It's been a long time since ...
Every now and then, I'll compose music while I sleep. For whatever reason, my dream will require a snatch of song, or a burst of melody or something musical and my sleeping mind will just make it up. On these occasions, my memory of this dream-song melts as soon as it is exposed to consciousness, leaving me with a vague but unshakable belief that I've lost something devastatingly brilliant.
As an example, I remember working myself into a fever of anticipation prior to the release of Verve's fourth ep. A week or two before it hit the shops, I dreamed the whole song - music and words - and woke up stunned by its majesty. When the ep was actually released it was nowhere near as good. Another time, I produced a drum'n'bass track while sleeping. Again, on waking, it slipped through my fingers but I was convinced that it had been absolutely stunning.
The problem is that, in the instants after waking, while the song is still reverberating, intact, I'm unable to record it in any way. By the time I'd be able to lay my hands on pen and paper, the whole thing would be lost - and I can't write music anyway.
As a result, I've always had some nagging doubts about the real quality of my dream-music. Could it be that my conviction of its brilliance is something which is called for by the dream itself - something which is necessary for the internal consistency of the dream, but which is not borne out by the music itself? In the case of the Verve song, did one part of my mind just go "la, la, la" and did I simply tell myself that it had been three minutes of shimmering space-pop?
Tonight, I feel a little closer to the answer.
I dreamed a song - again, I think it was complete - by a new indie-pop sensation (God knows why I'd be dreaming about guitar music because I hardly ever listen to the stuff, but anyway). I was working in a shopping centre, or an airport - a large indoor space with lots of small retail outlets. There was a TV on in the shop, elevated on a kind of central dais and my colleagues and I were all waiting for a performance by the current music sensation du jour to be screened. I don't recall the name of the band, but the song was supposed to be a kind of jokey cover-version. We all loved it. When I woke, I'd lost the music, but - thankfully - remembered some of the words. One brief stanza had stuck, and so had the final line (which had induced riotous laughter in my dream). Here it is:
Electric feelings,
Electric mood.
Electric chair attached -
I hope it's nothing too rude.
[tragically lost material]
[more tragically lost material]
[the penultimate line went, effectively: de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-DAZ ... which led to THIS final line ...]
It's been a long time since I've been out on the baz.
Clearly, this is solid gold. If only I could find a way to channel my dream-composing so that it happens more frequently, I could wire my sleeping self up to some kind of music-transposition device - which would in turn be wired up to a CD production facility, a nationwide freight service and a PR and marketing machine - and I'd be able to wake each morning to find a new hit album of mine storming the public's affections. I mean, there's time to dream up eight whole albums every night!
Seriously, though: "on the baz"?! Where the hell did I come up with that? It's not an expression I've ever used - and I'm not 100% sure that I've heard it used by anyone else either. In the dream it clearly meant "on the pull" / "on the piss" but in the song I could have used "on the razz" which would have rhymed AND been an accepted expression. So why didn't I?
In short, no Ivor for me.
As an example, I remember working myself into a fever of anticipation prior to the release of Verve's fourth ep. A week or two before it hit the shops, I dreamed the whole song - music and words - and woke up stunned by its majesty. When the ep was actually released it was nowhere near as good. Another time, I produced a drum'n'bass track while sleeping. Again, on waking, it slipped through my fingers but I was convinced that it had been absolutely stunning.
The problem is that, in the instants after waking, while the song is still reverberating, intact, I'm unable to record it in any way. By the time I'd be able to lay my hands on pen and paper, the whole thing would be lost - and I can't write music anyway.
As a result, I've always had some nagging doubts about the real quality of my dream-music. Could it be that my conviction of its brilliance is something which is called for by the dream itself - something which is necessary for the internal consistency of the dream, but which is not borne out by the music itself? In the case of the Verve song, did one part of my mind just go "la, la, la" and did I simply tell myself that it had been three minutes of shimmering space-pop?
Tonight, I feel a little closer to the answer.
I dreamed a song - again, I think it was complete - by a new indie-pop sensation (God knows why I'd be dreaming about guitar music because I hardly ever listen to the stuff, but anyway). I was working in a shopping centre, or an airport - a large indoor space with lots of small retail outlets. There was a TV on in the shop, elevated on a kind of central dais and my colleagues and I were all waiting for a performance by the current music sensation du jour to be screened. I don't recall the name of the band, but the song was supposed to be a kind of jokey cover-version. We all loved it. When I woke, I'd lost the music, but - thankfully - remembered some of the words. One brief stanza had stuck, and so had the final line (which had induced riotous laughter in my dream). Here it is:
Electric feelings,
Electric mood.
Electric chair attached -
I hope it's nothing too rude.
[tragically lost material]
[more tragically lost material]
[the penultimate line went, effectively: de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum, de-DAZ ... which led to THIS final line ...]
It's been a long time since I've been out on the baz.
Clearly, this is solid gold. If only I could find a way to channel my dream-composing so that it happens more frequently, I could wire my sleeping self up to some kind of music-transposition device - which would in turn be wired up to a CD production facility, a nationwide freight service and a PR and marketing machine - and I'd be able to wake each morning to find a new hit album of mine storming the public's affections. I mean, there's time to dream up eight whole albums every night!
Seriously, though: "on the baz"?! Where the hell did I come up with that? It's not an expression I've ever used - and I'm not 100% sure that I've heard it used by anyone else either. In the dream it clearly meant "on the pull" / "on the piss" but in the song I could have used "on the razz" which would have rhymed AND been an accepted expression. So why didn't I?
In short, no Ivor for me.