andrew s. thomas

Back when I was a teenage metalhead, I played drums in a “power trio” that rehearsed in my parents’ basement. None of us had any real training on our instruments. We flailed at them, making horrid, amateurish noise that vaguely resembled the Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath songs we were supposedly covering. At least we had fun doing it.

One summer, our guitarist decided he’d learned guitar all wrong. He attempted to unlearn everything, starting from scratch. He’d practice for hours each day, reading guitar magazines and listening to Vinnie Moore and Yngwie Malmsteen albums. The next fall, he came back with a set of amazingly focused technical skills that were light years away from the chicken-scratch sound we’d shared as a band.

Similarly, Nicholas Tozier, a fellow songwriter I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know recently, has been blogging about music and songwriting for over a year. Back in September, he decided to revamp his songwriting website to highlight the best stuff he’s written and strengthen the articles he feels need improving.

Why do I bring up these two seemingly different situations? I’m in a similar place of refining my own songs.

I’ve been going to a monthly songwriting group since June. Through the exposure to other people’s ideas and work, I’ve learned quite a bit about what makes a song successful. The only problem with learning, though, is that you eventually learn that you know nothing. That’s when the real learning begins.

Suddenly, songs I’ve been completely happy with for years are the artistic equivalent of a parts car: no longer suitable for playing in front of others, but maybe something from which I can scavenge a chorus or odd melodic line.

All of this is a long-winded way of saying “be on the lookout for some new versions of a few of my older songs.” I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I’m enjoying revisiting them.

There’s a Far Side cartoon I love – a group of cowboys are sitting around a campfire, one of whom has an entire baby grand piano sticking out of his back pocket. The caption reads something like “Hey, Gus, why don’t you pull that thing out and play us a couple of tunes?” I always flash back to that image when playing at open mics and other venues where acoustic guitarists are plentiful. I’m often jealous of buskers who are able to simply set up on a streetcorner, open a case, and start filling the air with sound. They make me wonder what it would be like to not need an amp, a stand, or electricity to make music anywhere.

Colin Huggins does not need to wonder about such things.

He’s a classicaly-trained pianist who calls himself “the crazy piano guy.” He lugs one of four different pianos into the streets and subways of New York City to play for passers-by on a regular basis. I just found out about him from a brief mention on a podcast I was listening to on my commute. I have never met the man (or even heard his music yet), but he’s already my new idol.

I am a fan of audacity. No, not the open-source audio recording software (although that’s pretty cool, too – even if I am having trouble using it with my newest home studio equipment, but I digress…), but the seemingly crazy stunt that shows the world how you’re living life to its fullest. What the Vlogbrothers might refer to as “decreasing worldsuck,” or just plain being awesome. What Colin Huggins does definitely fits there, in my opinion.

I have referred to some things I’ve done as being “crazy,” but it occurs to me that I’ve experienced only the tip of the iceberg of audacity.

How have you embraced your crazy lately?