Song 19/52: “Thirty”
Lyrics:
Blow out the candles, I’m 30 today
Sing me that dissonant song
People keep asking me, “Are you okay?”
And I laugh and I half-play along
Recently, while I was combing my hair
I spotted a grey on the right
Could be a sign that I’m aging
Could be a trick of the light
It’s just a date on the calendar
I’m shuttled along like a passenger
And I’d like to speak to the manager
How am I 30?
How am I 30?
A woman can fade like a desolate flower
That’s how it seems when we’re sad
Losing our beauty is losing our power
And every last charm that we had
Everyone seems to be asking me
“When are you starting a family?”
But who knows what’s left in my ovaries?
How am I 30?
How am I 30?
Don’t wanna grow up
Makes me wanna throw up
I’m still 16 in my head
Make the clock stop
Let me take a year off
Guess I’m grateful I’m not dead
Though some days I’d like that instead
I doubt I’ll be dying disastrously
But there’s always the fear of catastrophe
Even with decades ahead of me
How am I 30?
All I can do is appreciate
My face and my age and my body weight
I guess I’ve got plenty to celebrate
Now that I’m 30
Now that I’m 30
Songwriting diary:
I’d been vaguely aware that I wanted to write a song about turning 30 – largely inspired by Bo Burnham’s brilliant song on the same subject – but I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted it to say. After I finished writing most of my song “Dreamgirl” in mid-April, I continued messing around on the little keyboard I’d written it on, and improvised a little section (“It’s just a date on the calendar/ I’m shuttled along like a passenger/ And I’d like to speak to the manager/ How am I 30?”) that reminded me rhythmically of “Another Hundred People” from Stephen Sondheim’s musical Company. I liked the nervous, syncopated feeling that it had, but still wasn’t sure what I thought the song should say – in part because I wasn’t having any particularly strong feelings about turning 30 – so I set it aside for a few weeks.
In early May I wrote some verses and a bridge about turning 30 but they were in a minor key and seemed like a weird fit with the major-key section I’d already written. I tried it on my keyboard and then on my baritone ukulele and it sounded sort of odd both ways. But then I decided to do a multi-instrumental arrangement for it in Garageband and it immediately made way more sense to me – the transitions between sections felt more purposeful, and had the sense of disorientation that aging can instill.
I did some minor lyric editing after the initial writing session. My spouse suggested using the word “catastrophe” in the verse about death, in lieu of “mortality,” and I’m glad I made that change because it works much better.
Song 20/52: “Credit Card”
Lyrics:
Got my new passport
And a burner phone I picked up at the airport
Got my next mark:
She’s a widow in a condo next to Central Park
I know where she’s goin’
And I follow her there without her even knowin’
Woo her at a bar
And play a character I carry in my repertoire
Chorus:
And I say “Hey, little honey, could you pick up the tab?
And when we’re heading home, would you pay for the cab?”
It’s oh so easy that it gets me hard
When you say yes and let me decimate your credit card
Yes, I’m a trickster
When she seems suspicious, I just stop and kiss her
That’s how it goes:
If you keep a lady happy then the money flows
(repeat chorus)
Would I do it to the queen? Yeah, you betcha!
To the stars on silver screens? Of course I would!
They can say they’d never fall for it
They can hide their cash and stall a bit
Still, I’d walk away with all of it
(repeat chorus)
Songwriting diary:
In February my spouse and I watched the documentary The Tinder Swindler together. I found it fascinating, not only because I like con-artist stories but also because, at times, I have dealt with anxiety-based delusions that my partner might actually just be pretending to like me in order to con me somehow. (You can hear that full story in this episode of the Bawdy Storytelling podcast if you’re interested.) I wanted to write a song from the perspective of a charismatic con man – equal parts Tinder Swindler, Harold Hill and Jordan Belfort – who uses his savviness and charm to get women to give him money.
I wrote the whole lyric one night. It was an odd case, as far as my usual songwriting process goes, because I didn’t start with any chords and wasn’t even playing an instrument; I just heard how I wanted the song to sound in my head, and then had to figure it out on piano. This was even trickier than I thought it would be because I heard the song distinctly as being in a bluesy/jazzy style, which is not a style I have a lot of experience playing in. (I think the last song I wrote in this style was a terrible one called “Ogle Me” when I was like 15.)
I ended up scrapping most of what I’d written, though. The verses were boring and the bridge was too redeeming – it showed the character’s human fallibility and vulnerability (“sometimes I feel a twinge of conscience/ but maybe it just means I don’t know what I want yet/ I’ll go online and click on ‘add to cart’/ and fill the empty pit inside my heart”) and I just didn’t think that was the right vibe for the song. But I really liked the chorus (“I say, hey, little honey, could you pick up the tab…”) and found that it would get stuck in my head a lot while I went about my day, which made me want to take another crack at the song. This has been a common thing lately: only deciding to continue with a song because it proves its catchiness to me.
Once again my spouse made a small-but-important contribution to my lyrics this week: originally the line in the chorus was “it’s oh so easy, gets me oh so hard” and then “it’s oh so easy and it gets me hard” and my spouse suggested that it should be “it’s oh so easy that it gets me hard.” It’s funny how sometimes you need an outside observer to tell you what the missing puzzle piece is, because you can’t see it yourself when you’ve been staring at the puzzle up-close for so long.
Song 21/52: “Bodily Autonomy”
Lyrics:
Have you heard the news today?
They’re trying to take our rights away
They think they know us, think they own us
And it’s not okay
You’d think that we could all agree
On bodily autonomy
They’d rather praise the olden days
And the economy
Chorus:
But I own my body, and it’s mine alone
And you own your body – every nerve, every bone
They don’t own our bodies; they just think they do
But thinking doesn’t make it true
I’m worried ’bout my oldest friends
Most of whom are queer and trans
And all the pride they’ve had to hide
It’s like it never ends
If someone wants a surgery
Or to end a pregnancy
It shouldn’t matter who gets mad
Or says they disagree
(repeat chorus)
If we never owned our bodies, do we own anything?
If they control our bodies, don’t they own everything?
How can they patrol our bodies? Their own bible says be kind
If they control our bodies, next they’re coming for our minds
(repeat chorus)
Songwriting diary:
I wrote this song in a way that was totally backwards compared to how I normally write songs. I was feeling deeply uninspired trying to improvise on my ukulele and piano like I normally might, so I fired up Garageband on my iPad and plugged in my Novation Launchkey midi keyboard. I had a vague idea that I wanted to write something in a waltz time signature with jazzy-sounding chords, so I tapped out a simple drum beat and laid down the first chord progression that popped into my head. Then I looped the 8 bars I’d recorded and tried improvising vocally over them for a while.
There were a bunch of different potential topics and ideas on my mind for the lyrics, one of which was the recent news that the U.S. Supreme Court plans on stripping its citizens of the right to safe abortions. I improvised the lines “Have you heard the news today?/ They’re trying to take our rights away” and it immediately felt well-suited to the melancholy vibe that the chords had, so I continued writing from there.
The lyrics went through many rewrites, most notably the second verse, which I knew had to be about trans issues. Initially it was totally different (“Some people need a medicine/ An androgen or estrogen/ To smile and thrive and stay alive/ And feel born again”) but I decided it was too medically focused and I moreso wanted to emphasize the feelings involved in being denied bodily autonomy.
The bridge took a lot of attempts to get right, too. Initially it was way more angry (“Give us a democracy instead of a theocracy/ Stop insisting blood and bone should ever be a battle zone/ Check your bible and you’ll find that your own savior says be kind/ All the founding fathers died and why should corpses be our guide?”) but the vibes were off. I usually just feel sad and despairing when I think about basic human rights being taken away; anger is a rarer response from me in that situation, so I didn’t really think I could “sell” it when I performed it, plus I knew people would be pissed about me referring to the founding fathers as corpses even though a bunch of them owned slaves and were demonstrably fallible. So I wrote a softer, more plaintive bridge that fit the mood of the rest of the song better.
Song 22/52: “The Stage”
Lyrics:
We come to this hallowed place not to kneel or repent
We come to this magical place ’cause we know what it’s meant
We’re saying goodbye to our co-star, our friend and our leader
Tomorrow’s the last day he’ll ever perform in this theatre
Our backpacks are packed up with pillows and candles and wine
We’ll stay overnight; it’s a secret, but it’ll be fine
We hide in a corner, so quiet, for almost 2 hours
We hide while the janitor mops and then shuts off the power
And then we float onto the stage, like it’s our home (’cause it’s our home)
And we say a little prayer and read a poem
We’ve said it again and again to each other
That I’m like his sister and he’s like my brother
But 8 shows a week, we pretend to be lovers
It’s acting, I know, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real
And audience members will never know quite how that feels
The touching and kissing and that’s all before intermission
Rehearsals where you never moved til you had my permission
I know when we opened, we never thought we’d run for years
So we savored each moment, each curtain call given through tears
Family isn’t just chromosomes, blood and trauma
Our family shared a marquee and some backstage drama
And we sit up on the stage, like it’s our home (’cause it’s our home)
And we linger in the love of those we’ve known
We’ve said it again and again to each other
At Saturday matinees all through the summer
I cry like I’m losing my soulmate, my lover
See the thing is: I’ve loved you for a long, long time
And not just ’cause it’s in our lines
We’ve stared into each other’s eyes
For hours on end – lord knows I’ve tried
To keep my art and life apart
But that is not what’s in my heart
The critics said I seemed genuine
They didn’t know how much trouble I’m in
Now you hold me on the stage; it feels like home (’cause you’re my home)
And I think of who we were, and how we’ve grown
We’ve said it again and again to each other
When you say “I love you,” I still feel a flutter
The last time you kiss me, I’ll long for another
Songwriting diary:
My spouse and I watched a documentary together, Those You’ve Known, which is about the Broadway musical Spring Awakening and a recent reunion/anniversary concert that the original cast did. There was a touching story in the doc about the three leads of the show sneakily staying overnight in the theatre (which I’m sure would’ve been an insurance nightmare for the production company) and sharing wine on a candlelit stage, to say goodbye to a cast member who was leaving. It really stuck with me, as did Lea Michele and Jonathan Groff’s relationship, which seems to have been more than a friendship but not quite a sexual or romantic connection.
I’ve been doing a thing lately where, when I can’t sleep, I try to write a complete set of lyrics for a potential song. I either use a random word generator to give me a starting point, or I use a concept I’ve been wanting to write a song about. One night before bed, I typed up some lyrics on my phone that told the beginning of this story: sneaking into the theatre, hiding in a corner, etc. I didn’t get very far with it, just a couple stanzas.
When I looked at it again the following morning and started trying to put it to music, the chorus-y section (“And then we float onto the stage…“) came to me naturally while I was improvising. But I didn’t start conceptualizing the song as a romantic story until the bridge kinda popped into my head (“See, the thing is, I’ve loved you for a long long time, and not just ’cause it’s in our lines…”). I thought that would ultimately be more compelling than a song about friends hanging out platonically in a theatre after hours, but maybe that’s just because I’m more comfortable writing romantic stuff.