Chapter 214: Your Story; Your Song…continued

At the end of every semester I ask my students to bring to class a piece of music that sounds the way they’d like their writing to sound. It is a wonderful ritual, one made especially illuminating by the fact that no two students out of the two hundred or so who’ve done this have ever chosen the same music.

So many voices. So many songs.

When I wrote about this a few years ago, I made the point that the music represented something to strive for: “The music, I suspect, remained for many of them an aspiration, a hope of what they might someday be able to achieve with words.”

It turns out my students were not alone.

The other day I was telling a couple of colleagues about this assignment. I mentioned that I, too, always brought in a song – it would have felt like cheating if I hadn’t – and that over the years my choices had changed: From Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D Minor, to “The Weight,” to Gladys Knight’s version of “Heard it Through the Grapevine” (there is a terrific key change early on that takes the song to a whole new place). I’d like to think that those new choices reflected my growth as a writer. At least that’s what I hoped.

So I asked my colleagues what music they would choose. Jonathan Weiner, a Pulitzer-prize winning science journalist, hesitated as he began running through his own, subconscious catalogue. David Hajdu, a renowned music journalist and critic, answered immediately.

His reply – which I will share with you in a moment – got me thinking about what other writers might choose as their songs. I put the question to several writer friends. Their answers are as revealing as those of my students; no two chose the same song.

And like my students the music was aspirational; their choices reflected a desire to make their writing read as musically as a song they loved.

Here is what they chose, and why.

And yes, there are samples to play.

Enjoy.

David Hajdu: I want my writing to sound like the music of Jerome Kern -- lyrical melodic lines of ever-varying contours and lengths, a rich harmonic foundation, and unconventional turns that carry surprise but ultimately feel inevitable. A good example is “I’m Old Fashioned,” which has no repetition in the melody for the first half of the song -- and five key changes, most of them in the middle of phrases. I don’t agree with the lyrical sentiment at all. The music is timeless.

Andrea Elliott: Weird Fishes/Arpeggi by Radiohead It pulls you in. It is precise, but also vast — oceanic. It builds and builds. And you travel with it, into something beautiful. Finally, it asks questions that must be answered.

Sam Freedman: The long guitar solo that opens “Over and Over” from Neil Young’s album “Ragged Glory.” The passion of the playing and the great care and technique in the selection of notes. The solo ends at about 1:20.

Jeffrey Toobin: I’ve never been able to write, or even read much, with music on. But I sometimes put on this Philip Glass piece -- Metamorphosis --for inspiration. It’s got a kind of relentless energy that I admire.

Suzy Hansen: I would say — especially with this last book — Under Pressure by David Bowie and Queen, because I want my writing to have multiple registers, both the soft and patient, as well as the emotional and operatic, and I am always hoping to build toward a conclusion that is loud, devastating but beautiful, too. There is something about that song that seems to capture the full range of life, all the messiness and humanity and a bit of humor too. As many times as I have listened to the song, I am still always a little unsure of what note comes next, and therefore always surprised and delighted.

Diego Courchay: Tough question, but for recency bias, let’s say like French pianist Sofiane Pamart. This concert, a couple of pieces in particular –Medellín, La Havane, Séoul, Nara– are examples of a mastery and variety of rhythm: There’s a mastery and variety of rhythm in Pamart, shifting constantly, spinning something and catching it, catching his breath and slowing it down, never letting us settle, using repetition to his advantage, and fugues as he likes. You can tell that there is emotion, experience, and memory, and he has the technical dexterity to do them all justice.

Besha Rodell: I think about rhythm probably more than anything else in my writing - rhythm comes first; word choice etc. can be amended once the rhythm is right. So that was one of my main considerations here. I also wanted something with just enough attitude, a hint of punk rock, but I want that element to be surprising rather than in-your-face from the get-go. And the last thing I thought hard about was the ending...the kicker of an article or essay is so important, it has to be satisfying, it has to stay with you.

So I’ve gone with Cannonball by the Breeders. Catchy, sounds simple, is actually very complex. Has a surprising, aggressive element that builds up and then becomes part of the whole really beautifully. Has a very satisfying, memorable, crisp finish.

Jonathan Weiner: I’m still thinking. Right now I’m all over the place, except that my choices are on the elegiac, if not sentimental, side. What they all have in common is “saudade,” according to a Brazilian friend:

“New Slang,” the Shins

“What a Wonderful World,” Louis Armstrong

Piano Trio No. 1 in B major, Brahms

Vals Poeticos, Granados

As for me: A new song for this final class: Save it for Later, by the English Beat. It’s a seemingly simple song that pulls you in immediately and adds layer after layer in a way that just feels that each step follows on what preceded. Effortless. My aspiration.

All of this begs the question: what would you choose? If you have a song, feel free to share it with me at delacortereview@gmail.com A Writerland playlist – to get us all through the writing day.

A final word about my students: this year’s group has just published its version of The Memory Project, in which each student chose a photograph and set out to find and tell the story of that frozen moment.

It’s a wonderful class to teach. The students not only report and write but, guided by my colleague and audience guru James Robinson, identify and connect with audiences. The students split the royalties. They are now, officially, published authors.

This year’s class, however, wanted to try something different. Much as they admired the work done by previous classes, they were eager to push the limits of what a print book could be.

So with our wonderful art director, Francisco Barrera, they envisioned a book that could also be, in their words, an experience – a collection, yes, but also something beautiful to hold and keep and delight in.

They’ve titled it Penguins, Etcetera. The title becomes evident as you read. It is a wonderful collection of nonfiction short stories. You will enjoy it, I promise.

It is also a fitting note to go on out on - for them, and for me, in this my final class. Once again, my students have shown how imaginative, innovative and bold they can be – especially in a format that too many have dismissed as extinct.

Print does live.

My students show us how.

They will bring their music to class and we will listen to the songs and learn why they chose them. And when we are done, I have decided it is only fitting to leave them with a song.

Teaching them and all the students I have taught over these past 35 years has been a joy. And joy is the note I’d like to close with.

Thank you students. Thank you so much.

Solomon Burke, please sing us home.

* * *

We’ll be off next week for Memorial Day weekend. Back on May 29th

Nothing good ever came from writers punishing themselves. We know writing is hard. We’re here to show that it doesn’t have to be torture.