The Martins

Before anything else, I have found myself really liking the new Coldplay song, "Lost!" And yes, there really is an exclamation point in the title. I have yet to hear the whole album, but I see the closing track is called, "Lost?" Hmmm. Without even hearing the question-marked "Lost" I can say that I like the idea. Anyway, there is something about the former that really appeals to me. I can assure you it's not from watching Mr. Paltrow and his mates perform it live on SNL; quite the contrary, in fact. But it sounds fantastic in the car. Just a good tune.

As for my tunes, I have noticed a weird trend in the last week. Outside of a couple of minutes on Friday night, I have not taken my Martin out of it's cases since Thursday at Hill Country. And I am not sure why. Well, one tangible reason is that my new MacBook Pro has been occupying a lot of my time as I am figuring out all of its new tricks and how I can get it to make music with me. But the wooden, organic music-making tool, one that has helped me write almost every JH song to date, sits unattended to in it's case on my living room floor. I look at it sometimes, but I am not sure what I want to say with it. Just as when I run into a stretch of writer's block and know to simply wait it out and trust my instincts, I also go through periods of disassociation with my trusty guitar. Leading up to this weekend, I had begun to notice that I kept sounding too much like me whenever my fingers tried to conjure music from the strings. Everything felt stale, as though I were beginning to cover myself instead of channeling new inspiration. I don't have an electric guitar these days, for now, but if I did I would probably have busted it out by now and tried to write on something sonically different than my Martin.

The good news is twofold. One, I believe it is important that a writer puts his tool of the trade down once in a while and takes time to see, feel, explore, process, and make sense of the world going on around him. Basically, writers need material, and material comes from living, from stepping out from behind the piano, the easel, the cutting board, the sewing machine, the notebook, the whatever. So for that reason I am almost glad that I have taken a breather. But now that a few days have passed, I can feel that yearning inside me again--on my way out the door today I remember glancing back over my shoulder at my black guitar case leaning against the couch. I wanted to play it; I had something new to say, perhaps.

Or maybe I had begun to forget what music sounded like coming from my fingers, and maybe I had begun to miss that music. Either way, I'll find out tonight at rehearsal. I am already looking forward to it.