I was asked to teach a songwriter’s workshop during a festival I recently played and although I was initially apprehensive, I was relieved to find how long-winded I became when I spoke on the subject. By no means do I claim to be the authority on songwriting; however, over the years I have accumulated a number of tips, tricks and unorthodox ticks that makes my process a bit more calculated.

Below is an outline of my discussion with the workshop audience — I think it will give you some things to think about as you approach your future songs. Good luck.

1.) KEEP A JOURNAL and/or WRITING BOOK

EXAMPLE: Many times I’ve stumbled upon a line or a word that made no sense when it was written; however, a year later, within the new context of my life, it made all the sense in the world. Whistle Stop, for example, was simply a cool word that I wrote down in my journal and it was a full year before it ever made sense.

When I first heard the word, I tried and tried to write a song but nothing in my vault of life experiences would support the theme. HOWEVER, a year later when I read that phrase in my journal, my brain immediately snapped into focus because of a current circumstance: my great friend had recently lost his mother. Even though Whistle Stop meant nothing to me a year prior, in that moment it screamed “life is a train … and since you never know when the next whistle stop will be, don’t whisper softly the things that you want loudly to be.” This delayed inspiration was a result of keeping a journal and re-visiting it often with a fresh perspective.

2A.) IF YOU’RE STRUGGLING FOR IDEAS, USE “A TECHNIQUE FOR PRODUCING IDEAS”

I studied advertising in college but because I knew songwriting was my call, every time I heard the word advertising, I would subliminally substitute it with songwriting. That said, I read a book called “A Technique for Producing Ideas” and even though it was about scheming ads, here is how it applies to the craft of songwriting.

Amazingly enough, upon reading this book, I realized the steps it described was how my brain was already working. It’s a 4 step process that is more natural than you might think:

STEP ONE – Gather Information
The goal here is to find a word or an idea (aka Whistle Stop) and collect every scrap of information that could support it. Collect nouns, read research papers, use wikipedia, interview people, etc.

STEP TWO – Grind and Explore
This step involves taking all of the raw information that you’ve gathered in step one and simply grinding it into the ground. Yes, stretch it, molest it and attempt to connect all of the dots while exploring all of the possible combinations. In this incubation period, you may not have the major break through; however, the goal is to leave no stone unturned and become overly acquainted with your information — to the point of exhaustion.

STEP 3 – Move On
It may be hard to do at times but step three suggests to simply walk away from the train wreck of thoughts in your head. Move on to the next project or song and clear your head. The argument here is that once you’ve collected all of your information and ground it into the ground, even though you’ve walked away from it consciencely, your sub-conscience has not forgotten about the task. While your conscience is away, your sub-conscience will play.

STEP 4 – Revisit with a New Perspective
Once you’ve completed the word jumble of steps one and two and then walked away for a time, come back with a fresh head and revisit the material. Again, even though you aren’t aware of it, your sub-conscience has been connecting dots without you even knowing it. You will find that upon your return, the idea has matured and your words will fall with much more precision.

NOTE: Even though I claim that I rarely write a song in one sitting, this process is the caveat. I have certainly schemed and schemed, walked away for a few months then returned to write the song in one sitting.

2B.) IF YOU ALREADY HAVE A SONG IDEA

If you’re lucky enough to already have a song title, theme or idea, here are a few very basic ideas that will help them reach their full potential.

3.) LISTEN TO THE SONG BEFORE IT’S WRITTEN

Most of my songs start with a chord progression on the guitar or piano and then I retrofit words afterward to fill the spaces. To me, fitting words into music is much easier than the alternative.

It may sound odd but when I have my chord progression established, I sit in my room, guitar in hand and play through the song about 10 times — filling the space with ad lib, mumbles, oooohs, aaaaahs, random lyric and whatever else decides to come out. I find that keeping an open mind and simply letting the sounds flow can be VERY telling.

What you’ll find is certain vowels poking up in the same place each time. You’ll find certain lines beginning with the same alliteration each time. You’ll find that amongst the chaos, there are constants. Embrace those constants and listen to them as if it’s the song revealing itself to you piece by piece.

After I’ve made a fool out of myself a dozen or so times and noted the revelations, I plot out the constants in a sort of road map and then back-fill the other information. It’s somewhat difficult to explain but when you know your anchor points, the rest of the content is immediately less random. If I know my second line wants to end with an “eeee” sound and the third line wants to start with a “B” alliteration, rather than pulling random thoughts from the air, the thought process is now: “What line can I think of that ends with an “eeee” rhyme while introducing a “B” alliteration?”

This step takes some confidence; however, I guarantee if you open your mind and let the unwritten song flow through you, you’ll find that it speaks to you — ultimately revealing little pieces of itself. By listening to the promptings, your song will assume a more natural feel because nothing was forced or contrived — on the contrary, it’s meant to be.

4.) LITTLE THINGS THAT WORK IN BIG WAYS

5.) GENERAL RULES, DOS, DON’TS, TOOLS, ETC

My record Bittersweet Parade was recently featured on The Music Critic UK as the August 2010 Album of the Month! These are some of the kindest words I’ve ever heard toward my music and much needed at this time. Please read the review below and feel free to leave your own here.

Tyler Stenson: Bittersweet Parade – Album of the Month – August 2010

Every so often you get an album through to review that kinda takes you by surprise. In Tyler Stensons case the surprise is that he is not a bigger name than he is. The singer songwriter from Portland is a well known face on the cities local music scene but Stenson comes equipped for bigger things. The music is simple yet mesmerisingly beautiful and the voice distinctive, full of warmth, expression and with an aching sorrow in it at times. I’ve never heard of Stenson before this album but he has been a productive boy with a clutch of albums and ep’s before this release with some glowing reviews to boot.

The music is primarily acoustic and flirts with folk, Americana and bluegrass but it is none of these. Instead it takes on a pop element without being poppy. Confusing I know but suffice to say that the songwriting is of a quality that the like of Ryan Adams and Jackson Browne would struggle to match. This is beautiful, heartfelt and honest music that is performed with a conviction and passion that is simply irresistible.

Straight from the start you are in no doubt that you are listening to something very special. Opener Welcome The Change introduces a confident voice comfortable with intelligent lyrics that draw the listener in rather than patronising them and all set to a deceptively simple melody that is underpinned by driving acoustic guitar and flashes of mandolin. The Road is no less of a masterpiece, in fact there is nothing on this album for anyone to remotely dislike. The production is equally as impressive as the music, enveloping the whole album in a warm glow with space to allow the instrumentation to breath.

On an album of this quality it is hard to pick out individual tracks for praise but if pushed I would have to say that As The Crow Flies is a particular favourite. In fact I am struggling to think of when I have ever heard such a beautiful and mesmerising piece of music as this. It is a remarkable song and quite breathtaking.

This is by far one of the most accomplished and beautiful albums that I have ever heard and Tyler Stenson has produced something that he should be justifiably proud of. I seriously can’t believe that this man is not a star as he has proved with this album that he is in every sense of the word. I can’t recommend this album enough. Seriously…. buy it.

Read more: http://www.themusiccritic.co.uk/2010/07/tyler-stenson-bittersweet-parade-album.html#ixzz0upVEVE91

Somewhere this Spring I lost most of my musical confidence and began to ask myself the question: What the hell am I doing? After much deliberation, sleepless nights and internal battles, I decided that the reason I’m grinding out this phantom dream is the fact that music is quite simply My Love that I couldn’t quit if I tried.

For all of those struggling musicians out there, I just wrote this song (and humbly recorded it at home) to remind us why we do what we do. Enjoy.

MY LOVE, MY LOVE
by tyler stenson © 2010

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Like a Rodeo Clown, the blood and bruise are part of the call.
But still, damn you music, you’ve got me up against a wall.
Some days I’m a Lion and some days my spirits crawl
Across the floor, to you who started it all:

My love.

It’s a head-game honey. It’s easy to believe
That I’m a foolish fish inside this starving sea
That might swallow me whole (or give me just what I need).
It’s all or nothing because nothing is in between.

My love, my love,
Don’t count me out just yet
Cause my day will come.

Oh, damn you music!
You crawled inside my bed
And if I walked away, you’d just do the same to my head,
And your pedal steel would haunt me like the ghost
Of a melody that a deaf man misses most.

My love, my love
Don’t count me out just yet
Cause my day will come.
This I know,
Because there’s a flower buried in my chest
That continues to grow.
My love, my love
Don’t count me out just yet
Cause my day will come.

Call me nostalgic but I’ve decided to post a recording of my first song EVER — written and recorded in 2000, this is Her Song.

It’s funny, this is a song I no longer claim (because of the obvious departure from my current music); however, I’ve recently received a number of requests for it via email and I’m even receiving royalties here and there as a result of the old school recording. Who would have thought, a song I wrote 10 years ago, before I even knew the craft, would still be in demand?

That said, for sake of nostalgia, I dug up a copy of the original version and then re-recorded it today to show the difference between my vocals then and now. Below is a pair of recordings of Her Song — one is the original from 2000 and the other was humbly recorded live in my bedroom today in 2010.

I don’t take either one very seriously but I thought you’d like to hear the first song I ever wrote. My how time changes things. Enjoy Her Song.

HER SONG (original version circa 2000)

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HER SONG (new version, 2010 bedroom recording)

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You live your life day by day
People come and go
But no one stays by your side
Next to you
It’s so hard

Until that day;
You see that one
Standing there beautiful in the sun
Kissed by angels
Perfect She seems
The girl of my dreams

When we touch, I tremble
When She talks, I’m all ears
When She laughs, I smile
She calms my fears
With Her love and with Her words
I’m all Hers.

When she talks, the world is silent
No one exists.
And when we kiss,
Oh, I’m all Hers!
I’m Captivated by Her love,
By Her touch,
By Her glory,
By Her eyes,
By Her smile,
By Her laughter
And by Her.

When we touch, I tremble
When She talks, I’m all ears
When She laughs, I smile
She calms my fears
And wipes away my tears
With Her love and with Her words
All the sweet, sweet words that she says…

When She moves the earth sings
And I sing along…

I’m currently writing a song that will be the last track on my upcoming album Long Before the Wheel — it’s called We Grow. This song has been a couple years in the making and while it has been a thrill to write, it has also been one of my biggest challenges to date because of the specific rules I set:

Each line of each chorus is a different metaphor for growth … 14 in all. As if simply coming up with that many metaphors wasn’t difficult enough, the real trick is that they must all rhyme with “ooooo” while still communicating the idea of growth.

I’ll admit, I’m still writing the song and trying to scheme some lines that may or may not replace what I already have. That said, here are some of the metaphors I’ve penned for We Grow and I’d be open to any fresh ideas. Enjoy!

WE’RE ENTITLED TO CHANGE, BECAUSE WE GROW…

- Like blown up balloons.
- Like the flare at the end of a spoon.
- Like one note becoming a tune.
- Like city lights in the darkening blue.
- Like One into Two.
- Like the eleventh hour turning to noon.
- Like May slow fading into June.
- Like a grownup in their childhood room.
- Like a high tide caused by that moon.
- Like a flower knowing spring is coming soon.
- Like wings inside a cacoon.
- Like anything else destined to bloom.
- Like our faith in the things we know to be true.
- Like courage found in the wine and the booze.
- Like the hope of a castaway as land comes into view.
- Like the fear of a damned man meeting his doom.
- Like Jesus rising up from his tomb.
- Like a child in the warmth of the womb.

In September of 2009, the world lost a true talent — Scotland Barr. He was a singer-songwriter and wordsmith and someone I respected deeply.

In November of 2009, tragedy struck once again and took the life of my peer — Kipp Crawford in a freak biking accident. He was a drummer in Portland in which I’ve shared many stages and beers and laughs.

Though I was never extremely close to either, their lives impacted mine greatly. I’m different because of their lives and their deaths. Both had a story to tell and both were taken long before their time.

This song is my humble tribute to these fine men and musicians — may all your fields be songs and daffodils.

Note: I hate to admit it, but in the video below, I had just written this song and therefore got the first line wrong. It should be “Who was September” … the final recording on my upcoming EP will reflect the correct lyrics and date.

DAFFODILS
by tyler stenson © 2010

Who was September
To decide it was time
To pull your pen from the page
That drew out your line
Since 1965?
-Long before your time.

May your fields be pure gold
And yellow like the loveliest sun.
May we hear your bones
Singing at the top of their lungs.
May all your fields be songs and daffodils.

Oh, then November
Would not be outdone
And dimmed that bright old smile
From an Ashland Son
That burned since ’78
-Then all at once faded away.

May your fields be pure gold
And yellow like the loveliest sun.
May we hear your bones
Sounding out the beat of a drum.
May all your fields be songs and daffodils.

I for one, hope you found your Sun Years
And finally laid your eyes on some Spanish Dust.
Your words fill up our Paper Dixie Cups,
In a cheers to you,
One of the few who knew love.

So, may all your fields be pure gold
And yellow like the loveliest sun.
May we hear your bones
Singing at the top of their lungs.
May all your fields be songs and daffodils.

May all your fields be songs and daffodils.

Sunday was an absolute writing tear for me — in my last post I commented that songs can take me years to write, which is true, but there are always exceptions to the rule. As the Crow Flies and Babysitting the Cowboy were both written in one sitting and so was my newest. Introducing, what is tentatively titled, Best Laid Plans.

I got the idea a month ago at my nephews funeral when my Father spoke the words That which might have been, can yet still be. That sentence hit me hard and sent my wheels turning.

I’ve already written my sad song about the event; therefore, in the wake of the two nautical books that I’ve just finished and in the spirit of my 2010 goal to be more upbeat, I penned this motivational song. When you experience an unexpected shift, don’t let it shake you, greatness can still be achieved.

I dedicate this song to my Father … for the great one-liner that sparked this entire song.

BEST LAID PLANS
by tyler stenson © 2010

Best laid plans fail
And wrong winds catch sails
But that don’t mean you lay down
And lose your boat to the treacherous sea.
No, you must believe that
That which might have been, can yet still be.

I’ve seen a beautiful sky turn gray
As I stood there watching weather change-
That don’t mean the Sun is long-gone
And our Hope should up and leave.
No, you must believe that
That which might have been, can yet still be.

The greatest place ever known fell down.
It was the Fall of Rome-
But have you seen the Vatican and Coliseum
Under a summer’s gleam?
(I have, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen)
So I’m telling you,
That which might have been, can yet still be.

Best laid plans fail
And wrong winds catch sails
But that don’t mean you lay down
And lose your boat to the treacherous sea.
No, you must believe that
That which might have been, can yet still be.

I’ve always said that my songs take a while to write … longer than most. I’m a firm believer in letting songs write themselves and reach maturity without being forced. With that, it’s no surprise that I finished writing a song TODAY that I started on November 11, 2007. Introducing The Ramblin Kind.

Though the lyrics are pretty self-explanatory, the abbreviated inside scoop is that, in my life, I’ve done the leaving and I’ve been left behind. When I started writing this song in 2007, it was meant to be apologetic: Sorry Darlin, you got caught up with The Ramblin Kind. Ironically, not much later, I got caught up with a rambler myself and therefore the sentiment of the song morphed in perspective.

Years later, after the dust has settled on both sides, I now realize, at one point or another, we’re all part of the infamous Ramblin’ Kind. Enjoy the new lyrics.

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THE RAMBLIN KIND
by tyler stenson © 2010

Ain’t it like the wind to never want to stay;
Something finally touches down
And all at once a gust comes and takes it away.
That old wind is here- then it’s gone.
That old wind is hell-bent on moving on.

So, let’s just say She knows how to go away;
How to keep from standing still
Just like a river, fast cars, birds and trains.
Let’s just say She’s sailing as we speak.
Let’s just say She’s fading by degrees.

Showing tell-tale signs that She’s alive,
Everybody is leaving something sometime.
Always leaving or being left behind,
We’re infamously the Ramblin Kind.

Some would say I roam because I’m made of stone
But they don’t know what I know-
I know once you’re in my heart, there’s no getting out.
Some would say I’m planted in the ground.
Some would say I’m impossible to pin down.

Showing tell-tale signs that I’m alive,
Everybody is leaving something sometime.
Always leaving or being left behind,
We’re infamously the Ramblin Kind.

It’s a lonely road I’m speaking of
And lonely lyrics rolling off of my tongue.
With a tell-tale truth in between the lines:
Everybody is leaving something sometime.

Always leaving or being left behind,
We’re infamously the Ramblin Kind.

Nashville had enjoyed a month of 80 degree blue skies until that Thursday when I received the phone call saying my nephew was not expected to make it through the night. I’m not making this up in the least — at that very moment it began to rain.

The rest of the weekend was clouded with epic thunderstorms that seemed all too fitting for the stormy events happening a few states away. It was an eerie weekend; my first Southern thunderstorm bloomed in time with my first intimate bout with death.

On the day I heard those words, I penned a few lines about the weather coinciding with the news on the telephone. I wrote a bit about it being a chalkboard gray kind of day that he was too good for anyway. On Saturday, when it was final, I laid in bed for a good part of the day and noted that the thunder sounded like what must have been my sister’s heart. There was a sadness in the roll. It was all very fitting and surreal and too perfect of a storm.

When I returned from the funeral in Utah, I was greeted in Tennessee by the continuing rain and watched Nashville flood in front of my eyes. It was the talk of the town and noted nationally but I couldn’t bring myself to care — not about this flood.

There is room for little space in our hearts and in our heads and even though my city was sinking, selfishly, I had a different storm to suffer.

I’ve been asked if I have plans to write a “flood song” for the devastation that struck that week and my answer is, in a way, I already have. My variation of history. This is my song about the flooding in the days surrounding The Day.

PS. The attached recording is a quick scratch track … I swear I’ll do it some justice someday.

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LITTLE LIFE
The rain spotted the pavement
On the day you went away
And fell in time with the news on the telephone.
It reminded me of my childhood
On an April shower day
And smelled like the kind you’ll never know.

So long Little Life;
It’s raining outside-
It’s a chalkboard gray kind of day.
So long Little Life;
Since you’re use to shining bright,
It’s the kind of day you’d want to miss anyway.

The thunder bloomed all afternoon
In the air around my bed
And I could hear a sadness in the roll.
It sounded like the tolling bells
Of a breaking Mother’s heart
Holding on to a Little Life letting go.

So long Little Life;
It’s raining outside-
It’s a chalkboard gray kind of day.
So long Little Life;
Since you’re use to shining bright,
It’s the kind of day you’d want to miss anyway.

I’ve heard the lives that leave the earth
Become Heaven’s gain
And wait to be joined on another day.

So long Little Life;
It’s raining outside-
It’s a chalkboard gray kind of day.
So long Little Life;
Since you’re use to shining bright,
It’s the kind of day you’d want to miss anyway.

Little Life I’ll see you another day.

When I look back at my childhood and consider all of my encounters with my mother, my memories place a light around her and I can’t help but grin. She is a woman made of all heart and selflessness and I could never in all my years articulate the layered depths of my love for her. I exist because she exists. I am her creation. She is art.

As one of ten children in my family, I am often asked if I’ve ever felt neglected or overlooked in the sea of faces — I can only laugh at the person who must not know Kerry K Stenson. With all certainty my reply is, Never for an instant.

My mother would argue that she could have done better but I see no room for improvement. I marvel at her ability to care for each of her children as if they are her one and only and I’m continually amazed at her stamina as each grandchild receives the same undivided affection. She is my joy.

While many would think that my mother must simply be a baby factory and nothing more, I challenge anyone to find a more complete individual. Aside from raising 10 well-rounded children, my mother is inspiring in her gritty courage throughout this life, the range of her talents, her quiet wisdoms and the love she bleeds.

Music is her heart. She sings better than angels and my earliest memories are full of lovely songs. Early on weekend mornings while us kids were fast asleep, she would steal the few moments she had alone and play her piano with might — filling the home with tolling hymns and a crystal voice. She is the reason I have The Music in my bones. She lit the spark in my youth and fans at the blaze I boast today. She gifted me my passion.

Beyond the music, she is art. Each season our home would experience a facelift that was subtle but absolute; decorations upon decorations were stored year-round just to be brought out for a matter of weeks to celebrate all major and minor occasions. St Patrick’s Day turned the walls green while Thanksgiving and Christmas faded from oranges to red — each holiday marked by its individual parade of handmade decor.

When my father, the architect, designed their new home, he constructed an entire “wing” of their home solely for my mother’s storage needs. Whether it’s her craft room or storage room, I can find anything under the sun that might suggest the makings of a theme.

I could point out her creations for decades but it all amounts to so much more than the fact that she creates the most beautiful of all Christmas trees — the kind I stare at by the firelight until I can’t take it anymore. It all adds up to so much more than her vacuuming at 2am because there is still work to be done. She is more than her OCD might tell. It’s the care in which she creates and the tenacity she demonstrates in all things — crafts, life and motherhood.

When you give life to ten others, it becomes clearer each day that you cease to live your own. My mother graciously puts her own life aside to bolster the existence of her children and has earned her place in the stars as a result.

She is art. She gave me life and The Music that has become my existence; therefore, no single person in this world has more of my doting respect and twinkling admiration than my humble and gracious and beautiful mother — I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.

“Rejecting things because they are old-fashioned would rule out the sun and the moon and a mother’s love.”