Yesterday I had a routine appointment with my hematologist. A follow-up appointment, if I’m really going to dial this in for you.
You see, on July 4th I declared my independence from absurdly low amounts of clotting factor by beginning a once-a-week self infusion via butterfly needle. As I explained to my doctor, it’s been going really well aside from the human pin cushion aspect. I talked about how I’m glad I switched HIV medications in May and upped my Wellbutrin dose with the blessing of and at the advisement of my doctors, respectfully. A mental health side effect of my previous HIV regimen was causing more psychological chaos than I thought.
Certainly a topic worthy of its own post which, hopefully, I’ll get to.
As enlightening as that med switch has been, it’s not a cure all by any means. I’m lucky to have the doctors and partner in Gwenn that I have, because the last year and a half… boy, have I been on some kind of emotional journey. Still, I’ve allowed myself to wade in chest first, tears abound as opposed to rolling over those type of waves on a boogey board giving a thumbs up under a terrible Joe Burrow dye-job. I’m thankful I got away with- and even benefited from- such a cavalier attitude about medical conditions as long as I did.
I more thankful that I started to realize that survival method had long outlived its usefulness some years back. To be fair, I think at each stage of my life, I’ve stepped up when I had to. The difference now, I guess, is realizing the importance of having a stand-up foundation to begin with. Less pressure on the psychological knees, too, without all that up-and-down business.
Back to the appointment, where I found out I actually have more clotting factor in the day or so just after my weekly injection than I previously thought. Now I get two bar fight nights a week instead of just the one. “You shouldn’t have one, Shawn,” my hematologist didn’t say to me after I didn’t say what I don’t actually do.
Still, having that weekend option- for once in my life- is liberating for a chronic daydreamer such as myself.
I mentioned briefly in a previous blog about wanting to start a new band last year. How appealing the escapism aspect was, while also acknowledging how much social anxiety I had. I was in a tight spot there, literally pushed by spirits to keep going forward. I’d reconcile that the music sucked- but that negative voice was countered. Back and forth I went. Finally, when my friends were planning a Spirit Ball for their album release party, I took that as a sign to overcome my fear. Cash in some chips and jump on the bill if I could.
I asked a friend if he’d do the show with me since we’d already started talking about doing some music together. What’s funny is that I absolutely did not want to be the lead singer of the new thing. As I was plowing forward I recognized a lot of the disconcerting safety measures I was putting in place. I was glad I had identified what was making me tick and what was making me glitch and respected that; challenged that at times. Most importantly, I was able to talk to Gwenn about it all.
By the way, the Spirit Ball deserves its own post, too. I tell ya, it is going to be a doozy: visits from beyond the grave, messages in dreams… it’s totally an October post but it’s been in a continuous state of writing on the inside of my skull for months now. Once I get another chunk of alone home time and add a dramatic, unapproved, lighting effect to some of our decorations I’ll be motivated to properly summon that tale.
Anyhoo, the point of this blog is: I haven’t really sang since that show in late March. A couple of times in my music room/dork factory, but really I just whispered into a mic over abandoned demos from yesteryear. A great thing about being an electronic musician is that the multitude of jam sessions, partial tunes and cover songs are just a few clicks away. Sometimes a vocal melody is easier to find when you’re a bit removed from having written the music.
Also, time away makes it obvious which parts of the song pack more of a punch on mute.
I just haven’t had the motivation to futz with music much lately. Today, however, as I opened up to Gwenn at the coffee shop about how I was really feeling- a tad blue- a light bulb went off: “I think I need to sing.” Soon, Gwenn was off to her haircut and I was heading home. Once I got there, however, I almost abandoned the plan.
First, I couldn’t find the right file for the song I wanted to sing, a cover of the Del Shannon classic, “Runaway”, which was the last song of that set in March. Instead of letting ADHD win the initial struggle, I used the Search feature and found the files with minimal extra effort. Then, in the headphones, the levels were so screwy- I knew my audio interface had a button I needed to press but nothing was totally fixing the problem. I hit one and damn near blew my head off of it’s shoulders.
Thankfully, decades of headphone use and unprotected live music listening has dulled that sense. A better set of ears would have certainly sent me packin’.
Finally, I figured out the technical side of things. As convenient as the technology is, it’s also maddening at times.
As I started to sing, my voice sounded so wimpy. To be expected after such a long hiatus. Also, I wasn’t sure where the vocals came in anymore, even though I’d arranged the cover myself. A lot of times, in this situation, I’d have closed down the computer and, I dunno, finished off some rasslin’ on DVR. Probably cut off a chunk of an ice cream sandwich.
Shit, now I’m thinking I zigged when I should have zagged. I am Buddy Decker’s youngest son. I wrote about it in My Pet Virus, because it’s a favorite teen memory. How Mom gave Dad shit about how much ice cream he was eating, so he switched from putting it in a bowl to serving himself in a big glass. The problem? He was able to pack so much more ice cream into a glass.
OK, gotta get ice cream off the brain. As I dialed in the reverb and pulled up the lyrics, I was surprised by how much back on the backing track I was, jack. In no time, I was singing- and it didn’t sound half bad.
The set in March opened and closed with cover songs. After I finished having some fun with “Runaway”, I loaded up the first song from the live set in March, “Love Buzz” by Shocking Blue. I discovered the song via Nirvana’s cover. But it was only in recent years that I even heard the original. Perhaps I’d have looked it up in high school if the internet had been around.
Anyway, with my voice warmed up and a more straight forward arrangement, I jumped right into the spirit of the tune. Like Cobain, I opted the lyric to be “you are the queen of my heart” as opposed to king. I also ended the arrangement with a big build up to that lyric. “You are…” Bee bop, do wop. “You are THE QUEEN…” Bee doooop do wop. “YOU ARE THE QUEEN OF MYYYYYYYYYYYHEARRRRRRRRRT!”
As I was singing that line at the end of the song I was thinking of my muse, who encouraged me to do music when I got home. Just after the last words of that phrase left my lips my phone lit up; it was a text from Gwenn… a heart emoji.
Life is full of surprises. Music for me is one of many joys, many sources of magic. Feeling, in recent times, like that’s something that’s part of my past has been hard. But a lot of that has been centered around performing. When I got better at songwriting and performing in my 20s, after I moved to Charlottesville and started playing shows- and singing in public for the first time- I began to write with the audiences joy in mind. To make the danciest, best live version of the song I could.
Gwenn asked me a few months ago how I felt about doing music; just for me. Those words stuck. I started thinking about what sounded interesting and enjoyable- I’ve been surprised that one of those thoughts has been actually learning how to play the piano, learn some friggin’ chords. My mystical Spotify playlist has about ten hours of tunes that span genres and generations, from the first synth solo recorded on “Runaway” to “Poison” by Bel Biv DeVoe, to songs friends have written.
I think of my grandmother when Liberace sings, I think of a friend that has passed to spirit when Led Zeppelin cranks it up. I always listen to the playlist on random, I invite spirits to guide the songs as needed, and sometimes they really serve something on the nose. My mom and grandmother both loved to sit at a piano and just play what was in their heart, or flip through a song book.
I just remembered my Mom saying that sometimes she just randomly flips through and stops on page. As I embark on my 50s next year, I’d love to just be able to sit down at my keyboard and pluck out a few chords, take a shot at the “Break My Stride” chorus.
Ultimately, whether it’s music, writing, making up dice games- the joys in our lives are songs we need to sing. When our lives shift in ways we can’t foresee, it’s easy to understand how making time for those things can feel difficult. Become more trouble than they’re worth. Today is just a reminder that sometimes time away from things that bring joy is exactly what is needed to repurpose them in a way that best suits you.
And where you actually are. Not where you hope to be. Or where you once were.
Hope this finds you well, and that your phone gets lit up by a heart emoji. It all starts with the real thing, so be mindful of what yours is telling you and don’t be afraid to let your loved ones contribute some backing vocals to your song and however you choose to sing it.
Positively Yours,
Shawn