Tag Archives: Writing

What Does It Say When Mainstream Artists Start Criticizing Tidal?

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I’m not much of a Mumford & Sons fan. I have nothing against them as musicians; I just find that my taste in music to be a little different. But I respect the hell out of them for the statement they put out today.

Pulled by Digital Music News from other sources this morning, M&S were reported as disliking Jay Z’s new service Tidal. They’re not alone; other mainstream artists like Lilly Allen and Mariana and the Diamonds have voiced distaste for the service. And that’s not even taking into account the near biblical response from music fans over the service, all of which I spoke about in my coverage of Tidal’s relaunch a couple weeks ago.

But what makes M&S’s statement so stark is the candor with which frontman Marcus Mumford explained the band’s view of the service:

We wouldn’t have joined it anyway, even if they had asked. We don’t want to be tribal. I think smaller bands should get paid more for it, too. Bigger bands have other ways of making money, so I don’t think you can complain. A band of our size shouldn’t be complaining. And when they say it’s artist-owned it’s owned by those rich, wealthy artists.

Wow, some pretty powerful words from the neo-folk rock frontman. I rest my case. I may not be a major fan of M&S’s music, but I for damn sure am a fan of how they see themselves and their fans. They know what they are, and they know what they’re not. And what they’re not is dying for money in the same way an independent artist is. What they are, according to this, are a group of artists who recognize their good fortune. They assert that other artists on their level should recognize similar good fortunes and stop “complaining.”

If this isn’t telling of the splitting we’re starting to see in the music industry, then I don’t know what is. It’s a big day when even mainstream artists are standing up and articulating the difference between themselves and independents. It’s a whole new world.

I Miss the Amorphous Power of Poetry

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I haven’t written poetry in months. Probably somewhere near half a year at this point. For me that’s like an eternity.

Poetry used to be one of my most expressive forms of communication. I used to write so much that it became necessary to start dividing the pieces into separate collections. As of yet, most of those collections haven’t been finished to the point which I would like.

Yet what I miss most isn’t writing a poem per se, but what writing a poem allowed me to do. It allowed me to write something that could be left set in stone. It did not need to be researched, backed up, sourced, or set up as the solution to or for an argument. A poem could exist in and of itself; its value existed simply because it did.

In many ways writing poetry is easier because it allows me to just write, and look for patterns and meaning in what I write after I write it. I don’t need to start with a central thought and build out an argument around it. In many ways, it’s the same dynamic as I enjoy with blogging.

Poetry is so powerful precisely because of its ambiguous nature. The amorphous power that resides in a poem, terse or epic, is innate to its nature as a piece of writing that is purposely enigmatic. Every syllable could mean something—or it might not. Regardless of what your high school English teacher might have forced on your thought process, poetry isn’t about finding the “right meaning” that’s hidden between the words. It’s about finding the right meaning for you, something which could be very different from the meaning for the person sitting next to you.

This is what I miss most about writing poetry. Its sprightly chirping of words that could mean something, or nothing—words that could have been carefully chosen, or words that were just thrown onto a page and never wiped off. In the end, it’s irrelevant. Poetry is about the search, not the find; that’s why it intrigues me so much. I will have to write more in the coming months.

Further Musings on Writer’s Block: Day Two

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As the writer’s block seems to continue, thoughts dance through my head that anyone who know’s me would be slightly confused with. Sure, it’s a well-known fact (at least by those who know me) that I’m a huge art, history and music buff, and as such, these are the topics that typically dominate my writing. Even business and tech have come to the forefront of my preferred subject lists, even as I continue to educate myself in them.

What only those closest to me know is my real fascination with things that are well outside the realm of any humanities study. I was never a strong math student; in fact, I hated math. I hated it every day, every night; because it never made sense in my head that there can be only one answer. I was raised by two lawyers—in my world there’s never just one answer. Thus it would follow that as I’ve completed my schooling and graduated from college, I would only interact with math in professionally necessary capacities: taxes, data metrics, simple calculations, etc.

Yet in times when I find the creative juices refusing to flow, times like today, I find my mind drifting back to topics of mathematical thought, and other topics that are most days seemingly beyond my appreciation. Because why should sitting and pondering mathematical principles appeal to me? I struggled every day in grade and high school with it. Want me to write an 8-page essay? No problem, done in a couple hours. Do these 30 math problems? I’ll see you next week.

Perhaps it’s precisely my artistic mindset that drives me to ponder about things like mathematical thought and application—the worst thing for an artist is to feel that you’ve mastered something so much that it’s become stale to your growth. Mastery of any such thing in itself is irrelevant; what matters is how it feels. Am I being challenged or is this a rehashing of what I did yesterday? Thus on day two of my writer’s block, I find myself thinking not of tech trends or the socio-economics of medieval Britain, but of the interconnections of math principles and philosophical thought. Go figure.

Musings on Writer’s Block

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Some days, the words flow onto the page very easily, and some day’s they don’t. Today is one of the latter. That said though, even writer’s block itself can be a constructive lesson in writing. It teaches you that even the most adept writer struggles sometimes to come up with a thought process worth putting down for others to read.

But that actually begs a few question about the thought processes we as writers discard as “not good enough.” Are they really not up to par, or is it simply our nature as writers and creators to deride ourselves until we come up with something truly “worth writing?” Just today I’ve discarded numerous ideas for posts because they didn’t seem to be “enough” for me to put out to a readership.

But perhaps that sort of self-critical thought process is in fact too self-critical. Self-criticism is part of the creative process—it’s what we as creators feel helps us push forward to our greatest productions. So perhaps the whole writer’s block demon is indeed a blessing in disguise. Irritating though it might be, it nonetheless helps us to distinguish our sub-par thoughts from the truly remarkable ones. For me, I’ll try to keep a more open mind when it comes to the writer’s block I know will inevitably come back around.

Why I Tend to Write Longer Posts

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Some Topics Require Them

For those who have been reading and following my posts over the past couple months, it won’t come as much of a surprise that I prefer a longer format than just a couple of paragraphs. Of course this doesn’t mean that I seek to write book-length essays, but I find that a number of the topics which I’ve covered recently deserve a lengthier response. That said, in the digital age where news it consumed at a light-speed rate, I realize that there is certainly something to be said for the terse blog post as opposed to its longer cousin. I suppose it’s worth noting where my tendency for longer posts came from, and why its germination was welcomed at the time.

Terse Little Blurbs Did Not Suffice

When I first began my career in blogging, as a music journalist as it were, shortened posts never got the job done to my liking. Terse little blurbs are cute and easy to read, but within the context of the music reviews and explanations, they do not suffice (and indeed the reason I started writing in the first place was because the reviews I was reading were unfocused pieces of fluff at best). Thus for me, it became necessary to lengthen the music article so that it addressed its subject matter appropriately—or at least to my liking.

I decided that if I was going to write music reviews, than my readers were going to be able to “hear” the music after reading my article. They would get a basic rundown of the instrumentation, the time breaks, the lyrics—things that make songs really unique. Otherwise, I reasoned to myself, what would be the point of reading a music review anyway? Music journalism, at its core, should be about the music, not the intra-band politics that so many publications seem to think take premier importance.

But I digress.

Debating with the World

To go along with my penchant for writing detailed posts on music and performances, it’s also worth acknowledging that I am and always have been a student of history. For non-history majors, this means that in my world, research and arguments go hand-in-hand, and you would never dream of presenting one without the other. As a result, I find it quite against my grain to write a post and not back it up with a series of sources and/or further arguments.

Brevity is indeed a virtue in many parts of life, but too much of a good thing is never good (as the saying goes). Brevity used beyond its worth doesn’t help you present a good piece to your readership; it leaves you with a dangling point, and them with questions about where the rest of the argument is. Does that mean that every post should be footnoted at the bottom? Of course not. But it does mean that presenting an argument that is fully-fleshed out (or as much as you can make it so) is much harder to disprove. There is something to be said for viewing every blog post as an opportunity to debate with the world. And win.

Start Writing—Anything

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In a short piece posted earlier this morning, Hunter Walk talked about writing, and how the need to be right is many times what stops people from putting their thoughts out there. Whereas some may seek to “write the definitive post” on a topic as Walk puts it, his advice, rather, is to pick something you’re fairly confident you know about and “riff a bit.” This is directly in line with my thinking when it comes to putting out something with my name on it; do the best I can writing the piece, make sure all basic spelling and grammar is correct, and then see what comes back my way in terms of commentary or questions.

I would, though, dare to take Walk’s advice one step further: if you want to start writing, don’t just write blog posts—write anything. Write news articles to learn how to instigate an investigative process, write essays to learn how to really flesh out an argument, write poetry to better understand the concepts of metaphors and literary devices, do interviews to learn how to speak to people and translate it into compelling writing. Not all of these things will pan out (and you may not enjoy all of them, or even any of them), but in sharpening your teeth on different writing styles, you lear how to mix and match to make your own pieces (blog posts, for example) more powerful.

As you descend into learning each new style in a hands-on way, the need to be right will fade some, and what you come away with is a more comprehensive understanding of presenting and/or winning an argument. The ironic side-effect of this (in my experience as a music journalist) is that people suddenly begin to think of you as a voice to take seriously. Go figure: stop trying to be the definitive voice, and somehow you get closer than you ever were when you were trying!

Of course, there’s an even more basic reason to write (and very much a reason I do): it helps the mind to work through new concepts and move the creative process along. Don’t worry too much about being right—just write.