When I get like this, my team encourages me to channel my feelings into a song. I turn over at the slight sound of Christopher rustling in the sheets. The rise and fall of his chest lulls me into a hypnotic state, the same state I often find myself in when riding the ocean waves or down at the skatepark.
A warm feeling rises inside as I study Christopher, his dark-brown hair, the mole on his back. It collides with the painful memories from the past, intertwining and dancing into a melody in my head. Words appear in front of me. Almost as if they’re flowing through me from some higher power.
I’m so familiar with using rage, hurt, and disappointment to fuel my creativity that I’m confused by this additional emotion of joy, but I don’t want to lose it.
I slowly lift the covers, trying not to wake Christopher, and slide out from the bed. I stretch my hands above my head to let out a yawn before grabbing the pad and pen on the bedside table and heading to the bathroom. Throwing them to the side, I pee and wash my hands vigorously before closing the lid to sit down, and then I let line after line pour out of me onto the paper.
I saw your face on a Thursday,
You were cool as an ocean breeze,
Turned me into a nervous wreck
And my mouth began to freeze.
I thought about it all Friday,
What I could have done differently,
Need to get myself out this mess
And bring you back to me.
I got to find a way to your heart,
Don’t want this to be over before it starts.
Within ten minutes, I’ve jotted down a whole song. The lyrics are scattered across three pages, now lined up on the marble countertop in front of the sink. My heart does cartwheels as I look at my widening smile in the mirror. I never smile this early in the morning. I’m normally catatonic, pre-coffee.
I quietly make my way back through the bedroom and retrieve my phone from my discarded shorts before returning to the bathroom, where I hum the song’s up-tempo melody into my voice memo app. The sound echoing off the white marble walls provides the perfect reverb and gives the song an uplifting vibe.
I dance around with glee when I finish, and I instantly dial my musical director, ignoring the fact that it’s barely 8 a.m., and he probably doesn’t have to get up for another hour before we hit Abbey Road.
He answers on the third ring with a yawn, and I immediately run through the song, looking down at the lyrics by the sink. More harmonies form in my mind as I sing it to him, the track blossoming in my mind like a tree in spring. By the second chorus, Freddy is humming along with the melody, creating little riffs withhis voice.
“Damn, Alex, that song is dope!” he responds as soon as I finish.
“You think?” I briefly wonder if he’s telling me what I want to hear. I never truly know when I write songs if they’re any good. I often think they all are, only to realize that most are mediocre when I listen to them being played back. This time though, I instantly feel connected.
“Yeah, man, you gotta get that track down,” Freddy says, seemingly sharing my enthusiasm.
A thought pops into my head, and I blurt out the words before the critical part of my brain jumps in and prevents me from saying it.
“You think we could work it into today’s recording?” I fiddle with the sheets of notepaper.
“Err…sure.” The hesitation in Freddy’s voice makes me question my thought, but I know it’s a good idea. I reach for the pen, turning the top back and forth, the tip appearing and disappearing like a tortoise’s head.
“We could do a really stripped down version, just me on guitar and you on percussion. It’d be a great bonus track for the fans. They’ve been begging for new music for a year now.” I return my attention to the mirror.
Freddy isn’t the one I’m trying to convince right now. That would be Paul. He’ll likely spout off something about not wanting to put it out just yet. That we’re in the middle of renegotiating the record deal.
I tell Freddy I’ll send him the voice note of the melody so he can listen to it and work on it. Then I hang up, take a picture of the lyrics, and send them over too. I switch over to the thread with Rob before closing the app.
I’m too wired to sleep now, even though I barely got three hours after Christopher and I had finished fucking for the third time. Rob will have to come through with the goods instead.
Morning, can you grab me the usual with an extra shot please?
Rob
