Sont les mots: Bang Bang Shoot Shoot.
Episode 09:18:2023 - Prompt: Melody
Where Melody took me…
In my mother’s birth journal, I was “he” until I was born to prove otherwise.
The first sounds I heard outside of the womb were the nurses and my parents singing the song Michelle by the Beatles.
According to Sir Paul, the lyrics had absolutely no meaning other than to pair with a melody he played on guitar at art school parties, slurring words to sound French.
The melody has been played millions of times with the words, “I love you, I love you, I love you” to a fictional Michelle…
Most likely because Michelle rhymes well (you see?).
In the documentary Get Back, we have intimate access to John & Paul messing about with words that at some point coalesce into the lyrics we know so well (whether or not you like the Beatles, you’ll likely know one of their songs).
Melody leads their songwriting.
John even suggests to George, “Just say whatever comes into your head each time until you get the word.”
Which brings me to earworms & karaoke porn!
Maybe hearing my name sung at birth started it all.
Just like my experience with dance that I wrote about in AMBITION, musicianship was not in the cards for me.
I can play the entire melody of many songs in my mind until they’re stuck there. I guess I have an ear for music without the chops.
My maternal grandfather, Phil Gillette, was a pianist living the life of a hair dresser. According to my mom, he had wanted to be a concert pianist but had to work in the family beauty business and salon.
He was good at both.
Whenever he wasn’t cutting hair or cooking dinner, he was behind his grand piano playing PG songs of the day, like Once in Love with Amy or Calendar Girl.
He also played Michelle and bought me the recording as sung by Andy Williams.
Williams was a safer influence on little Mich than the Beatles.
As I recall, my grandfather wasn’t much of a singer. It was the melodies he took to. Although, he wrote a few songs, he didn’t play them for people.
He tried to teach me to play the piano, but I couldn’t read notes.
So he put little pieces of enumerated tape on the keys in place of notes.
I began to learn songs by numbers. 1-2-1-6, 1-2-1-6, 5-5-3, 4-4-1.
That’s Silent Night, Holy Night.
Christmas songs were easiest.
I also had a habit of counting words by syllables and had a system of whether or not a lyric or jingle was good or bad.
If it added up to an odd number it was bad. If it added up to an even number it was good.
An even number divisible by four was excellent.
(this became unimportant once I discovered avant-garde music)
Put all of this together, and I have a brain for music without the talent.
And because I love singing, I learn songs easily.
The risk is the earworm: a catchy song that gets stuck in your head.
I got the White Album for my 50th birthday.
This is what I wrote in the days to follow:
“She’s not a girl who misses much,” said the earworm.
No, she’s not.
Since receiving The White Album, she has found daily occasions for the lyrics to slither into her consciousness.
“I’d give you everything I’ve got for a little peace of mind.” She would.
She can’t sleep, but her score is high, according to the app. She’s awake at 3am, remembering that “the Walrus is Paul”. The only solution: stop playing the album. Let the instrumentation fade into memory…
Or, last ditch effort, “Bang Bang Shoot Shoot.”
YOUR TURN: We were watching a British film the other night that closed with a melody I hadn’t thought of in years.
Surprisingly, I remembered all of the lyrics and the way they’re sung with the melody. It was as if the song had been burned into my brain, waiting for me to call upon it. This one melody took me down a rabbit hole of memory & research that I wrote about HERE.
Where does MELODY take you?
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Happy writing!
A best friend, my Quebecois hit man, can turn a song, any song, into a melodic, award-worthy earworm. All in a moment’s notice, he does this repeatedly. It’s his career, a devoted musician. Over the years, we’ve proven a solid creative duo: me, the hobbyist with simple, direct, songwriting, he, the professional, producer, audio wonder. We’ve recorded a lot of music together. Our process is easy, relaxed, effortless. The bare essence remains prominent, intact.
On Monday, I head north to visit after a 5-year gap. This time, I will arrive not to record music, but to start a different creative journey together. I ride into Montreal with excitement, ready to meet my goddaughter, all of one month old, for the first time. When my friend presented me the honor, I heartily accepted. A great big collaboration with the world. A new song to sing.
A colleague sends a short, beautiful video she and her team produced in Brazil, in the state of Amazonas. It is of autistic children, families and staff at a summer camp rooted in the play therapy model, Floortime, that I also use. There are many scenes of parents and children playing in gorgeous rich landscape, swimming, climbing on colorful home made looking playground equipment. Much is in slow motion, set to music, highlighting the shared joy in the colorful rich location. It is about deeply valuing the joy of connection. I am giving a workshop in the Fall on the importance of enjoying, not only ‘treating’ autistic children, and the video is just the missing link I was needing. Not only is it inspiring and meaningful, but it also solves my own practical problem of how to bring my workshop to life. I get her permission to include this video. Now my workshop has the melody.