Utopia(noun): Any real or imaginary society, place, or state considered to be perfect or ideal.
What or where is your Utopia? For me, Utopia is the name of a store in downtown Easton that I frequented quite a bit as a teenager in the 1980’s. And not just any store mind you, Utopia was THE place to go if you were a connoisseur of music and someone whose parents had absolutely no intention of driving you across town to the Listening Booth store in the mall. Yes, in an age where record album sales and concert tickets were all the rage, Utopia was the closest place to go to get your music fix if you lived on South Side.
For a melodic rock / hair metal enthusiast like me, it truly was utopia. I still remember the hot summer days of youth walking downtown with a group of kids from the neighborhood with money burning a hole in my pocket. We all knew that what awaited us between those musty smelling walls was pure musical heaven. And unlike some of the more “modern” record stores of the day that allowed you to listen to new music before buying, Utopia was a shopping only experience.
You knew you had arrived at Utopia when you were greeted by the wicker furniture that resided in the store front windows. And once you crossed the threshold and into the store, the smell of cheap burning incense would consume you. Utopia showcased many of the newest albums of the day and even had a ticket counter where you could purchase tickets to the latest concerts coming to the area.
Utopia was the place where I purchased all of my concert tickets for shows at Stabler Arena and The Allentown Fairgrounds, including my first ever concert in 1984: The Scorpions and some new band named Bon Jovi. It was also where I purchased my first Dokken, Ozzy, Night Ranger, REO Speedwagon and Stevie Nicks albums.
Perhaps the only thing I didn’t fully understand about the store were these peculiar objects they peddled in addition to albums and chairs made of sticks. They were oddly shaped, glass bottles that resided behind the counter. I found it strange that these vases were in the same location as the “dirty” men’s magazines and something you would embarrassingly have to ask a clerk to get for you.
I never inquired about them, but occasionally thought about getting my Mom one with flowers in it for Mother’s Day. They looked cool; almost like a genie bottle or glass pipe. My brother even had a blue one in his bedroom that he told me never to touch.
Last night I purchased an album on iTunes and it got me to thinking about the old shop again. It’s been years since I’ve visited Utopia. Perhaps its time to pay a visit and see how much has changed in a quarter of a century. Although I’m sure they still sell wicker furniture and cheap incense, I’m fairly certain that new music and concert tickets are no longer being peddled. I guess I’ll find out. And who knows? I might even get up the nerve to finally ask them about the glass pipes behind the counter.
Happiness. It’s something we all have within us. And something the world so desperately needs.
I have never been so inspired as when I watched the documentary, “Project Happiness”. In the film, youth (our future) from three different continents interview George Lucas, Richard Gere and neuro-scientist Richard Davidson on what their ideas of happiness are.
The group then takes that knowledge with them on a journey to India and an unforgettable encounter with the XIV Dalai Lama. Through their eyes, they gain a new perspective on how to expand happiness and live a more meaningful life.
I had the absolute pleasure of speaking with Project Happiness founder Randy Taran about the movie and latest initiative – Hunger For Happiness. In just our brief conversation, her enthusiasm inspired me to believe that true happiness really is within our grasp. We all just need to look inside ourselves and take the first step. And then, spread the word!
goJimmygo (gJg): How did Project Happiness get started?
Randy Taran (RT): I started the project because I really didn’t have any answers for my own daughter who was going through a period of stress. She really wanted to be happy, but didn’t know how. I had been working with The Dalai Lama Foundation and have always been interested in these types of topics. but nothing I offered could resonate with her. I just thought, if only I had something she could relate to and grab onto, but I couldn’t find it. I asked myself, what‘s the best way to this? My background is in film so I said, let’s start with that!
gJg: How did the film come together?
RT: It happened organically. The fist challenge was to find some kids here in the U.S. who could grasp the message that we wanted to give, which has to do with opening up to the possibility of “What is this thing called happiness and what’s the nature of lasting happiness?”
I interviewed several different schools and kids and finally found Mt Madonna school. It was perfect. We were able to get a great group of kids and a teacher, Ward Maillard. The next step was to get a cross-cultural perspective to see if it was the same across cultures and religions.
We soon found out about Emmanuel Ivorgba from Nigeria. He came from a very Christian background but was very open to the universal truth that we were wanting to explore.
Next we thought, what if we brought in a Buddhist perspective? So we looked into the Dalai Lama’s present home town of Dharamsala, India and it was there where we found the Tibetan Children’s Village . We spoke to the Principal there and the kids were very interested, especially with the chance to meet the Dalai Lama. We gave everyone cameras to share video diaries and have online exchanges. We had very profound discussions going.
gJg: What made you decide to bring celebrities into the discussion?
RT: We wanted to bring into the film people who the kids resonated with. So we had the kids make a list. Luke, one from California school had written an essay on the similarities between the Jedi Code and the Dalai Lama’s principles. We sent that to George Lucas and that opened him up to the idea of sitting down and chatting with the kids. He was very kind to give us such a lovely interview.
Richard Gere was terrific as well and because of his relationship with the Dalai Lama he introduced a whole new perspective. He spent quite a bit of time with the kids and even stayed longer then planned.
We also wanted to bring some science into the discussion as well. Happiness actually has a whole scientific underpinning to it. So we spoke with Richard Davidson. whom we had met at one of his conferences.
Then of course, we had the visit with the Dalai Lama, which was truly a life changing experience for them.
gJg: For me personally, when everyone was talking with the Dalai Lama you could literally feel the energy coming right off the screen. It was as if everyone had an epiphany.
RT: Being in that room, it was palpable. There was a real energy about it that knocks you over. It was unforgettable!
gJg: What has the reaction to the film been like?
RT: It’s been terrific. We’ve won many awards all over the US and around the world. The award I love the best is the “It’s Ok To Be Different” award from the Seoul International Youth Festival. We want everyone to feel that it is OK to be different and express yourself.
gJg: There is also a book to accompany the film as well. Tell me a little about that.
RT: The initial idea was to make a movie but also to challenge the kids to tell us what they felt were the most important things about happiness and what other kids around the world would want to know. The feedback we received, combined with some of the best thought leaders in positive psychology, neuroscience and mindfulness became a book to accompany the film.
gJg: How has the project expanded?
RT: We’ve gotten requests to bring the program into schools so we started working with a group of educators to develop a curriculum and now it’s in all fifty states and fifty-seven countries. We give the program away free to educators.
Randy Travan – Founder Project Happiness
gJg: Tell me a little about your new initiative, Hungry 4 Happiness.
RT: It’s a cool way to throw a party for happiness. What you do is invite friends over for a screening of the film. After watching the film, you have dinner together. It can be anything from as simple as potluck to a cocktail party. At the end of the evening, everyone makes a small donation to Project Happiness. The idea is then for someone else to host a party and invite more people. This allows it to become a viral campaign to help spread the word and have more people become a part of this happiness movement.
gJg: What are your plans for the future?
RT: World Happiness Domination! [laughs]
What we really want to do is make these tools available to people all over the world. Everyone can access the happiness that we were born with; it’s a skill set that you can practice. We want everyone to create a greater happiness within themselves and then spread it out to the world. That’s our mission.
gJg: What would you like people to take from the Project Happiness movement?
RT: Three things:
1. You are an agent of happiness. 2. You influence people around you more than you know 3. We all have the power to make ourselves and each other happier and bring out the best in one another.
That’s how we change the world!
For More information on Project Happiness Click Here
For Information On The Hungry 4 Happiness Campaign Click Here
This is a repost from a blog I originally wrote back in August of 2011. Considering that today marks twenty years since my father passed away I thought it was fitting. October 17, 1997 is a day that will live with me forever. If you’ve already read this post before, my apologies. I felt obligated to reflect on the life of my Dad once again. If it’s the first time you’re reading this, it’s a bit long, but stick with it. I hope it gives you some perspective on why life is so precious.
***
Me, My Dad and My Brother circa 1995
Where to begin?
There are so many things I remember about my Dad. He was a tough guy. A south paw that everyone else in my family respected. A hard ass at times. Someone you didn’t want to get into a scuffle with.
But beneath all the tough guy exterior, Dad also liked to have fun too. Some of my best memories from childhood were of him taking our family on long camping trips with my other relatives every summer.
I’ve heard more than one person say that having all of us crazy “Wood’s” in one place during the summer was a sure sign of the apocalypse. But there was no fire or brimstone raining down. All we did was play cards, fish, pitch quoits and sit by the campfire.
Of all the times my father and I shared together, there are three moments I’d like to share with you today:
1. The Stop and Think Moment
2. The Drifting Apart Moment
3. The Prodigal Son Moment
The Stop and Think Moment is the one I’ll remember most of all. It began during a rain storm in summer when there was nothing else to do and nowhere to go.
It was late afternoon and I had just come in from playing football outside just prior to the rain. I was upset at having gotten into a fight with one of the neighborhood kids (over what I can’t remember). Dad was sitting alone at the kitchen table drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette.
Our home didn’t have central air conditioning so to keep cool we’d usually keep the windows open just enough to let the breeze in while keeping the water out. We’d also use big portable fans to help vent the kitchen. The smell of the hot asphalt street outside cooling down from the steady stream of rain would fill the room and also allow for the escape of the second-hand smoke.
It was on this occasion that Dad asked his disgruntled son what happened. “So and So threw the ball at my head” or something similar to that I said. And for the next fifteen minutes Dad gave me a lecture on the football, friendship and life. “Stop and Think…”, he’d say. “Did you do anything to bring on this situation?”.
Inevitably, there would have been something I had done to put some of the blame on myself. I’d usually start with a “but…but” and he’d always continue on. Telling me to just “Stop and Think” for a minute.
Stop and think. Do you think that person who thinks he’s so tough and treats you bad is your friend? He couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. (I still laugh to this day about that one).
There were plenty of other “stop and thinks” over the course of the conversation but the one I remember most was the last one he told me:
“Stop and think. Do you know how much your Mother and I love you guys? (referring to me and my siblings).
Those three words stuck with me and eventually I was able to settle down and actually start to think about what had happened. By the time our conversation was over it seemed like my brain was exhausted but I felt better for it.
On certain days now, when the weather is grey and rainy, I’ll sit at my table staring out the window and think of that day in the kitchen. I never forgot “Stop and Think”. Someday I’ll probably write a book about it and dedicate it to him.
The Drifting Apart moment came during the separation and eventual divorce of my parents in the mid 1980’s. By then, alcohol (which has always been the Achilles heel in my family) had estranged me from my father. We spoke many times over the years on the phone and in person but rarely when beer hadn’t influenced him in some way to make conversations short.
My brother and sister would see and talk to him way more frequently then me. They were able to see past the alcohol. I couldn’t. Soon I was off to college and living on my own and the phone calls became less and less frequent. Years would go by where we didn’t speak at all and were lost to each other.
I eventually heard that he had remarried but the next time I would actually see him for any extended length of time would be at my own wedding in 1995. Strangely, it was a bit awkward at first but I remember it being one of the best times of my life. For, in addition to me getting married to the woman I love, it was the first time in years we all got to take pictures as a “family” again.
It’s not that I didn’t love him or anything like that. On the contrary, the love I had for my Dad never changed. The separation was just a result of our going our separate ways and me not being able to deal with him in that condition. Especially when it got to the point where nothing was ever going to change.
The Prodigal Son Moment
I’ll never forget it. It was mid 1996 when I got a call from my Aunt telling me my father was in the hospital. They had found a mass in his colon and were operating on it. The doctors had thought they had caught it in time. And it appeared so. They had instructed him he needed to give up drinking and smoking if he wanted any chance of fully recovering and he agreed to it.
The next 15 months were spent reconnecting with my Dad.Ironically, the one thing I remember most is going to the bar with him and my brother for the first time (myself now also a legal drinker) and watching him play the poker machines and drink non alcoholic beer.
One might assume that a bar would be the LAST place I’d want to take my father to all things considered. And truth be told I really didn’t want to go into the Lion’s Den either. But he was adamant about taking his sons to the bar with him. Maybe it was some kind of rite of passage that made him this way. Or maybe it was to prove to me that he finally had control over his problem. In any event, and after everything he had gone through with his cancer treatment, he wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. So off we went.
Sadly, his condition continued to worsen until he was finally hospitalized in August of 1997. A man who had just celebrated his 51st birthday was now lying in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him and morphine running through his veins.
I visited him almost every chance I could in between my full-time job and duties at home. Some nights we would have conversations when he felt up to it. I longed to have another Stop and Think session but at that point I was willing to take whatever I could get.
Then there was the moment I had as October rolled around and his condition deteriorated. I remember sitting at his bedside while he was going in and out of consciousness, closing my eyes and asking God that if he was going to take him, to please not take him on my birthday. Any day but on the 5th. It was selfish. But at that time I just couldn’t bear the thought of having my date of birth coincide with the day he died. Looking back now, it wouldn’t have even mattered.
Yet someone on high must have heard me because I was able to spend my 28th birthday with him. The best gift I ever received. And over the next ten days it seemed like he was actually coming around a bit. There was reason to hope even though the doctors had all told us he was the sickest person in the entire hospital.
October 17th, 1997 – 10PM. It was just me in the darkened hospital room along with my stepmother. My brother and sister weren’t there. The single light over the bed and digital displays on morphine pumps and heparin drips were the only illumination.
Now I’m no expert on theology but I do believe souls can feel when another soul moves on. For as he began to gasp for breath I could tell the end was near.
At that moment I literally felt the temperature dramatically drop in the room. So much so that I began to shiver. And I’ll go to my own grave feeling this way but I swear, at that very moment, I had this overwhelming feeling that someone (or something) was coming for him.
I remember we told him we loved him and although his eyes seemed to be fixated somewhere else he was able to say that he loved us back. And that was when my father uttered the last word he’d ever speak:
“God”.
Silence.
Tears streamed down my face. A man who never so much as went to church and who, to my knowledge at least, never said a prayer or even read the bible. The last word he ever spoke on this Earth was “God”.
What did he see?
The distance between us and everything that happened in the past was gone. All that mattered was that he was my Dad, and I was there with him at the end.
I sometimes wonder if I would change anything if I was given another chance. I mean, would things have turned out any differently? Probably not.
Cancer has done horrible things to my family. Things I hope no one ever has to go through. But in some odd way, with all the pain and suffering that it brings, there’s one thing I have to actually be grateful to it for.
Without cancer, I probably never would have gotten my father back.
I’ve often thought about the possibility of making a time capsule.
For those who may not know, a time capsule is a container you fill with messages, articles of clothing and knickknacks that represent the current age. Then, you bury the container in the ground for some future society to discover.
My brother, a real handyman who still lives in the same house he and my sister had grown up in, made one of those interesting discoveries the other day while doing some remodeling.
The small, turn of the century colonial we lived in was originally owned by my grandparents and over the years, my brother has done a lot of extensive work to it. He’s torn down walls, installed new floors and fixtures and even put windows where none previously existed. In fact, the only portion of the house he hadn’t really tackled before was the make shift bathroom my father had built that lied on the first floor.
Since it was the only bathroom in the entire home and would be an expensive endeavor, not to mention a huge inconvenience whenever nature called for the next few weeks, he had put off remodeling it. Finally, the circumstances were right and the demolition could begin.
Upon tearing down many layers of paneling he made his discovery and immediately called me. I rushed over.
Lying beneath the torn, weathered particle board was writing. Some of it written by the hand of an adult, and some by the hand of a boy who would one day grow up to write this blog.
As I shined a flashlight up on the wall to get a closer look, it reminded me of what Egyptian archaeologists must have felt like when they discovered an ancient tomb of some long dead pharaoh. Would the scribble indicate what was housed beyond the great wall? Or perhaps there would be a silly warning I had written to future generations not to proceed any further. Nope. There wasn’t even a map leading to the location of my lost Spiderman action figures. Damn! But, what it was turned out to be something even better.
The first thing I had written on the wall read the following:
“Jimmy 7 years old”
Seven was the age I would have been when I wrote it; which would now be thirty-five years ago. Below my name was written the name of my sister Krissy, who was 6 at the time.
I found myself staring at the scribble for the longest time. Touching it. Running my fingers across the letters just to make sure it was real. The memory of writing it, once long-buried by life, had suddenly come back to me, and I remembered every vivid detail about writing it on the wall just before Dad covered it up with paneling.
I could picture the platinum-blonde, seven-year old boy writing his name and age on the wall. Making the most of his third grade education by trying to use proper spelling and pushing his pencil deep into the surface of the wood to make sure the lead was visibly transferred.
Finding something this cool from a general time period is amazing, but being able to pinpoint the exact day that it was written is something even better. Fortunately for me, on an adjacent wall my father had done just that. Below the names of other family members who had been present at the house that night, he had written the exact date the paneling was placed on the wall: “June 9th, 1977”
Now, I’m pretty sure the last thing on Dad’s mind at the time was: “Hey, let’s see what we’ll all be doing thirty-five years from years now when we find this!”, but I really wish he would have been alive for this amazing discovery. I can only imagine the conversations we would have had about it for the remainder of the day.
Next to the date, Dad had written down his name (Louis) along with my mother’s (Joanne) and for some reason, decided to include the date that they were married: “April 2, 1966”.
Sadly, their marriage would not last, but the memory of this project, once long since forgotten is now one I’ll treasure for years to come.
Don’t you wish birthdays as an adult were the same as when you were a child? I have to admit there are times when I really do miss those innocent days of childhood and the buildup and unexpected joy I had as October 5th slowly arrived every year.
We all have events in our lives that are worthy of celebration. The day you graduate high school for example, or the day you get married. Perhaps it’s the day you get a big job promotion or the day you finally pay off the mortgage. But birthdays themselves are way better.
Consider this:
Birthdays are the one day each year where we as a society celebrate the individual. And we don’t inundate social networking websites with salutations, pay for lunches or give a number of spankings equivalent to your age (plus one to grow on) for some milestone achievement that you’ve made.
No, the real reason people blow out candles, consume large quantities of cake, give greeting cards (hopefully with a few greenbacks in them) and freely give presents is just to commemorate the day you arrived on Earth. You’re alive, and that’s reason enough to celebrate.
As a child, I suppose nothing could quite compare to the day you receive the absolute best birthday present. I can still remember mine.
Bear with me now as to the details; it’s been almost thirty years and my memory may not be as sharp as it used to be. I do know that it was October 5th, 1983, and I had just gotten off of the school bus and started my monumental two-block walk home from school. I’m sure there must have been a bit of a chill in the air and the leaves were no doubt falling from the trees in the early October afternoon; but I wouldn’t have noticed. About the only thing I recall from that walk home was the sense of anticipation that was running through my soul.
I walked into the house and quickly spotted my Mom and Grandmother sitting at the kitchen table with the largest wrapped present I had ever seen. The smile on their faces as I walked through the door was infectious. It was almost as if they had been anticipating this moment all day long. I’m sure they had.
As a child, I can not remember a single time that I was more excited. What could possibly be wrapped inside?
“Happy Birthday!!” they both yelled.
When you’re young, the feeling you get after receiving a gift along with a ‘Happy Birthday’ salutation is equivalent to your first kiss. Your heart flutters and for a second, you can’t even breathe due to all the excitement.
I tore open the paper wrapping in earnest, all the while still wondering what could possibly lie beneath. As the last piece of wrapping paper fell to the floor, I recall just standing in awe as the contents were finally revealed. Amidst the torn paper, my family’s glee and my own surprise was the mother load of all presents:
The Atari 2600. Something that at best might be gifted as a Christmas present for the entire family. But, for ME? On my birthday?
Unbelievable.
I know what you’re thinking. Compared to the state of the art, high-tech devices we have today I’d be laughed to scorn by even the youngest of children. But I’ll never forget that day, or the hundreds of others that followed playing games like Haunted House, Combat and Pitfall.
When you’re through laughing please continue reading….
Today, I am celebrating my forty third year of existence on this planet. Although still a child at heart, my role has changed significantly. I wasn’t walking home from school, but was actually coming downstairs to get ready for work. I was immediately greeted by my eleven-year old daughter, who had gotten up extra early and was quick to be the first to yell:
“Happy Birthday Dad!”
What I saw on the counter wasn’t anything equivalent to an Atari 2600 but something that was just as special and once again gave me that same fluttered heart feeling. It was a huge colorful card that she had made herself which, when opened revealed a beautiful butterfly drawing. As I hugged her, the good times I had growing up all came back. I thought about Mom, my Grandmother and the wide-eyed boy who walked into the kitchen thirty years ago.
So tonight, when all 44 candles are lit on my cake (43, plus one to grow on) someone will inevitably ask me to make a wish. At that moment, I’ll remember all of those birthdays that have come and gone and all of the well wishes I’ll have received from friends and family on Facebook. But I don’t think I’ll have a need to wish for an X-Box, a car or even a million dollars.
My wish already came true.
Because just for a moment, I got all of those care free days of youth back. And I’m grateful to be alive for another October 5th.
There are only twelve months in any given year. A dozen different containers of days in which we live our lives divided up equally into four seasons. Each month, its own thing of beauty.
I’m sure at some point, when these months all first got together, there must have been arguments over which of them was the greatest.
I can just picture January bragging about how he’s always been first and should therefore be considered the greatest. The first one to bring in a new year. The first one where resolutions are made.
Then February would chime in about being the lover’s month. June would counter by saying he’s the greatest because of being the month most weddings occur in. And I’m quite certain December would put in her two cents because of the whole Christmas thing.
Not one to brag or voice discontent, October would just smile and watch the others bicker. For you see, he already knows which month is the greatest. As do I.
October is the GREATEST month of the year and here’s why:
1. October is National Breast Cancer and Rett Syndrome Awareness Month: Thirty one days in which to raise funds and awareness to help find cures.
2. Columbus Day: It’s the day America was discovered.
3. Oktoberfest: Time to get your drink on.
4. October is the only month where Count Chocula, Frankenberry and Boo Berry cereal are all readily available in stores.
5. For baseball enthusiasts, October means only one thing: The World Series.
6. October is the month when fall colors are at their peak. Sure, the Autumnal Equinox “technically” starts in September but leaves are still green for the most part in September. And by November, the foliage is a dull brown color. For those of us in the northeast, the best days of all are actually when the weather is overcast with a threat of rain. Seeing these bright-colored leaves beneath the gray sky is one of the most beautiful sights there is.
7. Halloween. Nothing more needs to be said. The final day of the greatest month of the year is the only day where it’s ok to get dressed up and scare the shit out of people. It’s also the only day of the year where you can go walk the streets and beg for candy and not get arrested. Trust me, I’ve tried.
But the absolute real reason October is the greatest month of the year does not lie in days of awareness, cereal consumption or trick or treat. No, October is the greatest month of the year because of what happened on the 5th day of it back in 1969….
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about from being a songwriter it’s this:
Inspiration can be found almost anywhere.
But sometimes though, we as writers tend to get complacent or hit road blocks. Situations where we just can’t seem to find anything to write about or get tired of using the same, dull songwriting formula we’ve grown accustomed to. It’s times like these when the search for inspiration can become almost fruitless.
So what are some of the things you can do to break out of your “comfort zone” and find that inspiration? I’m glad you asked. Using my love of 80’s music (and metal, of course) along with several of my past interviews, I’ve compiled a list of four things to help inspire that creative spark.
So the next time you’re about to hit the wall with songwriting, pick up your guitar (or whatever other instrument you have lying around) and give one of these a try:
Eye Of The Tiger (1982)
1. Watch a movie, read a book or attend a sporting event for inspiration.
Stuck in a rut? Try one of the above mentioned suggestions for instant inspiration. Visual stimulation can sometimes work wonders for a songwriter. You never know when a scene in a movie, a passage from a book or a touchdown toss might awaken something inside you.
Back in 1982, songwriters Frankie Sullivan and Jim Peterik of the band Survivor were given a rough cut of a movie to watch as inspiration for a song. After watching a few minutes of the raw footage, the duo became inspired to write a song that would not only would go to #1, but would also earn them a Grammy award in the process. The movie was Rocky III and the song? “Eye of The Tiger.”
Frankie Sullivan: “You know, that song was the easiest of them all. I think Jim [Peterik] and I wrote the music for it in about half an hour and it took us three days to write the lyrics, only because we couldn’t come up with the punch line. But we kind of had the whole thing down in half an hour.”
John Parr – Man in Motion (1985)
2. Give yourself a deadline.
There are times when a deadline can actually be your own best friend. Try giving yourself a time frame to write a song from start to finish and see what happens. You’d be surprised what you might come up with when the pressure is on. Take John Parr’s #1 hit from 1985: St. Elmo’s Fire (Man In Motion):
John Parr: “David Foster and I were working on songs for the soundtrack and were given a day to write it and a day to record it. David wasn’t feeling in the mood to write at the time, but I persuaded him and over the course of an hour we wrote three songs; one of them being “St. Elmo’s Fire.”
White Lion – Pride (1987)
3. It’s OK to be cliché’.
A lot of music publishers will tell you that when it comes to songwriting, never, EVER write cliché’ lyrics (unless of course you’re Taylor Swift, Katy Perry or any new Bon Jovi song).
But despite the need to avoid the simple and mundane, there’s something to be said for just playing your guitar and writing down whatever comes to mind while you’re in the moment. The worst that could happen is that what you write never goes anywhere beyond the written page. But sometimes, it can lead to things you never would have expected. As was the case with Mike Tramp of White Lion when he co-wrote the band’s hugely popular song, “Wait”.
Mike Tramp: “There’s almost no origin to that song. The story goes, Vito [Bratta, guitarist] started playing the riff and the very first word out of my mouth once I heard it was “Wait.” It’s one of the simplest lyrics I’ve ever written, but it’s also the perfect American FM song.
Lita Ford – Close My Eyes Forever (1988)
4. Let Life Happen.
Sometimes we just need to put down our guitars for a little bit and let life happen. Conversation and recreational activities can play an important role in subconsciously finding inspiration. Good things can happen when you least expect it.
When Lita Ford was finishing up her hugely successful album “Lita” in 1987, she had also just finished moving into a new home. One night, she received a visit from Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne who brought her a house-warming present. After opening a bottle of wine and playing a few games of billiards, Lita and Ozzy went into a side room where a guitar and amp had been set up.
Lita Ford: “We just started playing and singing and wound up writing “Close My Eyes Forever”. The song was kind of an accident really.”
You’ll notice that in each of the song examples I’ve mentioned, there was more than one songwriter involved in the process. If you don’t already have a writing partner, consider getting one. Two heads are always better than one as Lennon/McCartney or Elton John/Bernie Taupin would tell you.
Remember, inspiration is everywhere. So give yourself deadlines, be cliché’, experience new things and compose riffs and lyrics you know no one else will ever hear. Life is the open road. So get on it and see where it goes.
Wood. It’s been my last name for as long as I can remember. It’s not as common as say a “Smith” or a “Jones”, but I’m sure it’s up somewhere near the top in terms of commonality. The truth is, I’ve really started to grow fond of it. With four letters, it’s an easy name for people to remember. And it also allows for me to be called “Woody”, a really cool nickname.
But I have to admit, growing up and having “Wood” as a last name angered me; especially during my school years. And I think my problem with it actually started way back in second grade.
In class, the teacher made a list of a dozen or so menial tasks for students to do over the course of the school year. Each student would be assigned a task to do every day for several weeks before moving on to the next task in the list. Some of the tasks were rather boring: like watering plants, washing windows and organizing paperwork. Others though were extremely cool: like actually going outside to clap out erasers (we’re talking 1977 here folks).
The nice thing (or so I thought) was that the coolest of the tasks (eraser clapping) was placed at the very top of the list, and I couldn’t wait for my turn. That is until the teacher decided how she was going to dole out the tasks to the students: alphabetically by last name. That meant that “A’s” clapped erasers first, then “B’s”… and so on.
insert heavy sigh here…..
Having already mastered my ABC’s a few grades ago, it didn’t take long to realize that having a “W” in my last name put me at an extreme disadvantage and meant that I would be one of the last kids to get the cool task. So, while some knucklehead whose last name just happened to start with an “A” clapped erasers, I would have to wash windows.
Yep, I was taught early on in life that being a “Wood” put me behind the 8 ball. Oh sure, I eventually got my chance to do the eraser clapping, but instead of remembering how cool it was to go outside and clap erasers for ten minutes, the thing I remember most is having to WAIT almost the entire school year to do it.
The curse of the “W” would continue throughout my school years. Everything from gym class activities to where you sat in Science and English classes became organized and/or assigned by the first letter of a last name. And can you imagine my sorrow when I’d go to class for the first time and notice there was a cute girl whose last name started a dozen or so letters before mine?
Chance of me sitting next to her? ZERO! It’s no wonder why I became an introvert.
I eventually would overcome my loathing of the “Wood” name though, and am now fully content with it. It’s also given me a great deal of respect for those poor souls whose last names start with a “Y” or “Z”.
Now, if I can only get people to stop asking me if I’m related to James Woods the actor.
The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge had a bad week and are now in damage control. Photos of a topless Kate Middleton have been appearing in various magazines and newspapers all over the world.
The royal couple’s lawyers are scheduled to appear in court in Paris to cut off any further publication of the photos and are even planning to sue those responsible for damages.
Although this is clearly an invasion of privacy, it still makes me wonder why it happened in the first place.
Does anyone else remember how aggressive the paparazzi was/is with the royal family? How Princess Diana and Sarah Ferguson’s unflattering photos appeared a billion times in magazines and newspapers over the years with claims ranging from drug abuse to infidelity?
It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the relationship between the royals and the press is similar to that of a wounded gazelle and a pack of starving hyenas. These mongrels will do anything, ANYTHING to get a photograph of a king, a prince, or a duchess engaged in “common” activities. You know, horrible things, like swimming. The promise of fame and fortune for just one compromising pic is more than enough incentive for them to find the future King and Queen in their moment of “weakness”.
Unfortunately though, sometimes during the quest to obtain the golden ring, bad things happen. As evidenced by the crash that killed Princess Diana fifteen years ago. For me, it’s especially troubling because this whole three-ring circus event surrounding the photos only reminds me of that fateful day. How high speed car chases and lives lost do not matter: only that one elusive photograph does.
This is not to say that I believe the press is totally at fault here. On the contrary, the Duke and Duchess should both have known better. How could they not have known that the paparazzi would be spying on them while they vacationed? Especially for Prince William, who no doubt knows how malicious the press can be by witnessing first hand what they did to his mother for years.
And you mean to say that as Kate reached around to remove her top and expose her breasts, she never once had the slightest thought that she may be being photographed?
Which leads one to wonder if the Duke and Duchess already knew that they may be photographed and decided to throw chum into shark infested waters anyway. I mean let’s be honest: It’s nice to have a royal family to talk about, but it sure gets old when all there is to discuss for the most part are royal births, marriages and deaths.
Sometimes, something as simple as showing a boob can generate enough press to keep things fresh and relevant in between those life events.
“Dude, did you see on CNN? – A plane just flew into the World Trade Center…..Weird”
That’s the first thing I’ll always remember when I think back to September 11, 2001. I was sitting at my computer in a Microsoft Windows 2000 course when I noticed the email from my buddy that come across my screen.
“That’s strange”, I thought as I entered “www.cnn.com” into the web browser and pressed enter. I had to see what he was talking about. But nothing happened. It was as if the Internet was down. I received a timed-out message. Could it be that everyone was checking out the news story at the exact same time as me?
The instructor was oblivious to the events that were occurring and kept on with his instruction. Meanwhile, cell phones started to ring in the classroom. Another plane hit the other tower. A plane just crashed into the Pentagon. Something was wrong.
We began hearing rumors of a plane being shot down in Pennsylvania. Another airliner headed to Chicago and the Sears Tower. Yet another one claimed there were planes headed to Los Angeles too. What the hell was going on?
We tried to listen to the teacher talk about this new Windows operating system but eventually it was pointless. It was obvious our hearts were 90 minutes away in downtown Manhattan as hell was breaking loose.
Then… the Towers started to fall.
I remember my daughter was not even a month old at the time, and the priest from church was planning to pay a visit to our home that Friday to welcome her into the world. Obviously, that would never happen.
It’s sometimes hard to believe that it’s been eleven years. And I still have an empty feeling inside when I think about all the lives were needlessly lost.
I suppose it’s the same way my grandparents felt on December 7, 1941 and November 22, 1963. You think the world is ending but in reality, maybe it’s something bigger reminding us all just how short and precious life really is.
Utopia (noun): Any real or imaginary society, place, or state considered to be perfect or ideal.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about from being a songwriter it’s this:
go.Jimmy.go 