Pop Filter: Requiem for a Nightmare

Sometimes I get a flash of inspiration at three in the morning, and I can’t stop myself from punching note after note into the software until what I hear through my earphones matches what’s emanating from the overflowing file cabinets of my imagination. A few finely-crafted measures later, the roosters are crowing in harmony with the ear-splitting fire alarm triggered by someone turning scrambled eggs into eggs flambé. As everyone shuffles blearily into the early morning chill with their North Face bathrobes and fuzzy slippers, there’s this undeniable feeling of having participated in a creative process for the sake of the creative urge and nothing else, a feeling that cannot be shut down by a paltry early morning fire alarm. We shiver in wait of the sirens that will be our salvation as I reflect on the beauty of dotted eighth notes, the prospect of napping until dinner time and the sensation of being surrounded by scores of disgruntled somnambulists. The firemen walk in with large axes, presumably to eviscerate the offending frying pan and deliver its charred contents to the bed of the guilty egg-scrambler. It’s about sending a message.

For every moment of revelry in the afterglow of creative catharsis, there are a hundred headaches for the times when the black dots and stems were uncooperative. When the notes are finally beaten into submission, the lyrics put up heavy resistance in the form of a guerilla insurgency. The solo line is the easiest because those lyrics are preordained, but for background voices, the arranger is bamboozled by the burden of choice. For me, finding the right syllable is more aggravating than chord progressions or rhythm decisions, because I don’t understand when an occasion calls for “da” or “doo.” Informed individuals tell me that these meaningless syllables can also show emotion and that each vowel sound has a distinct emotional impact. Sometimes I swear the only emotion that’s getting through to the audience is my frustration that I can’t come up with more interesting sounds. Unfortunately, this is more of a linguistic problem than a musical one, so I lack the necessary cunning to understand it.

Vowel sounds, thankfully, are limited, but those consonants are another thing entirely. I wish I could say that when I hear a piano part, that sound of a little hammer striking a string with percussive, resonant force, and I think the “d” consonant fits or that when I hear acoustic guitar strum, I think something like “jen.” That would be disingenuous. For me, the primary thing running through my head when I brainstorm syllables is: “Does this sound weird?” I like to play it safe in all things, and that means a lot of bland “oo-oh-ahs” and “doo-doh-dahs” that is both the foundation of a cappella and the very thing that screams unoriginality. Someone once suggested that I replace some “doos” with actual words to remind the audience that the background voices aren’t just robots going beep-boop ad nauseum. Words, they said, are infused with great power and emotional weight and take advantage of the versatility of the human voice to convey complex information. Now that’s just crazy talk.