rock

Laying It Down To the Big Sound: How Music Inspires and Informs Author Lawrence Parlier’s Writing

By Lawrence Parlier

When I set out to write my first novel, Sierra Court Blues, I knew that music would be its core. It is a story about young musicians trying to make it big, a work of fiction heavily informed by my own experiences in bands over the years. My aim was to make music more than an occupation of the characters. I wanted music to be an element of the text itself. I wanted the prose to wail.

It was the rhythm and dynamics of hard rock and heavy metal that would drive the story forward. It was that feeling of raw rebellion I wanted to capture.

I approached the outline as if I were creating a mixtape. The arc of the story charted to the sounds of Iron Maiden’s “Powerslave” and Rush’s “Moving Pictures,” a mad juxtaposition but a necessary one.

The histrionics of Iron Maiden, for me, captured the heightened emotion of struggling young musicians adjusting to the demands of a working band while, at the same time, dealing with the pressures of being on their own in the world for the first time. It helped portray the recklessness of youth and characters bent on steamrolling their way through it all.

Adversely, Rush’s “Moving Pictures” contributed to the book’s quieter moments. It spoke to the thoughtfulness of the main character as he struggles to navigate his newfound fame and the relationships at the heart of the story’s conflict.

Throughout the book music moves from the forefront to the background, my hope being that, subconsciously, the songs and bands mentioned would help set the scene and create a third dimension, a depth of field in the reader’s mind.

In this, I didn’t want to limit myself to a specific genre of music. The sound had to reflect the world around them in a much more meaningful way. Throughout the book there is everything from the dance party of Dee-Lite’s “Groove is in the Heart” to Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” to quiet midnight drives powered by Wynton Marsalis’ “Blue Interlude.”  

The characters affinity for, or aversion to, the diversity of music went a long way in helping to define them as they developed on the page.

With the music in place the world these characters inhabited came into sharp focus. It became a place that I wanted to visit and hang out in to see the band. I hope that this is true for the reader as well.

To learn more about Lawrence Parlier, visit his official website, like his Facebook page, or follow him on Twitter @LawrenceParlier.

If any authors, writers, or musicians are interested in submitting a post for consideration, email admin@writersbone.com or tweet us@WritersBone.

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Skeleton Crew: 5 Songs To Transform Your Demons Into Prose

By Daniel Ford

I couldn’t very well let the likes of Brian Panowich, David Joy, Michael Farris Smith, Steph Post, and Dave Pezza have all the fun.

I’m currently in the re-writing/editing phase of my debut novel, and along with an assist from authors Scott Cheshire, Anne Leigh Parrish, and the aforementioned Steph Post, as well as Dave and my writing muse/goddess Stephanie Schaefer, music helps me ignore the skeletons in my closet and embrace the better angels of my writer’s soul.

I’ve long maintained that good writing—that writing that violent wrests you away from realityshould read like the author wrote it while on fire (Ross Ritchell’s The Knife and Elliot Ackerman’s Green on Blue are excellent examples). Not flames of desperation, but of an inescapable, all-consuming earnestness that should ignite your own passion for your words and prose.

Here are five songs that might also help light your fuse.

Zac Brown Band “All Right”

This is a good place to start:

“I'd have a lot to give/If I still gave a damn.”

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young “Love the One Your With”

God, did I force my main character into some crappy situations while I listened to this song. Poor bastard didn’t even see it coming.

“Don't be angry, don't be sad/Don't sit crying over good times you've had/Well there's a girl sitting right next to you/And she's just waiting for something to do.”

My favorite version of this song is on Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s “4 Way Street,” but for YouTube purposes, this version featuring four old guys with suspect vocals getting bluesy will do just fine (there’s also nothing like a Neil Young guitar solo to get you going on a Friday afternoon).

Elton John “Take Me to the Pilot”

I’ve long past the point of being objective about Elton John, but I defy anyone to find a subpar version of this song. It can’t be done. Talk about love on fire:

“If you feel that it's real I'm on trial/And I'm here in your prison/Like a coin in your mint/I am dented and I'm spent with high treason.”

And as the video above proves, this song only gets better with age.

Johnny Cash and June Carter "Jackson"

Jesus Christ, what a love affair. Between June Carter's growl and Johnny Cash's swinging hips, I'm surprised the set in this video didn't burn down. This is exactly how I wanted every relationship my main character had to sound: blistering, desperate, and just a little bit angry. 

Zac Brown Band “Let it Rain”

Fuck it. Why not end with one more tune from Zac Brown Band’s brilliant “Dave Grohl Sessions, Vol..1?”

After you’re done with the first draft of your novel, you have to celebrate. I opened up a bottle of single malt scotch, eased back in my desk chair, and smiled the widest grin I could muster. You’re certainly not at the end of the road, but you’ve hit a major milestone, so enjoy the moment. Let your skeletons darken your door a final time, and then calmly, confidently extend your middle finger.

Daniel Ford

Daniel Ford

Daniel Ford is an author based out of Boston, Mass. His work can be found on Amazon, Writer’s Bone, JCKonline.com, and HardballHeart.com. Follow him on Twitter

If any authors, writers, or musicians are interested in submitting a post for consideration, email admin@writersbone.com or tweet us@WritersBone.

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Queens of the Stone Age: The Hand That Ticks On

By Danny DeGennaro 

Queens of the Stone Age is a band I've always wanted to worship.

I wanted nothing more than to throw myself onto the holy alter of phlegmy distortion, caterwauling vocals, and sunbaked riffing. I've never been able to, though. Their issue has always been one of consistency—where one song may feature simple repetitive elements utilized to great effect ("Feel Good Hit of the Summer," "Sick, Sick, Sick") other songs lose steam, or worse yet, never pick up momentum to begin with ("Burn the Witch", "I'm Designer").

The world they created within albums would stutter to life, shambling Frankenstein-with-a-greaser-coif style, only to hit a brick wall in the form of a tempo shift, a lack of emotional continuity, or a plain ol’ boring riff. By contrast, artists like Ween or Brian Eno would come up with albums so full of fucked up, damaged, personal statements (Ween) or albums of such sublime beauty that a listener's only choice was to submit completely or revisit it at some other time (or not).

So, what makes the recent "…Like Clockwork" different than the past output of the Queens?

Interestingly enough, this album makes no allusions to any Desert Sessions output. There are no reworked songs here; everything was crafted from a particular place strictly within the band itself. Josh Homme has gone on record saying that the band always has a direction whenever they go into the studio to record an album. Well, with the exception of "…Like Clockwork", that is. Rather like giving someone a synopsis of a movie before they watch it, certain perceptions are levied upon the viewers that are impossible to shake. Their viewing experience is largely defined by the almost incidental description that was given to them. In that same way, the band having a destination imposed certain limitations, unconscious though they may have been. Walking into a studio and asking your bandmates to please trust and respect one another's decisions is an entirely different kettle of fish.

The principal difference between this and every other QOTSA album most likely comes down to Josh Homme himself; after going into knee surgery, Homme was declared legally dead after choking on oxygen tubes. As if that weren't enough, he also contracted MRSA, and was bedridden and depressed for four months. As a result, every note, every syllable uttered on "…Like Clockwork" possesses a desperation and hunger for vitality missing from their other albums. Snotty asides no longer seem dismissive; they seem invigorating, like each breath that escapes is a blessing.

Where there was swagger, there's now a much more deliberate stagger—not that the songs don't cook, but the hypersexual bass glissandos and is-it-hot-in-here-or-is-it-just-you guitar work are more focused (partially due to bassist Nick Oliveri's absence, though to be fair this is the third album he's been absent). If other albums were concerned with transcribing high noon in the Mojave, this album proves they've mastered it. Riffs crackle with a natural intensity, informed equally by Kyuss, Yawning Man, and most importantly, the Queens themselves. If brutal distortion and crushing riffs were once about the ultimate expression of masculinity, the distortion is only present now because there's a desperation and immediacy that has to be expressed, and there simply isn't any other way to do it.

With the release of "…Like Clockwork" Josh Homme has revealed himself to be an orchestrator of Frippian proportions. Robert Fripp, the only constant member of King Crimson through it's multitude of lineup changes, is famous not just for his manic, expressive, methodical guitar playing, but also for collaborating with everyone from Brian Eno to David Bowie to Andy Summers. Similarly, Josh Homme has made it his beeswax to utilize and give a platform to any artist he finds interesting and worthwhile. PJ Harvey, Dean Ween, and Brant Bjork have all found outlets for their own unique brand of mayhem in the form of the Desert Sessions.

The Desert Sessions is precisely what you think it would be—a collective of musicians who, informed not only by the creative energy of one another, but by various chemical refreshments and the intoxicating San Bernardino heat, endeavor to make music purely for the joy of making music. When he's not orchestrating blissed-out desert rock conceived of and delivered at breakneck speeds, he's playing with The Eagles of Death Metal, or shredding with rock royally John Paul Jones and Dave Grohl as Them Crooked Vultures. Did I mention he produces and is handsome? Tall, too.

Josh Homme has a knack for tilling greatness in his own ultra-fertile musical soil. It takes a big personality and a big talent to do this many things this well. That's not to take away one iota of credit from any of his (numerous) collaborators; he understands the value of laying back and supporting just as much as stepping forward and laying down a face-melting solo. The Queens have finally succeeded in making a statement where the sum of the whole is greater than the individual parts. Even more exciting, this album could've only happened right now, with these people, in this era. "…

Like Clockwork" is the rarest of treasures—an album that's timeless but simultaneously totally of it's time. Unshackled by the burden of straddling or defining genre boundaries, the Queens came up with an album that flies directly in the face of the macho posturing and the Me! Me! Me! mentality that seems to pervade everything that's foisted on us as art.

How does a band reconcile being a rock band without succumbing to the inherent trappings of being in a rock band? I'll let Josh Homme sum things up: