The story of “Those Shoes”: Giving in to the Song
I enjoy road testing songs before going into the studio. Performing a new song adds an incredible boast of energy to a set, like a shot of espresso. Also, if the song can withstand the road, it can hold up in the studio.
But one song from A World That’s Bigger wasn’t played live before I recorded it. “Those Shoes” was unheard, excluding a few songwriters in my songwriting group.
I wrote it in 2014 after Nat and I lost our first pregnancy. I didn’t return to it for two years.
Then in 2016, we lost another pregnancy close to the second trimester, totally taken by surprise; and the healing process drew me back to the song. I finished the outro one quiet, winter afternoon when I had the house to myself.
By May of 2016, I had the full map of the record planned out. The other nine songs were embedded in in my bones from constant practice and gigging, but “Those Shoes” was still a stranger in the house.
My fingers weren’t confident with the simple finger-picking pattern. My voice wasn’t sure how to approach the microphone. I felt unprepared to try to record this song.
But I knew it needed to be on the record.
Mike Gentry and I were deep into day two of recording at the cabin, when I approached a few takes of “Those Shoes.” It didn’t going well. Just like I was powerless to the experience, I felt powerless to getting the song on tape… 
Plus, I was recording this entire record live. If I made a mistake, I had to do it again; and again; and again. Playing “Those Shoes” over and over left me emotionally exhausted. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do this.” Gentry said, ‘Let’s take a break.”
We made some tea, and he offered advice: “Try backing off. Sing it really lightly.”
I sat back down on the chair, and practically whispered the first lines:
“We’ve had a rough stretch/ our tired arms are powerless…”
Gentry was right. The song needed a light intention. I didn’t need to be aggressive on the guitar, or push my voice…I had to give into the experience.
We did three or four more takes, and got the one that ended up on the record.
Ginny’s going to be a big sister in June. I wish I could go back in time to 2014 and tell myself it was going to be OK. We are filling those shoes.
* * * * *
“Those Shoes”
We’ve had a rough stretch
Our tired arms are powerless
To what comes next
To what comes next
We lost a heartbeat
A secret kept between our feet
I was stepping back
I was stepping back
This pain won’t last
This pain won’t last
I know…
I’m tired, yet I can’t sleep
My mind has more than I can keep
To myself
To myself
I know there’s more that I could do
To sooth your pain and comfort you
I’m reaching out
I’m reaching out
This pain won’t last
This pain won’t last
I know…
And if we share our fears in twos
Could we have filled those shoes?
And if we share our fears in twos
Could we have filled those shoes?
We’ve had a rough stretch
“Purple Hearts”
Was it Atticus
who said,
“Shoot all
the blue jays
you want…”?
In Michigan,
you may now
aim your rifle
at a gray wolf;
but let those
rusty patched
bumblebees
be! I hiked
off trail and
cupped an ear
to capture
the busy buzz
of their bodies,
nature’s secret
password,
within the late
perennial asters
spread across
a clearing like
purple hearts.
Without notice,
a gunshot cracked
in the distance.
Then, howls—
a pack, but
no swarm.
Jan. 12, 2017
NPR: “US Puts Bumblebee on the Endangered Species List“
CC photo courtesy of mwms1916 on Flickr
https://www.flickr.com/photos/mmwm/
bumblebee on purple aster, 14 Oct 2014
WVPE 88.1 FM The Back Porch names World a top record of 2016
88.1 WVPE Public Radio‘s The Back Porch named my album A World That’s Bigger one of the top albums of 2016 on Sunday.
I wanted to thank them, Al Kniola and Norm Mast for the support last year. It was a bright moment during a difficult year. I was fortunate to make it to their station last October, hobble in on crutches, and share stories and songs.
Here’s a clip of the interview, telling the story of the title track and a live performance. Tune into The Back Porch from 7-11 PM (EST) on 88.1 FM or online.
“Twenty/Twenty”
I do not fear the doctor
—or his needle used to poke
Nor fear a vaccination
—that sting my skin bespoke
I do not fear the dentist
—can face a cavity
If I lose that rotten tooth
—still share a smile of glee
I do not fear prescriptions
—that’s fine, I’ll pop a pill
A visit to the pharmacist
—that syrup I will swill
I do not fear the surgeon
—nor fear her helpful nurse
I’ll breath their anesthetic
—it cannot cure my curse
See, I’m afraid of blindness
—my failed acuity
I hear the ophthalmologist
—but his chart I cannot read
I know not if one is better
—it seems the same as two
I make approximations
—and say the sky is blue
I feel my vision fading
—like a floater lost at sea
A sunspot on the surface
—the princess and the pea
I fall into the looking glass
—yet never find the hare
Nor face that sailed 1000 ships
—it’s impolite to stare
I walk within the forest
—where no fox is found
A trail that now is overgrown
—and tired is the hound
I’ll soon be on this journey
—only guided by my ear
I’ll listen for your footsteps;
—lead me away from here
25 November 2013
The Second Best Feeling in the World
My college roommate, Mark, told me, “The second best feeling in the world is finishing a song.”
I wrote what I consider to be my first (keepable) song in the summer of 1999, a recent high school graduate not only had a diploma, but turned songwriter.
After seventeen years of partaking in songwriting, completing a tune still feels like the second best feeling in the world.
The process of finishing a song (or poem) is my addiction; the ultimate antibiotic, an endorphin spike that I haven’t built a resistance to experiencing.
Yet the half-life of euphoria remains the same:
Finish a poem: 24 hours
Finish a song: 72 hours
The half-life of euphoria after completing a new work.— mikevial (@mikevial) January 3, 2017
If I seem on top of the world for a few days, I’ve probably finished a piece of writing that feels worth sharing. If I seem down in the dumps, I’ve probably haven’t written anything worth sharing in a long time.
Songwriters and poets, may 2017 be another year you take up the chase.
