"Words are only words but we turn them into gifts... then we seem confused as their meaning slowly shifts"

One of 'The Moody Blues' thinks I can write songs...

My song Raised In Vain - the title song of my album - just won an Honorable Mention from the Mike Pinder Songwars. Mike, a founding member of The Moody Blues, started Songwars to help new songwriters get heard. 

I'm not trying to write pop tunes, so I'm more than happy to get an HM. All the comments in the critique that comes with the win seem to be focused on making the song catchier, not better - in my opinion that is, the comments were never anything but constructive. 

So thanks Mike. And everyone else at Songwars.

John Martyn (1948 - 2009)

R.I.P after your long, strange, difficult, journey...that inspired great music.

Saying goodbye

"You have to write down what you're going to abandon." - Leonard Cohen

Just got tickets to see the man again at the Beacon Theater, New York. February 19th. What better way to say goodbye to one of the cities I have loved.

Words from the past

I was listening to some very old songs of mine tonight and came across this verse and chorus. I can remember the youthful fear and anger that led me to write these words and I can remember standing on stage and singing them. But they are so far removed from what I feel now that it seems as if they were written by another person. I guess they were. The person I used to be.

The suicides and lovers

flood the cafes and the bars

The nightmare is revealed

in the lights of twisted cars

The dark displays its anger

but the morning wears the scars

Is this my imagination

or the last

slow motion picture

Am I awake or dreaming

Is this the way the world will end

fast asleep but screaming

It makes me so sad...I feel like writing a song

 

Sad? Yes. And a bit angry. And frustrated. And disappointed.

At bbc.com, there's a piece about 'How to save the music industry.' They asked some notable people in the biz...and some not so notable...and Donovan!  Yes, the hurdy-gurdy man is still around but he ain't "singing songs of le..e..ove" any more, he's repeating the same thing that most of the contributors said: People need to know that music cannot be free...please pay us. And they all had to go hang out in Cannes, in the south of France, to experience this epiphany!

So am I sad because this is true? No. I'm sad because like many other industries (advertising to name just one) the music world has confused problems with solutions.

It's always been extremely easy to point out a problem once it's become clear to everyone. But the real issues of why they didn't see this coming and prepare for it, and what solutions they have that will work in a new world, never seem to get mentioned.

The record companies, as I've said before, have had it so good for so long - just like the ad agencies - that they really didn't want anything to change, least of all themselves. And when change was forced upon them they fought it rather than embracing it and eventually found themselves out of touch not only with their customers but with the artists they were supposed to be nurturing and helping.

I don't know the answer. I know it's not the over-touted Indie route. The only people making good money from that are cdbaby, amazon, the iTunes store and the guys who manufacture CDs (for a short while longer). Not the artists. 

Anyway, before I get carried away, I just wanted to say to all the guys quoted in the article:

The headline was HOW to save the music industry. Not WHAT is wrong with the music industry.

The piece doesn't contain one meaningful, constructive suggestion. Just a load of crap about "relationships changing" and "giving the industry back to the artists"...and, oh yeah, a whole lot of whining about people getting music for free. Including from Donovan, who'd like help paying his electricity bill apparently.

95% of the meetings, conferences and other group events I attended while working in the advertising business were just like this get-together in Cannes - people sitting around "defining the problem" a thousand different ways. The 5% that were worthwhile were the ones to which someone brought an IDEA. You'd think an industry built on creativity - like the music industry - would understand that. But then again, you could say the same about the ad industry. 

In both cases the idea people are ignored while the 'leaders' whine and dine in Cannes.

Sign the online petition to create a 'Secretary of the Arts'

Quincy Jones has started a petition to ask President Obama to appoint a Secretary of the Arts. While many other countries have had Ministers of Art or Culture for centuries, The United States has never created such a position.  We in the arts need this and the country needs the arts--now more than ever.  Please take a moment to sign this important petition and then pass it on to your friends and colleagues.

Tell President Obama we need a Secretary of the Arts

It's been a while since I mentioned wine!

I like wine. Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that. And I like Champagne in particular. But there's something very basic that I've learned. I can drink really low quality red wine - and, okay, I know there's much better stuff out there but even lower level red is enjoyable. White wine? Different story. It's well worth spending a few extra dollars - you'll be rewarded. Now, back to Champagne. There is no such thing as cheap Champagne. If it's cheap, it's sparkling wine. And there's no such thing as American Champagne! Nothing great with bubbles comes out of California. Sorry CA, just a fact.

So check this out:

Nicholas Feuillatte Brut Rose. You can find it for less than $50 a bottle. And it's good. Actually, hold that thought - I just found it for $29.99!!!!!! At B21 Wines Florida.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009. Bush is gone.

"The price good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men." - Plato

Obama will be a great President. But the important question is will we, the people, overcome our natural indifference when the pomp of the day is over?

Tuesday, January 20, 2009. Changing back.

"Finally, whether you are citizens of America or citizens of the world, ask of us the same high standards of strength and sacrifice which we ask of you. With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love......"

John F. Kennedy  - inaugural speech, 1961

You win some, you lose some.

Readers that is.

Warning: if totally uninhibited sex bothers you, please do not read on.

I am working on a new book of poetry. And this time the book has a theme: sex. Or the "collision of hearts" as I called it in a recent lyric. The eternal intimacy - the constant struggle of the sexes to find a balance between love and lust. Between desire and practicality.

The book gets its title from a line in an as yet unrecorded song of mine: The Momentary Truce.

The momentary truce is that precious piece of time when lovers forget everything. They forget themselves, their routines, their ambitions. Everything disappears except pleasure...the giving and the taking. They forgive their partners their flaws. There is nothing but the devoted pursuit of a feeling. A feeling that Leonard Cohen described like this...

I knelt there at the Delta

At the Alpha, the Omega

I knelt there like one who believes

And the blessings come from heaven

And for something like a second

I'm cured and my heart is at ease.

My words are a little more direct.

MILAN

It started in the bathroom

of their hotel room

in Milan

They liked the mirrors

Finding every position

that let them both see

how greedily her body accepted

whatever was fed to it

Like a puzzle

with more than one solution

A puzzle of holes

fingers

cocks

and tongues

They moved to the bedroom

He pushed his face

into the moist gash

Her smell and taste

defining lust

as they robbed the air of everything

that wasn't her

It went on and on

Each doing to the other

anything

they had ever wanted to do

Anything

*

It ended

with them apart

She on the floor

sitting

her back against the bed

facing the mirrored closets

her fingers embedded

in herself

He kneeling

at the center of the bed

watching all four of them

They were so desperate

for the end

it was now like pain

He knew her body well enough

to see the signs

As always their timing

was perfect

The surprising ribbon

hurling itself in her direction

It almost passed her by

but caught her right shoulder

breaking

into strands

One remained 

on her shoulder

Like unexpected bird shit

on a summer's walk

One caught the nipple 

of her right breast

and hung there

in triumph

One made it to the glass

Landing with a faint glop

on a reflected thigh

His finish

was not hers

The flying liquid

urged her 

to one

final

spasm

clutching her breast

with her spare hand

Massaging his sacrificial fluid

into her skin

*

It was right

it should end

this way

They dressed

She left for the airport

Few words

The past

avenged

or rewarded

or acknowledged

or killed

they weren't sure which

Despite everything that was said

in the previous hour

they knew

it was the last time

And the memories

of the strangers in the mirrors

would stay with them both

forever

© 2009 Dave Tutin

Wall Street Revisited

“I was lucky enough to see with my own eyes the recent stock-market crash, where they lost several million dollars, a rabble of dead money that went sliding off into the sea. Never as then, amid suicides, hysteria, and groups of fainting people, have I felt the sensation of real death, death without hope, death that is nothing but rottenness, for the spectacle was terrifying but devoid of greatness... I felt something like a divine urge to bombard that whole canyon of shadow, where ambulances collected suicides whose hands were full of rings.”

Frederico Garcia Lorca (1898 - 1936)

Who is Number One? You are - Number Six.

With the tiny addition of a dash, all is perhaps explained.

Where am I?

In the Village.

What do you want?

Information.

Whose side are you on?

That would be telling. We want information. Information. Information.

You won't get it.

By hook or by crook, we will.

Who are you?

The new Number Two.

Who is Number One?

You are Number Six.

I am not a number- I am a free man!

Sadly, Patrick McGoohan, the brains behind the most challenging TV series ever produced - and its star - has died. He was 80. Which just makes me feel really old!

I remember being hooked on The Prisoner when it was first released upon an unsuspecting UK audience. There had never been anything like it. And there's been nothing like it since, in my opinion. The dialogue that started every episode (above) grabbed you and sucked you in, and your mind belonged to Patrick for the next hour.

Thanks Patrick.

Look up 'Delusional' in the dictionary...

And you'll see a picture of this man;

At his final White House press conference on Monday, President Bush was asked whether the military prison (Guantanamo Bay) and harsh interrogation tactics have damaged America's standing in the world.

"I strongly disagree with the assessment that our moral standing has been damaged," Bush said. 

A new poem from a long time ago

THE BUS

I have no recollection

of where we'd been

But it was the last bus

home from the city

We sat on the back seat

upstairs

where we could kiss

And I could get an unwitnessed

feel of teenage breast

I remember

as she rested her head against me

seeing my reflection

in the window

bouncing off the pitch black English night

Of all the mirrors

I've ever looked into 

this one held

the most lasting vision I have

of myself

©2009 Dave Tutin

A bicoastal work in progress

A good friend of mine - Jeff Shattuck - is also a songwriter and guitarist. He's the biggest fan of The Stones I've ever encountered, so his musical approach is quite different to mine. That said, we have collaborated on a couple of songs. The first one - Borderline Love - was a lyric I'd had floating around for years and never managed to write music that brought the words to life. So I sent the words to Jeff...and he did. If it gets recorded at any time I'm sure we'll both post the results.

More recently I posted a verse that was the start of a song called The Forgotten Place. I emailed the folks on my openDmusic mailing list* asking if anyone wanted to attempt to finish the piece. Of course, Jeff was off and running. He sent me some ideas for additional verses and borrowed a poem from my book Or Words To That Effect as a middle eight. It worked. But it also made me start taking this song seriously and asking myself what I was trying to say when I wrote the first verse. This led me to complete the song myself, admittedly borrowing Jeff's "seeds of doubt" idea and changing a few things at his request based on the structure he had in mind.

Jeff has posted the full story and all the stages on his blog. But here is the finished lyric - Jeff is now working on music. 

THE FORGOTTEN PLACE

There's a need that burns like a forest fire

Scattering the casualties of my desire

In love and loss in flood or drought

All the seeds I've scattered were seeds of doubt

From Hong Kong to London

From Bangkok to Rome

From New York to Rio

To a forgotten place called home

Sparks on the wind - a new fire starts

The ecstasy of every collision of hearts

From Berlin to Cape Town

From Bangkok to Rome

From Singapore to Paris

To a forgotten place called home

But the need still burns and that wall of flame

Stops you from returning the way you came

And with their mothers' ghosts still between the sheets

My imaginary children walk the streets

From Hong Kong to London

From Bangkok to Rome

From New York City

To a forgotten place called home

© 2008 Dave Tutin / openDmusic

© 2008 Jeff Shattuck / Cerebellum Blues Music

* If you'd like to join this list please email me at mail@davetutin.com

Paris Morning. © Dave Tutin

Blue Boat

I'm posting this for no other reason than I just got a new camera. It's an Olympus E-Volt 520. And I love it.