Savy Fav, “The Year Before the Year 2000”, Let’s Stay Friends
Deefhoof, “Scream Team”, The Runners Four
Viva Voce, “Lesson #1”, The Heat Can Melt Your Brain
Vin Scully lectures on perspective, spring training, 1988
XTC, “No Language in Our Lungs”, Black Sea
The Pixies, “Down to the Well”, Emerson College radio, 1987
Bill Moss, “Number One”, Eccentric Soul: The Capsoul Label (v/a)
Interview with Skip “Wheels” Slater on fantasy baseball strategy
Elvis Costello, “Hand in Hand”, This Year’s Model
Jay Reatard, “I Know a Place”, Singles 06-07
The Replacements, “I’ll Buy”, Tim
“Someone’s rockin’ my dreamboat…”
Record Ignite!, “Chew You Up”, demo, 1999
“But we were winning!”
Vince Guaraldi, “Rain Rain Go Away”, The Charlie Brown Suite and Other Favorites
Ted Leo, “Rappaport’s Testament: I Never Gave Up”, Mo’ Livin’ EP

Pick Out Somebody You Wanna Punch

Guess I’m in an angry mood this morning. Maybe I shouldn’t listen to Jay Reatard on the way to work. But whatever the cause, I spotted four people along my commute that I wanted to hit really hard.

Victim #1: Corner of Flushing and Wythe, youngish man wearing gray trenchcoat, stovepipe pants, black/white saddle shoes and a Homburg hat. Presumably he doesn’t want to be late to his audition for a Noel Coward play revival, or the F. Scott Fitzgerald Lookalike Contest. He walks gingerly over the ice-covered sidewalk in this fey, tip-toey gait that makes me hate him even more for some reason. He could have skimped on some of that vintage wear and used the money to buy winter boots, so he wouldn’t dirty his spats by slipping and breaking an ankle.

Victim #2: Further down Flushing, by the Navy Yard. Guy in suit walks very casually down cross street. As the bus nears him, he signals it with two hands, like he’s hailing a cab. Mind you, he makes no effort to speed up in any way. He clearly expects this bus to screech to a halt and await his arrival like he was the King of Busville. To his credit, the bus driver keeps right on driving.

Victim #3: Further yet down Flushing, after making a stop the bus pulls away from the curb in a normal bus-like fashion. We are beeped at by an aggressive driver who wants to make a left into the studio entrance we are now blocking as we wait for the light to turn green. I take a peek at the car. It’s a white Mercedes. From my angle, I can just make out the driver’s left hand, encased in a leather glove, clutching a Starbucks coffee cup. I think to myself, Wow, I can only see about 5% of this guy’s body, and I hate him.

Victim #4: Off the bus, walking down Front Street. Half a block away, guy in puffy jacket and backpack doing overly demonstrative tai-chi exercise. Not in a park or on his porch, but on the sidewalk. Arms flailing, big leg kicks, like he works at the Ministry of Silly Walks. I think he must see me staring at him hatefully, because he stops doing it and crosses the street. Mind you, he was at least 50 feet away from me.

And it’s only Monday. Shoot me now.