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The Life of a Song.

Maybe it’s because I don’t get enough sun, but every December for the last couple years I have gotten swept up in some over-advertised, mediocre music act that I cannot escape. Last year it was Young Jeezy and this year it was The Dream. I will not say either of these people are untalented or are unworthy of their fame or fortune. For one, it’s not my place and two, all art has some sort of innate, inherent value whether or not I choose to recognize or acknowledge it. Hippy mindset, I’m aware.

I was in a car full of people months ago discussing a horrible song and someone said something that has stuck with me: “They actually wrote that down.” It made me start thinking about the actual process  of songwriting all the way from the initial composition through to the execution whether that’s recording it or performing it. 

They wrote it down, they practiced it, they sang it again and again and they will continue singing it again and again until their next single comes out. I wonder how artists feel singing the same lyrics over and over again and why more of them aren’t embarrassed of themselves once they actually hear what they’ve created. It’s like a word that loses it’s meaning when you repeat it over and over again. It illuminates the absurdity of speech [maybe even sound by default],  the vowels and consonants become shapeless and the word “spoon” is just you putting the inside of your lips together and pushing out through your throat.

I wonder if these people hear themselves and realize that their music has no meaning anymore.

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About Etta Strange

Writer, obsessive audiophile, secret bedroom DJ, local daydreamer with more books than shelf space. I'm stockpiling for the inevitable drought. Let's collaborate.

One response to “The Life of a Song.

  1. smilesdavis ⋅

    My man did tell me about your site and I def dig it. Ur n the roll as we speak

    be well

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