Well, for a songwriter, no situation we ever get into is wasted.
A noisesome table near our quiet dinner at a Hardee's can turn into one of our best ever songs of heartbreak.
Acting like a jerk to our favorite people brings out a song of contrition.
We write about love, loss, glory and the mundane with unabashed ferver, all because we see it in the world around us, and in ourselves.
Then we put pen to paper, pick to Gibson or Ibenez (in my case, to Samick or Alverez usually,) and pour a nominally unhealthy amount of joy or angst into the project.
Stranded seven miles from nowhere, both the Neon and the Blazer temporarily out of action, two days off?
Time to dust off an old classic, "Going to Have to Mech-a-nic Blues."
Okay, this is a song I've played out twice since I wrote it.
It may never be recorded.
It may never be played out again.
But I'm polishing its wonderful cliches, its corny little licks, and trying its off-beat mitre with a few classic twelve-bar progressions.
Well, that explains why I don't play it out. You will not hear me crying 'cause I do not sing the blues.
Or Country, but "Mech-a-nic Blues" is in no danger of being Country.
Or is it?
Hmmm, 'scuse me while I go try something out here...
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Hey, music lovers:
I don't think of those who like my music as "fans." I think of you as friends, with whom I've shared a thought or a feeling through the music. I really do not understand the "music idol" thing, where the artist or performer becomes larger than the music or sharing of that music with the listeners. Thank you so much for listening to what I've done. I hope that sharing a little music has left us closer in some ways. God bless.
R. Scott Stewart