My Big, Fat, Blue Muse

This piece was originally published on Grist.com

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to write a song. Now, over halfway through the year, it still has yet to happen. Another good intention of January rapidly nearing its expiration date. Though I now have reason to believe that may change.

Part of the problem, I’m convinced, is that, prior to now, I hadn’t come up with a good topic to write a song about. Oh sure, my inability to write any kind of verse that isn’t a limerick set in Nantucket, and my complete dearth of musical knowledge may have entered into the equation, but I think with the right topic, I could overcome those.

I probably could have written a love song, but that would have only roused suspicion in my wife. Also, I could have penned a tune about my kids, but I was having a hard time working out a rhyme scheme for “Do As You’re Told, Or I’ll Strangle You.”

Inspiration strikes

For the past few months, I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out something to immortalize in song, but to no end. Sadly, my muse didn’t seem to share any of my non-professional interests, namely beer, televised sports, movies and sleeping. I paced the floor, tore out pages and pages of empty notebook paper. I was on the cusp of abandoning all hope of ever becoming a tunesmith, when, at last, inspiration struck. I’d write a love song to the environment.

I haven’t written the song yet, but already I think I’m on to something. Like my songwriting ability, the environment has been struggling lately. After four years of being slapped around with passive/aggressive programs like the “Clear Skies” and “Healthy Forest” initiatives, it got completely ignored in last year’s presidential campaign. Mary Cheney’s love life got more column inches, for crying out loud! If ever someone (or something) ever needed a little love, it’s the environment.

Now that I have a worthy topic, all kinds of song titles have been springing to mind. Unfortunately, they’re all flawed in some way or another. I like “Real Planets Have Curves,” but it’s a little too generic—I mean, you could write that about any planet. I’ve rejected “You Make Me Feel So Small” because I feared the sentiment of adoration would be overshadowed by concerns about the author’s (i.e., my) self-esteem. “I Worship You O Fertile Mother” is just too Freudian for words, and I can’t imagine even the countriest of country stations playing, “You May Be 2/3 Water, But You Don’t Look Bloated To Me.”

Nothing romantic about three-eyed fish

All this has led me to the theory that most great songs probably don’t begin with titles. I decided the best way to get some inspiration was to fully embrace my subject. Accordingly, I took a long walk along the Hudson River near my home. It was a mild, overcast day. The sky was gray, and the river looked like a slab of slate. It was peaceful, quiet and beautiful in a stark, monochromatic way. But in the midst of what should have been a sure-fire inspirational situation, all I could think about were all the PCB’s supposedly lurking at the bottom of the river. The thought of three-eyed fish kinda put the kabosh on romance.

A few miles upriver from where I was standing is the Indian Point nuclear power plant, a fact that tinted the idea of writing a love song to the Hudson River with a little gallows humor. I mean, imagine investing tons of emotional energy on a lover who has a penchant for Russian roulette. You give and give, and then one day…well, you get the picture.

PCB’s, mutant marine life, nuclear disaster—it was all just too depressing. I was waiting for Air Force One to fly by and dump some mercury in the middle of the river just to complete the picture. The only sane response I could think of was to go home and start drinking. So I did.

Somewhere in the Scotch-induced haze of the next several hours, it occurred to me that those we love are seldom perfect. They’ve got their blemishes and scars. They may be a bit damaged (hey, who isn’t?), but we love them nonetheless (perhaps all the more). I came to the realization that it is the chipped, cracked, and tarnished who truly need love songs written for them. I’ll keep at it.