A Songwriter’s Journey from little-c to Pro-C Creativity

An Applied Analytical Autoethnography

Clive Maxwell Harrison

A thesis presented to The School of Design, Communication and IT University of Newcastle, Callaghan, NSW in fulfilment of requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy by research.

Date: June, 2016

Statement of Originality

The thesis contains no material which has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma in any university or other tertiary institution and, to the best of my knowledge and belief, contains no material previously published or written by another person, except where due reference has been made in the text. I give consent to the final version of my thesis being made available worldwide when deposited in the University’s Digital Repository**, subject to the provisions of the Copyright Act 1968. **Unless an Embargo has been approved for a determined period.

Signed:

Statement of Authorship

I hereby certify that the work embodied in this thesis contains a published paper/s/scholarly work of which I am a joint author. I have included as part of the thesis a written statement, endorsed by my supervisor, attesting to my contribution to the joint publication/s/scholarly work.

Signed:

This research received the approval of the University of Newcastle Human

Research Ethics Committee (Reference number: H-2013-0329) on the 29th October

2013

i Declarations

I certify that the content of this thesis has not been submitted for a higher degree to any other university or institution. I certify that all sources of information used, the extent to which the work of others has been utilised and any assistance in the preparation of the thesis have been acknowledged. The following publications have emanated from this study:

Clive Harrison (2015) The Songwriting Labyrinth: Practical Tools to Decode the Mysterious Craft (Crows Nest NSW: Rumpelstiltskin Press).

Clive Harrison (2016) ‘Bebop on the Hockey Pitch: Cross-disciplinary Creativity and Skills Transfer’ Performance Science, 7, 123.

ii

Acknowledgements

The scholarly expression ‘Standing on the Shoulders of Giants’, describes the impetus and forward momentum provided by those brilliant people who came before and laid the groundwork for research such as this. My own academic momentum has been stimulated and inspired by the following giants; a mix of songwriters, musicians, educators, academics and scholars who have provided intellectual sustenance along the way in the form of a luminous trail of delectable breadcrumbs; delightful, marzipan and Swiss-chocolate thought-snacks to help me stay passionate about songwriting, music, education and research. In alphabetical order, the list includes (but is not limited to);

John Baer, Tony Bastick, Howard Becker, Joe Bennett, Leonard Bernstein, Benjamin Bloom, Jason Blume, John Braheny, Margaret Boden, Pierre Bourdieu, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Robin Fredericks, Simon Frith, Howard Gardner, Antony Gregorc, David Krathwohl, James Kaufman, Chris McDonald, Phillip McIntyre, Richard Middleton, Allan Moore, Keith Negus, Pat Pattison, Jack Perricone, Keith Sawyer, Robert Sternberg, Andrea Stolpe, Philip Tagg, David Temperley, Jimmy Webb, and Robert Weisberg.

These (and many other) minds provided the clarity of thought, useful distinctions, and alluring questions that continue to propel my own thinking - for which I am completely grateful. At a personal level, I must especially thank these people specifically who facilitated, encouraged and guided my post-graduate journey;

Greg White, whose enthusiasm and encouragement planted the first seeds of research curiosity, who identified the value of writing up what I have learned in my career, and who validated my strengths and gently highlighted my weaknesses in order to smooth the road ahead.

David Cashman, who introduced me to academic writing, placed the notion of research and doctoral study squarely before me, championed my socialisation into the academy, and continues to be a most generous advisor and wise associate. iii

Industry luminaries Graeme Connors, Andrew Farriss, Tony Naylor, Rai Thistlethwayte and Don Walker for giving me their valuable time, for revealing their songwriting process, and for sharing their unique songwriting perspectives.

Phillip McIntyre, my doctoral supervisor who, having travelled down many of the roads I am travelling, allowed me to navigate them my own way, and graciously pointed to my destination when I floundered. In so doing he has become a most valued and dear friend; inspiring, generous of spirit, gentle of heart and wise beyond words.

Mum and Dad, for their unconditional and continuing love, support, eternal optimism and encouragement, for making the many personal sacrifices needed to give me the music lessons, instruments, and resources throughout my developmental years (the first 50 or so), and who provided for me and my siblings a most peaceful, stable, positive and musical environment in which to grow.

My daughters, Chloe and Sami, for completing our family and providing the motivation to continue growing and contributing, and who have long observed my maniacal attention to minutiae and uninterruptable focus, and simply smile lovingly at me.

Finally and especially, thanks to my wife, Robyn, for her unswerving support, love, and patience; for making my highly-ordered world organic, nature-filled and beautiful; for keeping the world at bay when I’m deeply immersed in songs, recordings, research, study, hockey and playing the bass; for allowing me the freedom to compulsively pursue my various passions; and for subjugating her own needs, desires and passions in order that I may pursue mine – the most unselfish act of love imaginable – and one which propels me to excel at my every endeavour in order to validate her unconditional support.

iv

Contents Statement of Originality ...... i Statement of Authorship ...... i Declarations...... ii Acknowledgements ...... iii Contents ...... v Index of Tables and Figures ...... viii Abstract ...... ix 1.0 Introduction ...... 1 2.0 Methodology ...... 11 2.1 Introduction ...... 11 2.2 Ontology ...... 12 2.3 Epistemology ...... 13 2.4 Theoretical perspective ...... 15 2.5 Methodology ...... 20 2.6 Methods and Strategies ...... 24 2.7 Disadvantages and Advantages of Autoethnography ...... 36 2.8 Conclusion ...... 43 3.0 Literature Review...... 45 3.1 Introduction ...... 45 3.2 Sociocultural Approaches to Creativity ...... 47 3.3 Creativity ...... 57 3.4 The Systems Model of Creativity ...... 86 3.5 Multiple Intelligence Theory ...... 97 3.6 The Seven (Original) Intelligences ...... 103 3.7 Songwriting Literature ...... 109 3.8 Summary ...... 111 4.0 The Systems Model for Songwriters ...... 113 Introduction ...... 113 4.1 Locating Myself within the Sociocultural...... 113 4.2 Creative Individual or Agent(s) ...... 122 4.3 Domain Acquisition ...... 127 4.4 Field of Experts, Intermediaries, Gatekeepers and Audiences ...... 138 4.5 Songwriting within the System ...... 156 4.6 Summary ...... 162 5.0 Comparative analysis of 5 albums ...... 164 v

5.1 Introduction ...... 164 5.2 The Naïve (but apparently valuable) Rock Songs of a 20-year-old ...... 166 5.3 The Complex and Conflicted Jazz Tunes of a 30-year-old ...... 172 5.4 The Humorous Ditties of a 40-year-old ...... 183 5.5 Glorious Imperfection: The Ironic Jazz Songs of a 50-year-old ...... 190 5.6 The Mature (and differently targeted) Rock Songs of a 55-year-old ...... 197 6.0 Summary of Observations ...... 205 6.1 Sociocultural ...... 205 6.2 Creativity ...... 206 6.3 The Systems Model of Creativity ...... 208 6.4 Multiple Intelligences...... 210 6.5 Songwriting Practice ...... 211 6.6 Summary ...... 213 7.0 Songwriting in Practice ...... 215 7.1 The Four P’s of Creativity ...... 215 7.2 Person ...... 216 7.3 Process ...... 225 7.4 Product ...... 260 7.5 Place ...... 294 7.6 Summary ...... 302 8.0 Thinking like a Songwriter ...... 303 8.1 Flow States ...... 303 8.2 Intuition in Practice ...... 309 8.3 Thinking Styles ...... 311 8.4 Intrinsic and extrinsic motivation ...... 316 8.5 Focus ...... 319 8.6 Fruitful Drifting ...... 322 8.7 Pro-C to Big-C creativity ...... 329 9.0 Multiple Intelligences at work in Songwriting ...... 336 9.1 Measuring ‘Cleverness’ ...... 336 9.2 Musical-aural intelligence ...... 340 9.3 Linguistic-verbal intelligence ...... 345 9.4 Naturalistic intelligence ...... 356 9.5 Interpersonal intelligence ...... 359 9.6 Intrapersonal intelligence ...... 361 9.7 Bodily-kinesthetic intelligence ...... 365

vi

9.8 Logical-mathematical intelligence ...... 373 9.9 Spatial-visual intelligence ...... 376 9.10 The 8 Capacities in Songwriting...... 381 9.11 An Unexpected Conclusion ...... 383 9.12 Summary ...... 385 10.0 Conclusions and Further Research ...... 387 10.1 Sociocultural Aspects of Songwriting ...... 388 10.2 Domain Acquisition ...... 390 10.3 MI Theory ...... 390 10.4 Naturalistic Intelligence ...... 391 10.5 Expert Variation and Selective Retention ...... 392 10.6 Moving from Fair, to Good, To Great ...... 393 10.7 Adeptus and its Acquisition ...... 396 10.8 Implications ...... 398 10.9 Further Research ...... 399 Appendices ...... 401 Bibliography ...... 408

vii

Index of Tables and Figures

Tables:

Table 1 - Summary of Theories of Creativity ...... 66 Table 2 - Sawyer's Eight Stages of the Creative Process...... 72 Table 3 - Numbered Properties of Intuition and Insight ...... 82 Table 4 - Features of Music Genres ...... 291 Table 5 - Traditional IQ Testing ...... 337 Table 6 - Gardner's Proposed Additional Intelligences ...... 338 Table 7 – Eight Capacities in Songwriting ...... 381

Figures:

Figure 1 - Modified Cultural Diagram ...... 52 Figure 7 - The Four 'C's of Creativity ...... 68 Figure 2 - System's Model of Creativity ...... 88 Figure 3 - Revised Systems Model of Creativity ...... 93 Figure 4 - Nested Audiences representing the ‘Field’ ...... 145 Figure 5 - The Systems Model for Songwriting ...... 160 Figure 6 - P and H Creativity ...... 225 Figure 8 - Songwriting and Copyright History ...... 269 Figure 9 – Challenge/Skills Balance...... 305 Figure 10 - Model of the Flow State ...... 308 Figure 11 - A Songwriter’s Application of Theory of Mental Self-Government ...... 314 Figure 12 - Convergent-Divergent Thinking Model ...... 326 Figure 13 - Mixing in Five Dimensions ...... 380

viii

Abstract

In this thesis the author, a successful songwriter and professional musician with a forty-year career in Australian contemporary music, describes, analyses, and reflects autoethnographically upon his own creative activity. In seeking answers to the research question posed, ‘How do songwriters go from fair, to good, to great?’, its similarity and relevance to the little-c, Pro-C and Big-C creativity favoured by Kaufman and Beghetto (2009), was identified as a useful construct to focus research. The approach employed in this research reveals a creative journey from its beginnings in the early seventies from little-c creativity, in James Kaufman and Ronald Beghetto’s terms of everyday creativity, to an establishment of Pro-C creativity, that is professional creativity, followed by an effort to move towards more significant, Big-C or eminent creativity (Kaufman & Beghetto, 2009). The primary research question employed to focus the research was ‘how do songwriters go from fair, to good, to great?’ The creative activity revealed in answering this question adds a necessary professional practitioner’s perspective to the growing research knowledge the scholarly community now has about the creative process.

An applied analytical autoethnographic methodology was used to capture the experiential elements of creative practice rarely addressed in the available research literature. The work of scholars (particularly Bourdieu, Bastick, Gardner and Csikszentmihalyi) from the domains of psychology and sociology are examined in this thesis through the lens of personal experience in the field and referenced to recent songwriting-specific research (e.g. McIntyre, Bennett).

A comparative analysis of five albums recorded over a span of thirty-six years (from 1976 to 2012) by the researcher provides initial insights into an evolving personal creative practice. The observations, distinctions and potential generalisations of this analysis are summarised to form a platform for further exploration of the author’s creative process. Interviews with highly successful songwriters help to crystallise this autoethnographic account. Significant scholarly models of creativity are applied to the realm of the author’s songwriting practice,

ix

documented in long-held journals and current blogs. This application is carried out using four lenses - person, process, product and place. Particular focus has been given to the multiple intelligence theory of Howard Gardner, located within the system of songwriting, as a productive lens through which to view this writer’s creative practice.

This autoethnographic examination revealed signs of tactical thinking, flow states, intuition, motivation, focus, and divergent thinking as well as an indication of a creative system at work. The evidence revealed here supports notions of creative novelty, value, productivity and consistency. Finally, conclusions are drawn connecting the work of Bourdieu, Bastick, Gardner and Csikszentmihalyi into the realm of songwriting and creative practice more generally, and a new term is proposed: ‘Adeptus’: the attributes of an expert or master (from adept: expert, skilful, nimble-fingered, capable, polished, professional, and masterful). These attributes are derived from the combined expertise and tacit knowledge acquired from the confluence of habitus (through deep domain immersion), intuition (non-linear parallel processing of global multi categorised information), the unique distinctions borne of discriminant pattern recognition (naturalistic capacity) and the application of recursive, directed practice and reflection over an extended time period.

x

xi

1.0 Introduction

Since junior high school and throughout my professional career, I have applied the notion of moving from fair, to good, to great – across the realms of hockey, jazz, bass-playing, singing, screen music composition, academic study, and especially songwriting. This last endeavour has left an evidential trail of lyrics, recordings, scores, interviews, blogs and other research data, and so provides the primary question for this research - one that has driven me since my first songwriting attempts, in 1972:

‘How do songwriters go from fair, to good, to great?’

My first ever fully-realised song was called No Hope (mercifully, no recordings were ever made), and although the song was well received at the Unley High

School tennis dance, I knew I was embarking on a lengthy journey. Forty-four successful years on, in arguably the twilight of my career, I possess the songwriting

‘adeptus1’ (the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge that are the attributes of an expert or master) to be The Reflective Practitioner about whom social scientist Donald Schön (1983) wrote, and can appropriately contribute some knowledge, from that applied analytical autoethnographic perspective. Before delving too deeply, however, the term ‘contemporary song’ (shortened hereafter to simply ‘song’) needs clarification.

1 Adeptus: the attributes of an expert or master (from adept: expert, skilful, adept, nimble-fingered, capable, polished, professional, and masterful) - the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge resulting from the confluence of habitus (through deep domain immersion), intuition (non-linear parallel processing of global multi categorised information), the unique distinctions borne of discriminant pattern recognition (naturalistic capacity) and the application of recursive, directed practice and reflection over an extended time period. 1

1.1 Operational Definition of Contemporary Song

I guess what makes it a song, is you’ve got to have a vocal in it (Paul Kelly, in McIntyre, 2003, p. 106)

From a copyright and legal perspective, a ‘song’ is defined in terms of lyrics and music, and is the subject of legal dispute, especially in recent decades (McIntyre,

2003, p. 108). Whilst the term ‘lyric’ is relatively unproblematic, the term ‘music’ is not (in a copyright sense) clearly defined in many countries, and copyright law has not kept up with the shift of emphasis away from the earlier, simple binary of music and lyrics to include important rhythmic and production elements (see chapter 7.4 for further discussion), For the benefit of non-academic songwriters

(and reflecting a deep understanding of songwriting-as-practiced), musicologist

Joe Bennett usefully identifies song in terms of lyric, melody and chords (2011), a traditional perspective which distinguishes between the melody as sung and the chords (harmony) that serve to provide context for that melody. Stepping beyond that traditional perspective, and recognising the important role of song recording- as-text, rather than score-as-text (see chapter 4.3 for further discussion), any definition of song must reflect the changing emphasis away from melody and towards rhythmic elements, and the shifting influence of producers. For this autoethnographic research (reflecting the professional practice of working creative agents), the term ‘music’, is considered to include melody, harmony, rhythm, and production. And for clarity I will use a quite specific definition of contemporary song referencing the systemic interdependency of songwriting practice;

Contemporary Song: A short musical work (including lyrics) influenced by and directed toward contemporary western popular music culture.

2

1.1.1 An Idiosyncratic Songwriting Methodology

It should be noted that based on my own work process, and the unique demands of writing, recording arranging and producing so much of my creative output as an agent operating within the film, television, advertising and recording industries, the activity of creating a ‘song’ includes (for me), Burns’ textual and non-textual elements provided by songwriter, performer and producer (discussed in chapter

9.7.2) as well as taking responsibility for Zak’s tripartite typology (discussed in chapter 7.4.1), the song, the arrangement, and the track. It could be argued that my perspective is then atypical, that is, my creativity has largely been more autonomous than many others in the songwriting field, who collaborate more often musically and to a greater extent, and have support personnel to assist with recording, and production elements. I have enjoyed the collaboration of many wonderful instrumental and vocal performers, and like other successful songwriters, had access to the vital distribution network of support personnel who enabled access to the wider audience. I view my own songwriting a little differently, then, to the songwriting efforts of others. When I think of writing a song, my experience and confidence allows me to conceive the song, arrangement, track, recording, performance and production as a whole, but I do not expect that of less experienced songwriters. When speaking of songwriting practice, therefore, rather than my own idiosyncratic and highly developed methodologies, I speak of

‘common’ songwriting practice, recognising that unlike my personal career experience, for most songwriters the responsibility and creativity of song, arrangement, track, recording, performance and production is likely to be shared to a greater or lesser extent among creative agents. Once the song artefact is realised in physical form, however, it is important to recognise that (as discussed 3

in chapter 4.0), song creation is part of an interdependent system including the societal field and the cultural domain, regardless of idiosyncratic songwriting method.

1.2 Who Cares about Writing Songs?

While I was writing songs for my own albums, bands, singers, stage shows, advertisers, films, and television shows, I cared only for my own growth, improvement and commercial leverage or capital. In 2008, developing lecture materials for tertiary students of songwriting, I discovered how passionate, deeply committed and engaged they were regarding the craft. Beyond the theoretical concepts, lyric devices, melodic nuances and production techniques, students clamoured for contextual anecdotes regarding every aspect of songwriting not described in the available literature. After repeatedly being asked to write a book or series of blogs, I began writing a monthly blog composed of songwriting and music industry anecdotes, and the response was overwhelming. The students cared deeply, and went to great lengths, to explore beyond what was in the textbooks and to acquire the ‘tacit knowing-in-action’ (Schön, 1983, p. 49) of the experienced professional before them. So why did they care so much and become so hungry for this particular ‘adeptus’ (the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge that are the attributes of an expert or master)?

Some clues were provided by the nature of their lyric-writing, where each semester I was privileged to read and listen to 80 to 120 of their completed songs.

These were not typical undergraduate assignments to be handed in by the due date; each song was a clear expression of emotion, deep thought and often highly

4

charged passion, with an ownership and expression-of-self that went far beyond the walls of the music college. They needed, at an intrinsic level of motivation, to

‘move from fair, to good, to great’.

It is the contention of this thesis that moving from ‘fair, to good, to great’ can be usefully described in terms of little-c (everyday) creativity, moving through Pro-C

(professional) creativity toward more significant Big-C creativity (domain- changing), as constructed by Kaufman and Beghetto (2009), and can be usefully examined through the focal lens of Howard Gardner’s multiple intelligence theory, situated within the broader work on creativity research. This autoethnographic examination of creative practice will do a number of things. In doing so it will address a laçuna in the available literature and contribute a unique and valuable

‘insider’ depth perspective. In this way the research will contribute to a clearer understanding of how one develops a songwriter’s adeptus (the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge that are the attributes of an expert or master) which itself will help answer the question of ‘how songwriters go from fair, to good, to great’.

1.3 Chapter summary

Chapter Two establishes the qualitative research methodology adopted

(autoethnography) and explains why that perspective is appropriate and necessary. It will contribute to gaining a depth perspective of the creative pursuit in professional practice from an insider’s point of view. For this discussion, data collection includes the keeping of field notes, analysis of the researcher’s own recordings, interviews with professional songwriters, and blogs by the author. In

5

addition, information gleaned through a lengthy career as a practicing professional at the highest level is expressed in the revelation of a deep habitus and expert adeptus. That information has been evaluated through long-term and diligent testing of concepts, procedures and theories in the realm of songwriting, recording, distribution, audience response and the inevitably recursive creative process involved in each of them. Whilst situating an insider perspective in the discussion, inquiry is presented with a healthy awareness of the need for critically objective rigour, and so caution is taken to maintain an analytical, rather than evocative autoethnographic perspective.

Chapter Three reviews the ample literature regarding sociocultural and psychological understandings of creativity. Placing songwriting within the culture as presented by Becker, Bailin, Wolff, McIntyre, Boden, Alexander, Negus, and

Bourdieu, this section highlights the creativity research of Boden, Sternberg,

Weisberg, Kaufman and Kozbelt, and especially the systems approach of

Csikszentmihalyi. This section presents an attempt to clarify definitions of creativity, a comparison of creative process models, discussion of the ‘genius’ debate, the difficulty testing for creativity, and what has been written regarding the creative personality. Particular emphasis is also given to the significance of

Gardner’s multiple intelligence theory within the songwriting realm (1983, 1993b,

1999, 2006). From those academic platforms, the limited available literature specific to songwriting is reviewed and laçuna identified for further inquiry.

Chapter Four presents the ‘systems’ model of creativity developed by Mihalyi

Csikszentmihalyi (1988; 1999a) brought into sharp focus by McIntyre (2008a), 6

and synthesised with the work of Pierre Bourdieu (1983b, 1996) and Keith Negus

(1995). From that perspective, song creation and distribution can be contextualised, highlighting a shift away from romantic and inspirationist views of creativity toward a relationship between creative agents, domains and fields, demonstrating the threefold interactivity and interdependence of the systems model at work. It is argued that songwriters write songs having absorbed the song culture of the time, and cannot avoid having been influenced in their songwriting decisions in a profound way. The chapter builds the case that the Romantic paradigm of the songwriter as being a completely independent creative agent is a myth - songwriters act within a songwriting system of creativity where agency and structure are interdependent. Finally, attention is drawn to the notion that in order for a song to become part of the domain it must be deemed worthy by the filter of the music industry.

A comparative analysis of five albums of my own recorded work is then presented in Chapter Five. Describing my development as a songwriter from naïve little-c creativities in my teens, through the evolution, successes and failures of various creative works – from moderately successful Pro-C artefacts to extremely successful Pro-C outcomes - an historical time-line follows the progression from fair, to good, to great songwriting. At each step of the historical development captured in those recordings, observations are documented regarding perceptions, analysis, potential generalisations and theories.

The resultant findings are summarised in Chapter Six and support the argument that multiple contributing factors facilitate consistent quality song creation. The 7

analysis also reveals a comprehensive process of domain acquisition and development of songwriter’s habitus. It also reveals a form of post-Darwinian

‘survival of the fittest’ song evolution and supports the idea of forward incrementation (based on antecedents) as a useful creative propulsion. The analysis also recognises skilled support personnel and a growing awareness on my part of the ‘authenticity’ of style. An observable Rationalist creative perspective reveals various forms of intrinsic motivation and an appropriate mix of capacities or ‘multiple intelligences’ as described by Gardner. It is established from the works seen in the analysis of recordings (as a result of creative songwriting activity) did not occur in a vacuum, that is, they exist within a specific culture, wherein the society gave meaning and value to selected song artefacts, but not to others.

Chapter Seven delves deeper into songwriting creative practice examining ideas surrounding the creative individual (personality, idiosyncratic perspective) and notions of asynchrony as a feature to be considered as an enabler, rather than a constraint. Creative process models applicable to the songwriting realm are compared as practiced, and issues of productivity, are attended to, with special focus placed on incubation, insight and collaborative models. The song product or artefact itself is discussed, with attention on how a ‘good’ or ‘great’ song might be assessed, and Sternberg’s ‘Propulsion Theory of Creativity’ is illuminated as highly relevant to the songwriting decisions made and the significant song creativities expressed. Finally, the immediate environment and its influence on songwriting creativity is presented in terms of creative place.

8

Chapter Eight looks at the possibility of divergent thinking, the importance of constraints and enablers, the action of flow states, focus, fruitful drifting, motivation, and their connection to the production of ‘significant works’. An important distinction is introduced regarding Pro-C and Big-C creativities, and the nature of ‘significant works’ in the realm of songwriting.

Chapter Nine, directly addresses Gardner’s construct of multiple intelligences (a

‘useful fiction’, as he describes it) as applied to song creation. This chapter examines whether songwriters use all eight multiple intelligences as described by

Gardner, in what manner they are used, and the implications of the construct for professional practice. Highlighted in this section are the how each of the intelligences impacts upon, is used by, and influences the songwriting professional in their creative practice, and paying particular attention to naturalistic attention.

It is argued here that a capacity for naturalistic intelligence facilitates a critical form of discriminant pattern recognition, and is key factor in the quest to move along the continuum of Pro-C creativity toward Big-C works

Finally, Chapter Ten summarises the research findings and conclusions drawn relevant to the research question, placing songwriting practice in the sociocultural realm, synthesising the notions of domain acquisition with MI theory and naturalistic intelligence. This section recaps factors that enable the shift from little- c, through Pro-C, to Big-C creative practice, that is, the progression from fair, to good, to great, and points to areas worthy of further research. The concept of

‘adeptus’ (having the attributes of an expert or master) is reviewed in the songwriting context, as is the notion of Expert Variation and Selective Retention 9

(whereby informed trial-and-error is practiced, rather than Blind Variation).

Finally, further research topics are indicated in the areas of performance in songwriting practice, motivation, multiple intelligence theory (particularly naturalistic intelligence), the songwriting industry and education, authenticity, subversive music theory, ambiguity, divergently fruitful creative drifting, and confluent or systemic approaches to creativity. The next chapter will present the research methodology chosen and argue why this particular autoethnographic approach is appropriate and most valuable.

10

2.0 Methodology

2.1 Introduction

The creative art-world of songwriters and research into its practice presents some unique problems, requiring careful consideration of the research methodology employed in an endeavour to identify the laçuna in the knowledge and ‘plug the knowledge gaps’ discovered. One problem is that songwriters and the media that support their commercial success seem to cling aggressively to Inspirationist or Romanticist notions of genius – as a consequence, much of the present literature presents a flawed view of what actually happens at the songwriting coal-face. A second problem is that Big-C songwriters who are at the top of the commercial and cultural tree, may be unwilling to reveal such knowledge for fear of losing their hard-won cultural or commercial advantage.

Having been a successful songwriter myself, and having performed on 97 albums over 40 years, I am in a unique research position. Long-term access at close quarters with songwriters who sit at every point on the spectrum of creative magnitude from little-c through Pro-C, to Big-C creativity gives me a uniquely informed and expert insider perspective. For these reasons, an autoethnographic approach is entirely necessary to reach past the ‘sound-bites’ of songwriters under interview to access what I suspect really occurs based on my professional experience.

This chapter outlines how the ontology, epistemology, theoretical perspective, methodology and methods of this practice-led autoethnographic study are defined, described and discussed. The research project applies theories of creativity, in particular multiple intelligence theory (Gardner, 1983, 1993a, 1999, 2006), to my own personal experience of songwriting throughout a forty year career, analysing and extrapolating what has been identified through participant observation to the

11

songwriting methods commonly used by other experts in the field.

The research project has discerned ‘patterns of cultural experience evidenced by field notes, and/or artefacts (…) describing these patterns using facets of storytelling’ (C. Ellis, Adams, & Bochner, 2011, p. 14). Autoethnographic field notes were derived from blogs and anecdotes related to songwriting, presenting the

‘insider view’ of the creative process. This data was corroborated by other field experts, and by an examination of the artefacts of songwriting i.e. the songs themselves in recorded form. A Practitioner-Based Enquiry form of self-reflexive reporting and comparative analysis, taken over five record albums and thirty-six years, will aid in triangulating the data collection. Given the researcher’s ‘insider view’, and the position held in relation to what is being researched, it is relevant and important to establish the ontological position of the researcher.

2.2 Ontology

Norman Blaikie contends that ‘ontological assumptions are concerned with what we believe constitutes social reality’ (Blaikie, 2000, p. 8) and Crotty describes ontology as both the ‘study of being’, and being concerned with the nature of existence and the structure of reality (1998, p. 10). For this research, rather than

Ponterotto’s scheme that includes paradigm, axiology and rhetorical structure

(2005), each of the directional elements considered by Crotty and Grix, that is, ontology, epistemology, theoretical perspective, methodology and method, has been addressed (2004, p. 66). In terms of ontology Crotty identifies three

12

ontological positions: objectivism, subjectivism and constructionism (1998, p. 5), making the following clarification:

It would appear useful then, to reserve the term constructivism for epistemological considerations focussing on ‘the meaning-making activity of the individual mind’, and to use constructionism where the focus includes ‘the collective generation (and transmission) of meaning. (Crotty, 1998, p. 58)

Crotty’s three ontological positions are described succinctly by McIntyre as follows:

Objectivism of the positivist kind sees the material world as directly accessible. Subjectivism in its purest form sees the world from an idealist perspective. Fitting between these two, constructionism accepts the existence of a material world but argues that it can only be accessed through constructions of it. (McIntyre, 2006a, p. 15)

The ‘reality’ underpinning this research will be, therefore, appreciative of the objectivist view and influenced strongly by the subjectivist view, but aligning most appropriately with constructionist ontology. As Jonathon Grix argues, a researcher’s ontology, epistemology and methodology form a directional relationship;

…setting out clearly the interrelationship between what a researcher thinks can be researched (their ontological position), linking it to what we can know about it (their epistemological position) and how to go about acquiring it (their methodological approach). (Grix, 2002, p. 179)

The ontological position a researcher holds is directly related to the epistemological source of what we know about the reality of what we are investigating.

2.3 Epistemology

13

Crotty argues that ‘explaining how we know what we know’ (1998, p. 3) is an important adjunct to any research endeavour. This position raises epistemological matters. Epistemology is concerned with the theory of knowledge, or in this case

‘…the possible ways of gaining knowledge of social reality, whatever it is understood to be’ (Blaikie, 2000, p. 8). The reason for this attention to detail in defining epistemology is that ‘students need to reflect on the assumptions on which they are based and where they originate from in the first place’ (Grix, 2004, p. 63). The close relationship between ontology and epistemology is strong: we need to know clearly what our stance is in regard to reality and how we arrived at our knowledge of the world, since this will influence what type of research we engage with and how we interpret our results. How we arrive at our ‘truth’ reminds us to test whether our knowledge has come from intuition, tenacity or authority, or from the more durable and reliable sources of rationalism and empiricism (Fernandez-Armesto, 2001; Wright Mills, in Summers, 2008). As Crotty maintains;

It is clearly not the case that individuals encounter phenomena in the world and make sense of them one by one. We enter a social milieu in which a ‘system of intelligibility’ prevails. We inherit a ‘system of significant symbols.’ (Crotty, 1998, p. 54)

This view of intelligibility and significant symbols as systemic is certainly the case with aspects of songwriting, since it is argued here that harmony, musical notation and authenticity are all constructs of the society and culture in which they have become popular. The epistemological perspective taken in this work hails from a primarily rationalist perspective of creativity, as described in Explaining Creativity:

The Science of Human Innovation, (Sawyer, 2006, pp. 23–26) and acknowledges the importance and relevance of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model of creativity 14

which reasons that;

For creative [songwriting] to occur, a set of rules and practices must be understood by the [songwriter], who then produces a novel variation in the context of the [songwriting] domain. To be deemed ‘creative’ the ‘field must select the [song] for inclusion in the [songwriting] domain. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 315)

This social validation by a field is aligned with a constructionist generation of meaning, and will cohesively apply to this work through an autoethnographic, qualitative approach that investigates songwriting from an ‘insider’ view. It is the construction of the insider’s point of view and its relation to the system of songwriting that is being revealed here. As stated earlier, constructionism accepts

‘the existence of a material world but argues that it can only ever be accessed through constructions of it’ (McIntyre, 2006a, p. 10).

2.4 Theoretical perspective

Three important elements are identified in the theoretical perspective informing the construction of this research - theories about; creativity, multiple intelligences and songwriting.

2.4.1 Creativity

To accept either Inspirationist or Romantic views of creativity (still tenaciously held by some) would be untenable as a teacher of songwriting. If it were true that the creative ability and knowledge to write songs was held only by the divinely inspired or the extraordinarily gifted, then one could not presume to teach it to the non-gifted; ‘one would either possess creativity or not…’ (McIntyre, 2011a, p. 196).

In contrast to these untenable views, Gardner, in Multiple Intelligences: The Theory 15

in Practice, posits a more useful and inclusive definition for a ‘creative individual’ as;

One who regularly solves problems, fashions products, and/or poses new questions in a domain in a way which is initially considered novel but is ultimately accepted in at least one cultural setting (…) no person or work or process can be considered creative unless it is so deemed by relevant social institutions. (Gardner, 1993b, p. 33)

The theoretical perspective adopted herein follows the theories posited by

Csikszentmihalyi (1988, 1997, in 1999a), Gardner (1983), Boden (1996), McIntyre

(2011a), and Negus & Pickering (2004), where each has a slightly different descriptive metaphor. The common theme is that there is a scale of creativity, and each work can be adjudged to occur somewhere along a continuum between P

(personal) and H (historical) creativity (Boden, 1991, p. 77). Following Graham

Wallas (1926) and others, e.g. Herrmann (1989), Weisberg (1993);

Csikszentmihalyi (1997) who suggest that creativity can be understood by seeing it as part of a staged process, the question arises, ‘in what way do the recursive stages of the creative process (preparation, incubation, illumination, verification and elaboration) integrate with songwriting activity?’ Of particular interest to this research is the role played by multiple intelligence theory (Gardner, 1983) in the acquisition of the necessary ‘adeptus,’ the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge that are the attributes of an expert or master, for creative songwriting to be propelled along the continuum toward H or Big C creativity.

2.4.2 Multiple Intelligence Theory

Gardner’s (1983) original multiple intelligences are listed here with suggestions for investigation pertaining to songwriting:

16

1. Logical-Mathematical: music notation, compositional logic,

western harmony

2. Musical: aural, listening, analysis, appreciation, understanding

3. Verbal-Linguistic: lyrics, vocal techniques, affective elements

4. Visual-Spatial: perception of aural space, and temporal issues

5. Bodily-Kinesthetic: instrumental performance, singing

6. Intrapersonal: creativity, metacognitive process, reflection, flow,

authenticity

7. Interpersonal: relationships, collaboration, audiences, bands,

institutions, social constructs including genre, authenticity

8. Naturalistic: identification and evolution of song ‘species’,

antecedents, pattern-recognition

In order to more fully investigate this MI theory/songwriting relationship, there is a need for a deep level of what Gardner (1983) describes as metacognitive thought.

What is sought is an understanding of how songwriting decisions are made, that is, acts of agency that seem to be at first glance mysterious or at least non-logical. For this researcher, the development of a ‘feel’ for songwriting, including both ‘tacit knowledge’ as described by (Schön, 1983) and the concept of ‘habitus’ described in

Sociology in Question (Bourdieu, 1993), is reachable by any student, through study and practice. As Schön argues, having persisted with the necessary repetitive practice long enough to acquire a ‘feel’ for particular skills, ‘the feelings of which we are initially aware become internalised in our tacit knowing’ (Schön, 1983, p.

52). In comparison, Pierre Bourdieu describes ‘habitus’ as follows:

17

…a system of dispositions attuned to that game (what I call a habitus) – the ‘feel’ for the game and the stakes, which implies both the inclination and the capacity to play the game, to take an interest in the game, to be taken up, taken in by the game. (Bourdieu, 1993, p. 18)

McIntyre discusses these concepts at some depth in his work on songwriting;

Each writer had become so thoroughly immersed (Weisberg, 1999) in the domain of contemporary Western popular music songwriting that it appears to them to have become tacit (Schon, 1983, p. 52), so much so that a ‘‘feel’ (Braheny, 1988, p. 8) for how to write songs became evident (…) the process of domain acquisition has resulted in an available body of knowledge readily and, in Bastick’s terms, intuitively accessed and processed by these songwriters. In Bourdieu’s terms, they acquired the habitus of songwriters. (McIntyre, 2008a, p. 47)

In the confluence of habitus, tacit knowledge, and intuition, McIntyre appears close to the mark; these three elements contribute greatly to the ‘adeptus’ necessary to move the songwriter from ‘fair, to good, to great’. Several additional elements are revealed in later chapters, but for now we need to address the third theoretical frame adopted herein, the theoretical perspective relating to songwriting itself.

2.4.3 Songwriting

From a research perspective, we do not seek a scientific theory of songwriting, for there exists no single, perfect, repeatable answer to the question of how to write a song; nor do we need a subjectivist approach where songwriting is based on a mysterious, ephemeral ‘vibe-based muse’ that comes in the night and disappears the moment we have a guitar and pencil in hand – the Inspirationist or Romanticist view. What is needed is a synthesis of objective scientific analysis, combined with an appreciation of the subjective nature of song and its reception by an audience, in order to understand how better to write songs.

18

As McIntyre states in Creativity and Cultural Production: Issues for Media Practice, given the choice between a Ptolemaic view where songwriting revolves around the individual, and a Copernican view where songwriting is an interactive phenomenon affected by the agent (individual), collaborators in the field, and the domain of knowledge where creation is taking place within the sociocultural system (McIntyre, 2011a, pp. 195–210), the latter reflects more accurately the reality this researcher has observed repeatedly over four decades. At one scale, it might be said that in terms of actually creating the finished song artefact, the act itself was for me, almost entirely a solo enterprise - for the most part I wrote the lyrics, the melody, the harmony, recorded the parts, mixed, and mastered the songs. Save a few notable exceptions (outlined in chapter 5) I rarely collaborated with other songwriters, however at another scale, an enormous range of ‘de facto collaborators’ can be identified throughout my career; musicians, recording engineers, publishers, record company executives, radio personalities, TV hosts, managers, agents, instrument suppliers, software developers, animation industry and film personnel (the list goes on) – who all contributed to the song’s manufacture, distribution, and eventual success. From the broader ‘industry’ perspective or scale it can also be observed that over the past one hundred years, songs have been repeatedly ‘constructed’, recorded, tested in the marketplace, and thereafter (based on their success or otherwise) used to develop methods, theories about and ideas for subsequent songs. This situation echoes not only the general design cycle of Vaishnavi & Kuechler (2008, p. 12) but also the inductive and deductive strategies of Blaikie (1993, p. 157) and representations of the research process (Blaxter, Hughes, & Tight, 2010, p. 8). (See Appendix B for a personal example of such a strategy adopted in 1996) 19

It should be noted that during my active career, I possessed the ‘adeptus’ to write and produce songs to their completion as songwriter, performer and producer

(discussed in chapter 9.7.2) and take responsibility for song, the arrangement, and track (discussed in chapter 7.4.1) and as such could erroneously be described as a

‘sole creative agent’. However, this description would be misleading, ignoring as it does the interdependence of the field and domain of the system within which I operated. However, contemporary song production (in country, dance, R&B,

Hiphop, and Pop genres especially) more typically involves a far greater degree of creative collaboration. As researched extensively by Joe Bennett (2010a, 2010b,

2013), creative collaboration may take many forms and permutations, and are discussed more fully in chapter 7.3.

2.5 Methodology 2.5.1 A primarily qualitative approach

Does one particular methodological approach predict a greater probability of revealing new knowledge in this research project? In order to answer that question, we need to examine the nature of the research question and the type of answers we seek. Yin describes research questions as falling into three categories; exploratory ‘what’ questions (what can be learned?), descriptive ‘what’ questions

(how many, how much, who, where?), and explanatory ‘how’ and ‘why’ questions

(how does, how can, why does, why does not?)

The primary inquiry propelling this research is a ‘how do’ question and so is largely explanatory. Consistent with qualitative research outcomes, the researcher does not presume to propose, predict, explain or describe phenomena exactly – 20

that is the end-game of the objectivist or quantitative researcher. Instead this qualitative research proposes to investigate the phenomenon of creativity and songwriting from the insider’s perspective. In this regard ‘theories can be considered descriptive, explanatory, predictive, or propositional’ (Fawcett &

Downs, 1992, p. 7), and the insider’s perspective revealed by this primarily qualitative autoethnographic approach promises to shed light on the question

‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’

2.5.2 Autoethnography

Considering the sometimes disputed validity of autoethnography as a research method (S Delamont, 2008, pp. 51–63; Fine, 2003; Soyini Madison, 2006), it is important for the purposes of this research to define the term, establish its context in relation to songwriting, and identify the specific autoethnographic ‘voice’ being used here. Ellis provides a ‘brief answer’, defining autoethnography as research, writing, story, and method that connect the autobiographical and personal to the cultural, social and political (2004, p. xix). James (2012, pp. 555–564) quotes

Sparkes as describing autoethnography as drawing on ‘…the experience of the author/researcher for the purposes of extending sociological understanding’

(2000, p. 21), an idea that resonates for Chang, who states: ‘… what makes autoethnography ethnographical is its ethnographic intent of gaining a cultural understanding of self that is intimately connected to others in the society’ (2008, p.

9). A relevant and recurring theme for this research is that autoethnography should relate to and be usable by the field to which it is addressed. To that end,

McIlveen’s comment that ‘the defining feature of autoethnography is that it entails the (…) practitioner performing narrative analysis pertaining to himself or herself

21

as intimately related to a particular phenomenon’ (2008, pp. 13–20). For this research work, however, the distinction should be made between analytic and evocative autoethnographic approaches.

2.5.3 Analytic vs. Evocative approaches

Two autoethnographic approaches (analytic or evocative) could be applied here:

Analytic autoethnographers focus on developing theoretical explanations of broader social phenomena, whereas evocative autoethnographers focus on narrative presentations that open up conversations and evoke emotional responses (Leon Anderson, 2006, p. 275; Ellingson & Ellis, 2008, p. 445).

Given that this research has an identified outcome of informing songwriting practice rather than evoking emotional responses, an analytic (rather than evocative), approach is most appropriate. Exploring further, autoethnographers vary in their emphasis on various aspects of the autoethnographic approach;

Ellis and Bochner offer an insightful triadic model to illustrate the complexity of the autoethnography nomenclature. They state that ‘autoethnographers vary in their emphasis on the research process (graphy), on culture (ethno), and on self (auto)’ and that ‘different exemplars of autoethnography fall at different places along the continuum of each of these three axes.’ (2000, p. 740) in (Chang, 2008, p. 3)

Taking a moment to consider Ellis and Bochner’s model applied to this research, any emphasis on ‘self’ is useful only inasmuch as it informs what is known about songwriting culture and process; my ‘story’ is presented solely for the purpose of deepening the research world’s understanding of how songwriting and songwriters move along the continuum from ‘fair, to good, to great’ or from P creativity through to H creativity. It should be noted here that these categories also correspond somewhat with Kozbelt, Beghetto and Runco’s (2010, pp. 23-24) use of the terms mini-c (personal), little-c (everyday), Pro-C (professional) and Big C (or eminent) creativity (2010, p. 23,24). These are the ones I will adopt as I move

22

through this discussion.

2.5.4 Insider/outsider perspectives

Taking Tessa Muncey’s ‘researcher and researched’ position to explore the ‘insider’ perspective using reflexive enquiry and qualitative research seems a logical addition to existing ‘historical’ knowledge (Muncey, 2010, p. 3). The validity of findings resulting from this process-oriented research is in the richness, depth and detail of analysis, the actuality of the observations, that is closeness to the data, and the contextual relevance of the findings (Blaxter et al., 2010, p. 66). This recursive

‘insider’/’outsider’ process resonates both with the concept of ‘habitus’, where a

‘feel for the game’ or ‘practical sense’ are identified (Bourdieu, 1993), and the systems model of creativity engaging field, domain and individual

(Csikszentmihalyi, 1997), both described and connected by McIntyre (2011a, pp.

72–77). What is unique about an autoethnographic research methodology is that the ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ happen to be one and the same person, and I can attest that the passage of substantial time for reflection enhances the ease with which I am able to move between perspectives. I suspect that, were I attempting to research this topic autoethnographically twenty years ago, the more subjective

‘insider’ perspective might have overwhelmed the more objective ‘outsider’ perspective.

In order to effectively capture the idiosyncratic perspective, expert observational distinctions, and resultant habitus-based songwriting strategies at work in the highly creative songwriter, a researcher could use many strategies, quantitative and qualitative. One could, for example; statistically analyse song sales (make

‘outsider’ generalisations about the songwriting field); musically analyse songs

23

(make ‘outsider’ generalisations about the song artefacts themselves); interview songwriters (make ‘insider’ generalisations based on how non-academic songwriters perceive their own works and processes); study the popularist books and articles of expert songwriters (read the non-academic generalisations of individual songwriters); or study how to write songs (make ‘insider’ generalisations about amateur songwriting, without having the ‘adeptus’ of a successful, highly creative songwriter). All of these approaches have been applied previously, however the type of data we lack academically is that derived from a largely unexplored research methodology (autoethnography) where an expert songwriter has the capacity to provide an academic perspective (make ‘insider’ generalisations about highly creative songwriting). This specifically is the approach applied herein.

2.6 Methods and Strategies 2.6.1 Data Collection

Chang proposes data ‘triangulation’ as good research practice for supporting autoethnographic argument. Self-reflexive writing of observational ‘insider’ data needs to be complemented with external data from other sources to enhance content accuracy and validity of conclusions (Chang, 2008, p. 17). Self-reflexivity is an inquiry process where an insider, informed by domain knowledge and research expertise, can ‘see through’ data, texts and contexts to open alternative concepts and ideas (Sullivan, 2005, pp. 64, 65). Yin describes various methods of validating data collected in the research phase including using multiple sources of evidence and establishing a chain of evidence, substantiating journal entries and field notes

[in this case, from the songwriting experience] through triangulation, and noting 24

recurrent patterns. As analysis proceeds, the lens of historical domain knowledge needs to be applied to ensure context, logic and internal validity are maintained, and key informants can review and validate the draft report (Yin, 2009, p. 41).

The data collection that triangulates this research comes from a variety of documentation. I have personal diaries from 1977 onwards, original record releases, industry magazine interviews dating as early as 1975, reams of musical scores, semi-formal interviews with scholarly songwriters and other professionals, extracts from my own prior written works regarding music performance practice, recent songwriting blogs directed at undergraduate students, and a large collection of chronological workbooks detailing the day-to-day meetings, issues and relevant conversation.

2.6.2 Subjectivity as a ‘Given’

This ‘personal essay’ has validity by placing the researcher’s own subjectivity in the foreground allowing the reader to reflect on whether they see the phenomena differently or think in different ways (Donmoyer, in Cho & Trent, 2006, p. 330).

This takes a view of validity that is not attempting to equal conventional, scientific or quantitative research methods, but one that produces holistically valid results that are valuable (Cho & Trent, 2006). Following the notion of ‘tacit knowing’, initially described in The Tacit Dimension by Polanyi (1966) and expanded by

Schön (1983, p. 52) , Rodriguez and Ryave (2002, p. 3) suggest that these techniques allow access to ‘covert, elusive, and/or personal experiences like cognitive processes, emotions, motives, concealed actions, omitted actions, and socially restricted activities’ and brings to the surface what is ‘taken-for-granted,

25

habituated, and/or unconscious manner that…are unavailable for recall’ in (Chang,

2008, p. 7). This accurately describes the nature of chapters 5 and 6 herein, and the type of tacit knowing based on a posteriori2 knowledge referred to when the term

‘adeptus’ is used.

2.6.3 Triangulation Points

For this songwriting study, one point of the triangulation is the ‘insider’ view’ represented by participant observation field notes, in the form of self-generated blogs and anecdotes, analysis of those field notes through the lens of multiple intelligence theory, and further generalisations and predictions based upon that analysis. Given the constructionist ontology and rationalist epistemology of this researcher, Practitioner-Based Enquiry (PBE) provides another suitable approach

(Blaikie, 1993; Crotty, 1998; Grix, 2004)

PBE as a methodology encompasses a self-reflexive and reflective examination of the practitioner’s own activity through a process of participation in that activity. (McIntyre, 2006a, p. 4)

PBE, similar and complementary to autoethnography, provides an insider perspective that may be constrained by other more traditional research approaches and, importantly, recognizes the practitioner skills possessed by the researcher, and that they are closer to issues of their own practice (Regan, Nesbitt,

& McIntyre, 2011, p. 4). To that end, a comparative analysis of song process evolution across five original record albums, was undertaken (chapters 5 &6), including rich, depth reporting focussing on process.

…comparison is a useful research method, simply placing two case studies side by side and observing their differences, and similarities, and asking why their results differ; and that sociological analysis consists of

2 A posteriori: Based on observation or something known from experience. 26

finding who did what, how they did it, and what was the result. (Becker, 1982, p. xi) [italics in original]

The other points of triangulation, representing the ‘outsider’, corroborative data will consist of; firstly, a literature review of creativity research, songwriting, MI theory and related books, journal articles and papers, identifying what the research world knows already knows about this topic; secondly, documents supporting the field notes – diary entries, notebooks, photographs, emails, letters and other written accounts; thirdly, selected and specific depth interviews with other established songwriters; and finally, song artefacts themselves – analyses, transcriptions, scores, lyric examples, demo recordings, and draft song ideas in sketch form.

2.6.4 Data Analysis

Four stages of analysis of the research data are proposed. The first stage includes a literature review identifying the key sources of historical knowledge about songwriting concepts and procedures and how they can be correctly taught. The second stage involves an autoethnographic analysis of songwriting practice, including personal experiences. The third stage involves codifying those practices related to the creation of songwriting artefacts and the fourth stage, a hermeneutic analysis of hit songs through forty years of transcription, score writing, recording, lyric-writing, and performance notes.

According to Robson, in analysing these items, the researcher is seeking patterns, themes, relationships, and is involved in ‘gradually elaborating a small set of generalizations that cover the consistencies’ (2011, p. 459) discerned in the data.

27

Furthermore, Robson links ‘these generalizations to a formalized body of knowledge in the form of constructs or theories’ (2011). Analysis then is a process of pattern seeking and interpretation. The notion of discriminant pattern recognition is significant (as we will see in chapter 8.7) and has implications from the perspective of both naturalistic intelligences and the acquisition of ‘adeptus’

(the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge that are the attributes of an expert or master). As Thompson argues, analysis ‘involves a new movement of thought [and] proceeds by synthesis, by the creative construction of meaning’

(1990, p. 289). The autoethnographic researcher must enter into this creative construction of meaning by bringing the complex discourses they exist in to bear on the analytic narrative they construct.

2.6.5 Interview Method

Interviews with songwriters in popular music magazines abound, however from the perspective of an adept songwriter, most are shallow and address the target audience and demographic of the magazine, rather than the question ‘how do successful songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’ in any meaningful way.

Others have conducted multiple and extensive scholarly interviews regarding songwriting (Kruger, 2005; McIntyre, 2003; Zollo, 2003) from an ethnographic perspective, and provide a wonderful springboard from which to step into deeper waters; however the specific interviews used here were designed to delve more deeply into the ‘insider perspective’ (with questions carefully selected by another

‘insider’ and designed to reveal what has yet to be revealed by earlier interviews).

Further delimiting the selection of interview subjects was the underlying research sub-question regarding moving the Pro-C songwriter along the continuum towards

28

Big-C creativity (see chapter 3.2). To that end, interviewing little-c creative songwriters, (for example songwriting students) would have been pointless; what was sought were the expert insights, unique distinctions and qualities of successful, highly productive songwriters who have had the necessary time

(decades, often) to test theories, make generalisations that work for them, and reflect on their own practices. In other words, I needed to ask them to reveal their

‘adeptus’. Furthermore, such deep questioning was by nature, philosophical; songwriter interview candidates needed to have demonstrated some capacity for metacognitive or intrapersonal intelligence - enough to enable them to articulate their experiences in a meaningful way for this narrowly focused research.

Interview questions were specifically designed to avoid the problem of interviewee ambiguity or evasiveness, where, for a songwriting artist relying on media exposure, ‘mysteriousness itself is a cultural asset’ (J. Bennett, 2010a). This research benefits in that regard from the cultural capital of the autoethnographer himself; having my own established reputation as a musician, scholar and songwriting author enabled the interviewees to speak frankly and guilelessly. The interviewees trusted that I could understand and interpret faithfully what they were expressing and that there was no commercial or cultural advantage to be gained by responding evasively or by inventing ‘sound-bites’ for publication. As a final criterion, it was deemed valuable to interview songwriter-subjects across the

‘scale’ of creativity, a significant factor in the systems model (discussed in chapter

3.4). Put simply, in terms of pure record sales, Andrew Farriss and Neil Finn could be seen as highly influential at an international scale, Don Walker, Rai

Thistlethwayte, Graeme Connors and Tony Naylor at a national scale. The detail of 29

such a perspective is arguable, however, as each is more influential in their favoured sub-genre; Farris (funk-rock), Finn (soft-rock) Walker (Australian rock and country), Connors (country) and Naylor (blues). My own pop and rock songs, for example, were moderately successful on a national scale, but my songs written for and embedded in television programs were very successful internationally.

Having outlined the interview selection criteria, the following interview candidates were selected;

2.6.5.1 Don Walker

Considered by many in Australia to be one of the country’s best songwriters, his impact was first felt as a key songwriter for iconic Australian pub-rock band Cold

Chisel. Don’s songs have a reputation for capturing a particular ‘Australian-ism’, and have been recorded by rock, country and R&B artists including Ian Moss, Marc

Hunter, Kate Ceberano, Johnny Diesel, Slim Dusty, Jimmy Barnes, Renee Geyer,

Graeme Connors, Troy Casser-Daley, Ross Wilson, Katie Noonan, The Waifs, Shane

Nicholson, Paul Kelly, Sarah Blasko, Grinspoon, and Augie March. The son of a novelist, Walker’s first published book is Shots, and he has a degree in physics. In

2001 the Australasian Performing Rights Association voted his song Khe Sanh the

8th greatest song of all time in Australia, he was awarded APRA’s 2008 Country

Work of the Year, and nominated for both the 2012 Song of the Year and the 2014

Blues and Roots Work of the Year. Don’s professional path has intersected with my own at various times, often at live gigs in the 1970’s where our bands competed for audience attention, and later in the recording studio (we worked together in the studio on a film called Empty Beach in 1985). The interview with Don provides a quite candid and forthright perspective of the rock band environment, a locally-

30

focused and geographically specific form of songwriting, and an insightful and informed view of the commercial song market and industry from a prolific and successful Pro-C songwriter.

2.6.5.2 Graeme Connors

A household name in Australian Country music, (he was inducted into the

Tamworth Walk of Fame in 2006) Graeme has won multiple awards from the

American Song Festival, APRA and others, including 14 Golden Guitar Awards from the Tamworth Country Music festival. His album North was peer-voted No. 3 in the

Top 20 Best Australian Country Albums of all Time. I have known Graeme since we were both in our late teens (for a brief time we shared the same management) when he was a solo singer/songwriter and I was writing songs for the band

Avalanche. He brings a ‘classic’ Pro-C singer-songwriter perspective, highly focused on authenticity of voice and style, and with lyric narrative at the forefront.

2.6.5.3 Tony Naylor

Famous in Australian Rock/Blues guitar circles, Tony has been a stalwart of the

Australian session scene and an icon of live performance in this country since the first Sunbury Rock festival in 1972. Since that time he has played guitar for films like Crocodile Dundee, and for nationally and internationally celebrated artists including Brian Cadd, Max Merritt, Marcia Hines, Doug Parkinson, Renee Geyer,

Lior, Colleen Hewett, Billy Thorpe, Ross Wilson, Glenn Shorrock and Richard

Clapton. Since 1988 he has been writing songs for advertising, TV shows and other artists including a UK top ten hit for Stephan Denis, and recently for Colleen

Hewett. Tony was a mentor and collaborator in my formative songwriting years and like myself, has a history of Pro-C creative writing to the ‘brief’ – collaborating

31

with ‘other-than-songwriters’ – directors, producers, film-makers and other creative who are not songwriters themselves.

2.6.5.4 Rai Thistlethwayte

The son of a classical pianist and a rock musician, Rai is the guitarist, pianist, singer, and primary songwriter for Thirsty Merc. The band have achieved 200,000 album sales, a string of hits, a #1 on iTunes, ARIA Awards for Single of the Year,

Best Group and Best Pop Release. His song 20 Good Reasons was a nominated in the

APRA Song of the Year, and he has a substantial jazz pedigree, including study at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music. Rai and I met at a songwriting seminar in

Sydney in 2012; his interview extracts provide a current Pro-C perspective drawn from his jazz background, extensive theoretical knowledge, and song composition across a wide variety of cross-genre styles.

2.6.5.5 Neil Finn

Neil’s songs are world-renowned; a co-founder of New Zealand band Split Enz and now the founder/leader of Crowded House. With multiple International

Achievement Awards from APRA and RIANZ, Album(s) and Single(s) of the Year, best Songwriter Awards, his song, Don’t Dream It’s Over, reached No.2 in the USA, and Weather with You reached No.7 in the UK. Unfortunately I was unable to interview him directly due to his overseas travel and work commitments – however his management were able to direct me to a highly relevant 2-hour speech he made to the Yale Psychology Department; (Finn, 2012). Much of this presentation spoke to issues discussed in this research, and extracts are included to provide his own highly insightful and metacognitive perspective on songwriting;

Neil’s body of work and international success represent Pro-C songwriting at its

32

most significant level, and could be deemed Big-C creative (dependent on factors discussed later, in chapter 8.7).

2.6.5.6 Andrew Farriss

The primary songwriter along with singer Michael Hutchence (who died in 1997) for the internationally acclaimed Australian band INXS, Andrew played keyboards, guitar and provided backing vocals for the band, as well as having co-written nearly all of the band’s Top 40 hits in the USA, including Never Tear Us Apart, Need

You Tonight, Mystify, New Sensation, Suicide Blonde, Black and White, Don’t Change,

Devil Inside, Original Sin, What You Need, Listen Like Thieves, Falling Down the

Mountain, and Kick. He has also co-written with New Zealand singer/songwriter

Jenny Morris and indigenous Australian band Yothu Yindi. Although I had performed in the recording studio with Andrew’s brother (INXS drummer Jon

Farris) in the early eighties, and we knew of each other professionally, it was not until 2015 that I met Andrew for the first time, when he was in Australia for an academic conference held at the Australian National University. We spent much of the weekend relating ‘war-stories’ and catching up on thirty years of adventures as songwriter-musicians. Like Finn, he could be deemed a Big-C songwriter at an international scale.

Having stated the relevance and contribution of the selected interviewees, I provide some insight and declaration of my own theoretical perspective, potential biases, environmental influences and idiosyncratic background.

2.6.6 Autoethnographic Researcher’s Idiosyncratic Background

I have been a professional musician, composer and songwriter since 1973 – an 33

uninterrupted period of 43 years. My childhood domain immersion included studying choral singing under Dr Christa Rumsey, undertaking private tuition on classical organ under Dr David Rumsey, and lessons in guitar, piano, bass guitar, and later, double bass with the Adelaide and Sydney Youth orchestras. In my thirties I returned to formal studies - singing with Patricia Oertel and piano with

Beris Quinn, completing AMEB 8th grade successfully in both at the Sydney

Conservatorium of Music.

My informal study of songwriting has been extensive and long-term. It covers self- education through books (I have been known to read music dictionaries from cover-to-cover), recordings (I was fortunate to be able to listen to many recordings through industry-standard speaker/amplifier systems in sound-proof recording studios from my late teens), and extensive transcriptions. Transcribing music from records was a big part of my self-directed study regime. From around 1977 and for the next 15 years, I transcribed bass parts, (see Appendix J) chord progressions, and melodies, progressively improving my chart-writing abilities (it was not uncommon for me to transcribe an entire album). At first I wrote out the bass parts for entire Chick Corea contemporary jazz albums (Romantic Warrior, The

Leprechaun, The Mad Hatter), then melodies and lead sheets for traditional jazz recordings by Charlie Parker (The Verve and Savoy recordings), moving on to complete scores for pivotal jazz-fusion albums by bands like Weather Report, the

Brecker Brothers, and Herbie Hancock, as well as copying (by hand) songs from the Great American Songbook, Bach Cello Suites, and Liszt’s Moto Perpetuo. For six years I made a little extra money writing song arrangements every week for a contemporary 8-piece house band at Newcastle’s Palais Royale nightclub. As my 34

ear developed and my transcription skills improved, I would simply transcribe directly off the radio in real time, or take a notepad of music paper to the club and transcribe songs as bands performed them. These days I can usually write a song arrangement and chords in the time it takes to play the song (writing the melody takes a little longer).

My professional career began in earnest in 1973 at age 17, performing, songwriting, and recording popular music with various bands, and gaining

Australian chart success as a writer/artist with rock bands Kush and Avalanche. As a session musician, I have performed on over 90 record albums (e.g. Little River

Band, Split Enz (for Neil and Tim Finn), Richard Clapton (with INXS drummer Jon

Farris), Dave Dobbin, Billy Thorpe, Jon English, Marc Hunter), approximately 3,000

TV and radio commercials, and nine feature films (e.g. Coolangatta Gold (Bill Conti, composer), Puberty Blues, Empty Beach). As a songwriter and composer, I produced 15 albums of original works in a wide variety of styles and for various record companies and publishers (e.g. RCA, Bootleg, ABC-Dunhill, Warner Bros,

Polygram, ABC, EMI), wrote nearly 800 TV/radio commercials (including

McDonalds, Coke, KFC, Pizza Hut, Kellogg’s, Gatorade, Sony, Sega, Johnny Walker,

Nestlé, Volvo, Toyota, Mitsubishi, Thai Airlines, Pepsi, Apple, and Toshiba) provided underscores and theme songs for 13 television series(e.g. Blinky Bill,

Flipper and Lopaka, Crocadoo, Tabaluga, Art Alive, The Fairytale Police Department,

Pearlie), representing over 250 episodes broadcast in up to 80 countries worldwide (and distributed through Ravensberger, EMTV, Studio 100, Nelvana and others), and have completed scores for five telemovies (e.g. Young Achievers,

Driving to D-Day, Scrooge Koala’s Christmas, Gumnutz! A Juicy Tale, broadcast on 35

the Seven, Ten and Nine networks in Australia. This work placed me at the forefront of the Australian film and television industry, and I served as President of the Australian Guild of Screen Composers for 5 years, after 7 years as Vice-

President. I commenced post-graduate study into creativity and songwriting in

2011, having taught (since 2008) undergraduate bass, performance ensemble, screen composition, music theory, lyric writing, songwriting, and recording at

Macquarie University, Central Queensland University, the Australian Institute of

Music, and the JMC Academy.

My research into songwriting began informally around 1972, became more sharply focused with each of the 15 original albums produced, and has been formally and reflectively drawn together over the past 6 years of lecturing in songwriting at various tertiary institutions in Sydney. Given my immersion in this musical realm and my position as both subject and object of this research, care must be taken with an autoethnographic methodology such as this to avoid some identifiable pitfalls that could devalue the research undertaken, as discussed next.

2.7 Disadvantages and Advantages of Autoethnography

Critics taking an objectivist view of songwriting might argue that qualitative methodologies like autoethnography are unlikely to result in measurable, quantitative, generalizable and repeatable theories (Holt, 2003; Sparkes, 2000, p.

24; Wolcott, 1999, p. 48). In response to this criticism Regan, Nesbitt and McIntyre identify, firstly, that ‘replication is a hallmark of an objectivist research framework’

(Regan et.al. 2011, p. 6) and although methodologies like autoethnography don’t

36

provide statistical generalisations, they can provide the ‘basis for theoretical generalisations’ (2011). Applied to this domain;

[Songwriting] research does not seek a method to compose an exact replica of some other [song]; rather it seeks methods to replicate any and all [songwriting] outcomes that satisfy the socially constructed requirements of the domain. (Regan et al., 2011, p. 6)

Similarly, Downton points out that the objectivist goal of absolute ‘truth’ is not only unachievable, it is actually not required:

[Songwriting] presents a problem of ‘variation despite method’. We require a looser view of method: ‘a set of broadly described steps that a competent practitioner within the discipline would follow in undertaking the course of action or investigation given similar intentions.’ (Downton, 2003, p. 13)

In terms of repeatability from a constructionist ontological perspective, it is not an expectation that objective truths about songwriting are discovered, where repeat experiments applying song theory result in the exact same song being written.

Sullivan can informatively be paraphrased:

[Songwriting] embraces a pluralistic aesthetic where there can be any number of ‘correct’ [songwriting] solutions, much like the process known in art circles as ‘design process’. (Sullivan, 2005, p. 73)

Critics might also argue that case studies or interview strategies would generate novel and more useful data, and that the ‘insider’ view is open to subjectivity, bias, or at the very least the risk of ‘less-than-scientific’ reasoning and analysis. (Denzin

& Lincoln, 2005, p. 4; Sparkes, 2000, p. 24; Wolcott, 1999, p. 48). It is agreed here that in-depth interviews or case studies would be valuable, however these strategies have already been extensively pursued (Coleman 1998; Zollo 2003;

McIntyre 2007 et al), and continue to primarily address the outsider view, however deep the conversations may go. One contributing factor to lessening the

37

veracity of media-style interviews is the problem identified by Bennett where

‘media interviews with successful songwriters often collude in the construction of the fiction’ (in Burnard & Haddon, 2014), and songwriter interviewees use well- rehearsed, stock answers, often perpetuating the Romanticist view of the inspired artist, in order to leverage the interview to support their own cultural and commercial capital. Still missing from this knowledge, then, is what tacit knowing is being utilised in the songwriter’s mind as the artefact is being created, and that important laçuna is what may be redressed through reflexive/reflective autoethnographic research.

An oft-cited broad objection to reflexive/reflective strategies is that inaccurate recall renders such a methodology invalid (Sternberg, 1994b, p. 50). McIntyre argues that not only does this objection also apply to all methodological forms involving recall, including interviews, questionnaires and surveys but ‘the criticisms themselves are only problematic from a purely objectivist ontological and epistemological position’ (McIntyre, 2006a, p. 9).

What is important for an autoethnographic study of songwriting is that it should accurately reflect the lived experience of the working practitioner of songwriting and requires;

…a transparent understanding of the field, which means that an individual can ‘see through’ existing data, texts, and contexts so as to open to alternative conceptions and imaginative options (Sullivan, 2005, pp. 64– 65).

The time-consuming nature of autoethnographic observation is highlighted by

Walliman, who asks ‘how many observations must be made before we can

38

reasonably draw a conclusion that is reliable enough to generalise from?’ and ‘how many situations and under which conditions should the observations be made so that true conclusions can be reached?’ (Walliman, 2010, p. 18). In terms of that criticism, this research has the unusual advantage of longevity in the songwriting world. It can be claimed that the ‘insider’ view has been occurring continuously for this researcher since the early 1970s and advantageously has been steadily documented.

Interviewing members of the field presents its own problems in terms of mediation. The question arises; are the individuals in an interview situation responding to the situation as they would without the presence of the moderator and is the structure of the interview situation also giving an honest and unmediated picture? Additionally, are the questions structured so as to elicit particular responses? Each of these concerns may be countered by suggesting that the use of triangulation, as used here, is designed to at least attempt to overcome the problems applicable to each and every method sitting inside quantitative, qualitative or practice based methodologies.

The use of artefact analysis as a form of triangulation also suggests a further set of limitations usually associated with inference. Since artefacts such as notebooks, photographs, emails, song transcriptions, scores, screenshots, demo recordings and draft songs in sketch form have ‘a story to tell about the person who made it, how it was used, who used it, and the beliefs and values associated with it’ (Norum, in Given, 2008, p. 23), deciphering this information requires an inferential step. It can be seen that this sort of inference building ‘no matter how cleverly interpreted, 39

risks dramatic mistakes in interpretation’ (Lull, 1990, p. 18). However, as

Hammersley and Atkinson argue, ‘while some methods may be more structured and selective than others, all research, however exploratory, involves selection and interpretation’ (1983, p. 13).

A strong critic of autoethnographic methodology, Delamont, compiles a list of issues including claims of it being overly-familiar, ethically flawed, merely experiential, lacking in analytical outcome, focussing on the powerful, abrogating one’s duty to collect data, and simply not interesting enough to be worthy (2008, p.

2). Much of these criticisms seem to be directed at evocative rather than analytical autoethnography, however, each item from Delamont’s list is briefly discussed to ensure this thesis cannot be criticised from those perspectives.

In order to address any claim of over-familiarity, care has been taken to avoid or delete references that are particularly emotional, highly personal, or excessively subjective in nature. While Delamont’s own struggle with personal guilt, introspection, and evocative autoethnography (2009, p. 57) cause her to define her work (rather than autoethnography) in terms of ‘reflexive autobiographical writing on ethnography’ (2009, p. 58), her dramatic generalisation that ‘most autoethnography is about anguish’ (2008) does not apply here. Furthermore, any form of scholarly discussion requires familiarity – how else can one’s conversation be from an informed perspective? For this discussion, those references that are quite personal are used only if their inclusion adds context or perspective to the discussion. Regarding ethical considerations, all relevant parties have reviewed their interview transcripts in their entirety and agreed to their use in this research 40

project. Experiential data should not be dismissed in this realm – it is sourced from expert practitioners, analysed and theorised by an expert practitioner (the author).

The discussion is carefully framed within the context of current research, and each topic draws considerable qualitative depth from such experiential comment and discussion. The analytical outcome is consistently held to the forefront of discussion – great effort has been taken (it is argued, successfully) to remove evocative discussion and stay focussed on results, conclusions, generalizable theories and useful, transferable notions relevant to the research question.

Regarding Delamont’s issue with ‘focussing on the powerful, rather than the powerless’ (2008) it could be argued that this research quest specifically attempts to address the issue - to empower little-c creatives to be able to become more powerful (Big-C) creators, as they move from fair, to good, to great. Rather than abrogating one’s duty to collect data, this research (remarkably) provides useful data collected over a very long research period – 36 years, and from an otherwise- untapped resource – an expert in the songwriting field who also happens to be a scholar with the capacity to place songwriting research within the academic research literature. Regarding whether this research is ‘simply not interesting enough to be worthy’, I would argue that songs and their creation are a valuable topic for discussion culturally, creatively and from a cognitive point of view, and any discussion regarding degrees of creative magnitude, creativity, and the production of creative artefacts, is a worthy pursuit indeed.

Having argued the case for autoethnography, it can still be said that criticisms such as Delamont’s can be taken as a pertinent reminder that with research comes a 41

responsibility and expectation that a scholarly approach ‘in the form of theoretical abstraction or conceptual elaboration’ (Sparkes, 2000, p. 24) needs to be taken and that the principles of scholarship and academic integrity observed.

If there is a possibility that a refusal to accept autoethnography on the part of academe has resulted in missing important information about songwriting, then this needs to be redressed. As is offered by Eisner, a major advantage of taking an autoethnographic approach is that it not only presents the self- reflective researcher as an insider (and thus provides this important view of songwriting), it also presents the researcher as a connoisseur and ‘instrument’ whose personal schema and past experiences provide the sensibilities that make investigation possible (1991, p. 58). Schwandt describes the essence of being a connoisseur as;

…a kind of heightened awareness or educated perception—a particular kind of attention to nuance and details, to multiple dimensions or aspects—that comes from intimate familiarity with the phenomenon being examined. (Schwandt, 1994, p. 129)

To complete the discussion of undertaking an autoethnographic methodology, some discussion of ethics implications and the problematic nature of recall, is needed.

Although triangulated data sources may address some of the possible inexactitudes, field notes reflecting an entire professional career are likely at times to be flawed, and despite ones best efforts, the identity of a person referred to in an autoethnographic piece may be identifiable indirectly, to their embarrassment or discomfort or worse (C. Ellis et al., 2011) and questions of privacy and choice need to be adhered to.

On many occasions, this obligates autoethnographers to show their work to others implicated in or by their texts, allowing these others 42

to respond, and/or acknowledging how these others feel about what is being written about them and allowing them to talk back to how they have been represented in the text. (C. Ellis et al., 2011, para. 31)

2.8 Conclusion

This chapter establishes the ontology, epistemology, and theoretical perspective taken for this research, as well as the methodology and strategies employed. A constructionist ontology is assumed and applied with an empiricist/inductive epistemological approach to knowledge acquisition. Having identified the theoretical perspective of the researcher through the lenses of creativity, multiple intelligences and songwriting specifically, emphasis is placed on the specific task of using the autoethnographic methodology and why such a qualitative approach was necessary. Taking great caution to attend to an analytical, rather than evocative approach, the strategy is then presented. Self-reflexive and reflective inquiry has been undertaken using data-collection techniques including analysis of song artefacts (recordings), blogs and journals and observation through a systems approach particularly using the lens of multiple intelligence theory.

Autoethnographic data (‘insider view’) is triangulated through semi-structured depth interviews- set against existing literature, supporting documents, texts and recordings (‘outsider view’). Referencing that experiential and observational knowledge with existing (traditional) songwriting knowledge, it is indicated that research findings will contribute answers to the research question ‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’ The next chapter will look at what we as researchers already know, through a review of the available literature.

43

44

3.0 Literature Review

3.1 Introduction

While scholars and institutions have for some time studied and taught popular music from a socio-cultural perspective, a review of songwriting-process literature

(C. Harrison, 2012d) reveals that popular, contemporary songwriting practice has not been widely researched academically and that the existing literature is often either skewed towards Euro-classical harmony, African-American jazz theory or

American Midwestern lyric-writing conventions. In terms of the teaching of songwriting, the literature that has so admirably served students of classical and jazz music up until the mid-twentieth century is inadequate and often inappropriate for songs written since the paradigm-shifting 1960s (McDonald,

2000; Middleton, 1990, 2013, Tagg, 2008, 2009, 2011, 2012).

This chapter examines the available scholarly literature across culture, creativity, and songwriting practice, with a particular focus on socio-cultural context, a systemic approach to creativity, and an examination of the value of taking and applying a multiple intelligence approach to songwriting practice. Of particular interest are those factors within the existing literature that potentially answers the research question ‘How do songwriters go from fair, to good, to great?’

Drawing on the work of Bourdieu (1983a, 1986, 1996), Alexander (2003), Becker

(1982), and Wolff (1981), this research will first examine the sociocultural factors that are necessary but not sufficient for creative works to emerge. How society views art, what defines art, and what position songwriting takes within the art

45

realm, are of particular interest to this research. Additionally, what constitutes a creative work and the relevant and related models of creativity will also be reviewed, especially those of Csikszentmihalyi (1988, 1997; 1999a), Pope (2005),

Sternberg (1988; 1994b, 1999a; 2001; 2006; 2010), Kaufman (2001; 2005; 2009;

2010), Weisberg (1993; 2007; 2015), Howe (1999) and Sawyer (2003; 2006).

Creative process, persons, products and place(summarised in Kozbelt, Beghetto and Runco 2010, pp 23-24), as well as staged views of creativity (Wallas, in

Rothenberg & Hausman, 1976, pp. 69–73; Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, pp. 80–81;

Bastick, 1982, pp. 310–311) and creative degrees of magnitude (Csikszentmihalyi,

1997, pp. 25, 26; Sawyer, 2006, p. 8; Kaufman & Beghetto, 2009) are also deemed highly relevant. The subject of multiple intelligence (MI) theory as devised by

Howard Gardner, along with his work on systems, will also be reviewed.

Gardner, working closely with Csikszentmihalyi and Feldman, was formative in the development of the DIFI approach as described in Changing the World: a

Framework for the Study of Creativity, (Feldman, Csikszentmihalyi, & Gardner,

1994). In Creating Minds (1993a) he took up the challenges presented by

Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model and applied it to seven exemplar creators, working through the three nodes; person, field and domain. He identified

‘recurring kinds of tensions or asynchronies which emerge within and especially across these three nodes’ (1993b, p. 46) and explored the idea that a systems approach to creativity ‘will hold across other creative individuals, other domains and other times’ (Gardner, 1993b, p. 47). His work on MI theory has been applied world-wide with measurable success, and songwriting may be especially suited to its application due to the diversity of intellectual capacities outlined in this theory 46

that may be necessary to enable the career songwriter to contribute to the creative system. To that end, Gardner’s many books and articles on MI theory, as well as critiques of the theory and his subsequent responses, will also be reviewed.

With these ideas as a broad framework, academic writing in the domain of contemporary songwriting and its practice will also be examined. Whilst popularist songwriting books abound (usually containing a few tips and some anecdotal information about process), and some tutorial literature is available to those enrolled in tertiary studies, little has been written of an academic nature regarding songwriting practice. As exceptions, McIntyre (2008a) and Bennett

(2010a) have provided peer reviewed research material in the past two decades

(discussed in chapter 3.7), from creativity and cultural production (McIntyre,

2011a) and collaborative process (J. Bennett, 2013) perspectives.

3.2 Sociocultural Approaches to Creativity

We should not expect studies to find the complete and whole truth, but rather a truth. (Becker, 1974b, pp. 3–26)

What do we already know of the society and culture within which creativity and the domain of contemporary western songwriting exists? For the purposes of this research, the social construct of song (constrained as it is by contemporary

Western views), sits prominently in contemporary culture, affecting people’s lives, reflecting their interpersonal love relationships and describing their intrapersonal thoughts and feelings. Songs provide relevant microcosmic stories, lessons, melodies and musical designs that add value throughout contemporary Western society. Speaking more broadly Alexander asserts that;

47

Contemporary understandings of art, aesthetics, and genius are socially constructed and historically contingent (…) academic disciplines rest on a multitude of studies from a variety of approaches and traditions. Each study, if excellent, contributes in its own way to the knowledge of the field (Alexander, 2003, p. 307,309).

One of these studies in the discipline of sociology produced the concept of ‘art worlds’.

3.2.1 Art Worlds

Much of the research into creativity since the 1950s and 1960s focused on creative persons (see chapter 3.3.1). However, in his paper ‘Art as Collective Action’

(1974a) and later in Art Worlds (1982), Howard Becker approached the results of his ethnographic fieldwork differently, focusing less on what had been previously been seen as the creative persons, who he describes as core personnel, but on the staff, that is, the contributing persons, agents, publishers, gallery owners, minor players, even stage hands, parking attendants and ticket sellers, in other words, those who contribute to, affect and effect the realization and distribution of creative works and products. He labeled these people support personnel.

…it might be reasonable to say that what I have done here is not the sociology of art at all, but rather the sociology of occupations applied to artistic work. I would not quarrel with that way of putting it. (Becker, 1982, p. xxv)

In addressing what he sees as ‘the definitional troubles which have always plagued the concept’ (1982, p. 138), Becker uses a broad brush-stroke to describe (rather than define) art;

When we say art we usually mean something like this: a work which has aesthetic value, however that is defined; a work justified by a coherent and defensible aesthetic; a work recognized by appropriate people as having aesthetic value; a work displayed in the appropriate places (hung in museums, played at concerts). (Becker, 1982, p. 138)

48

In the preface to the 25th Anniversary Edition, Becker talks of three important ideas that guided him. The first is that sociology studies how people do things together and asks how they coordinate that activity, which he describes as

‘collective action3’. The second is that comparison is a useful research method simply by placing two case studies side by side and observing their differences, and similarities, and asking why their results differ. Lastly there is process, where sociological analysis consists of finding who did what, how they did it, and what was the result (Becker, 1982, p. xi). These areas, collective action, comparison and process relate directly to, and inform the upcoming discussion in chapters 5 and 6.

3.2.2 The Sociology of the Arts

What was notable in this thinking was a shift from the individual-centred model of creativity towards one that allowed a ‘more general account of the sources of innovation’ (Schaffer, in Boden, 1996, p. 17). Inspired by Becker’s Art Worlds

(1982), Victoria Alexander’s Sociology of the Arts establishes a stepping-off point, an overview of sociological issues and concepts pertaining to the world of fine, popular, and folk arts, including an overview of the terminology and case studies for each topic addressed (2003). Citing Griswold’s (1994) distinction between implicit culture (an abstract feature of social life: how we live and think) and explicit culture (a tangible construction, a performance or product), and similar in many respects to Raymond William’s distinction (in The Sociology of Culture), between culture as a whole way of life and culture as a set of intellectual artefacts

3 Collective action does not only mean cooperating in terms of ‘getting along with one another’. It may include fighting or intriguing against one another. (Becker, 1982, p. 383) 49

(1981, p. 13), Alexander analyzes culture in the explicit sense, and applies the term art to mean any of the products created within the fine, popular or folk art realms4

(2003, pp. 2–7), identifying two ideas that link approaches to the discipline of sociology;

First, sociology endeavours to generate theory, (…) to describe how society works, (…) to go beyond mere description of the social world and to attempt to theorize it, that is, to explain how it works. Second, sociology looks at systems, structures and culture; that is, at the connections among individuals, the stabilizing patterns emerging from social interaction, and meaning that is shared across individuals (Alexander, 2003, p. 7).

Rather than look at the exemplar creators of Gardner (1993a), the genius of Howe

(1999), or the make-up of particular persons as discussed in Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention and referred to as the 10 dimensions of complexity (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 58), Alexander maintains that sociology looks at the relationship between people and systems, structures and culture. She provides four approaches (2003, pp. 7–17) for analytical consideration of sociology (however, not all theories fit neatly into the four boxes); Positivists,

Interpretivists, Critical Sociologists:, and Postmodernists. For Alexander, the easiest way to understand postmodernism is to contrast it with modernism;

Modernism, as an era, was the capitalist, industrial society, characterized by a ‘Fordist’ production system. (…) Postmodernism questions positivistic science and sociology, rejecting all forms of generalizing, and highlights the absolute relativity of all forms of knowledge, and the unknowableness of reality. Postmodernism appears mainly in studies of audiences and the reception of art. (Alexander, 2003, p. 13)

These four approaches follow, respectively, the works of Emile Durkheim(1895,

4 Alexander avoids giving a formal definition for art, but does provide the following broad description; ‘Art includes the tangible, visible, and/or audible products of creative endeavor’ (2003, p. 1),

50

1982), Max Weber (1946, 2009), Karl Marx (1846, 2010), (1859, 1963) and Michel

Foucault (1977), although Foucault disputed the title of Postmodernist. They can for convenience sake be divided as Alexander argues into either; reflection approaches, which investigate how society influences its art, or shaping approaches, which investigate how art affects and influences the society of the time, and can be used to examine art practice (Alexander, 2003, pp. 21–33).

While these approaches tend to concentrate on either production or consumption of culture, Alexander adapted Griswold’s Cultural Diamond (1994), adding distributors in the centre, to recognize the role that distributors of culture also play. She suggests that;

Art is communication. Art has to get from the people who create it to the people who consume it. That is, art is distributed by some person, organization, or network. (…) artists can stand apart from the distribution system (…) or can be deeply embedded within it. (…) Artistic conventions and production techniques, not to mention artists, influence the content or art works, and the filtering effects of distribution systems determine which cultural products reach audiences (Alexander, 2003, p. 62,63).

This cultural diamond can be laid out graphically in the following way demonstrating art affecting society, and society affecting art;

51

3.2.3 The Modified Cultural Diagram

Figure 1 - Modified Cultural Diagram (Alexander 2003, p. 62)

For Alexander, production approaches examine factors on the left hand side relating to creation, production and distribution of art. Conversely, theories which constitute the consumption or culture, reception approaches, focus on the right- hand side of the cultural diamond and look at how people consume, use, and receive art (2003, p. 67,181). However, while providing a convenient visual aid to relationships, the diagrammatic approach is problematic since;

The heuristic simplicity of separate, abstract categories of art, creator, consumer and society (…) separates in theory what can never be separable in life: art, artists, consumers, and ideological beliefs are society; they do not stand apart from it, but rather, are part of it (Alexander, 2003, p. 292).

If this claim is true, then how best can we account for the complexity of the relationships involved? One answer may lie in the ideas expressed by Pierre

Bourdieu (1983a, 1983b, 1993, 1996) who situates artistic works within the social conditions of their production, circulation and consumption, and analyses the cultural field itself, as well as within societal power structures. Bourdieu; 52

…argues that it is the interplay between a field of works which presents possibilities of action to an individual who possesses the necessary habitus, partially composed of personal levels of social, cultural, symbolic and economic capital that then inclines them to act and react within particular structured and dynamic spaces called fields. These fields are arenas of production and circulation of goods, ideas and knowledges. They are populated by other agents who compete using various levels of the forms of capital pertinent to that field. Bourdieu suggests that it is the interplay between these various spheres of cultural production that makes practice possible (McIntyre, 2008b).

This work from Bourdieu is particularly relevant for its concepts of ‘habitus’ and

‘cultural capital’. He defines cultural capital as;

…a form of knowledge, an internalized code or a cognitive acquisition which equips the social agent with empathy towards, appreciation for or competence in deciphering cultural relations and cultural artefacts (…) a work of art has meaning or interest only for someone who possesses the cultural competence, that is, the code, into which it is encoded. The inculcation of such cultural capital (the possession of the code) is a long process of education involving family, groups, institutions and educated members of the group. (Bourdieu, 1983b, p. 7)

‘Habitus’ is described by Bourdieu’s editor and translator Randall Johnson as ‘… a

‘feel for the game’, a ‘practical sense’ (sens practique) that inclines agents to act in a manner not obedient to rules, but based on a ‘second nature’’ (1983a, p. 5). While these ideas have some correspondence with tacit knowledge (Polanyi, 1966)) there is also, as McIntyre (2003) describes, some confluence between Bourdieu

(1977, 1983b, 1986, pp. 241–258, 1996) and psychologist Mihaly

Csikszentmihalyi’s (1997; 1999a, pp. 325–329, 1999a, pp. 313–335) idea of interplay in a creative system (discussed more fully in chapter 4). For both these theorists there is an interplay between a space of works (domain), habitus (domain knowledge and expertise of the individual), and social, cultural, symbolic and economic capital (field) (McIntyre, 2013a, p. 3,5). McIntyre had previously described songwriters becoming immersed in the domain to such an extent that 53

they develop a ‘feel’ for how to write songs, having forgotten (effectively) how they came to make the creative choices they make and saw this ‘development of the songwriter’s habitus (Bourdieu, 1977, 1990, 1996) as an intuitive use of information [that] appears to support Tony Bastick’s (1982) conception of intuition’ (McIntyre, 2008a, p. 43).

Rather than seeing these things as biologically or psychologically innate Keith

Negus (1996, p. 4) describes human experience as grounded in cultural activities

(music and songwriting being prime examples) which are understood and given meaning through language and symbol systems. Citing Ray Williams’ view (in The

Long Revolution) of ‘ordinary’ culture as opposed to European ‘high’ culture (1966, p. 56), and Dick Hebdige’s exploration of subcultures (1995), Negus, in Popular

Music in Theory: An Introduction, examines British music subcultures and connects the work of Sarah Thornton (1996, p. 162) with Bourdieu (1996) when he describes a form of ‘subcultural capital which is;

…used by aspiring youth groups as a way of gaining status and to differentiate their own preferences and activities from those of other social groups. (Negus, 1996, p. 21)

This differentiation may also be seen more specifically in the way art and craft have been treated as oppositional concepts.

3.2.4 Oppositions between Art or Craft and Art or Commerce

Practitioners of art and craft belong to distinct professional groups, and (…) their activities differ appreciably in social status and rewards. (Boden, 2012, p. 50)

In Creativity and Art: Three Roads to Surprise, Margaret Boden distinguishes

[broadly speaking] between art and craft, saying that crafts typically display only

54

minor novelty, are less surprising, and elicit wonder not by what is done, but by how well it is done (2012, p. 4). She attributes the following attributes to art; it thrives on novelty and surprise, may be non-functional, sets its own aesthetic standards, stresses the exploration of ideas, and aims for individual limelight, and is based on indicative perception – gaining information. Craft, on the other hand, is traditional, functional, focussed on skills perfection, content with anonymous, if respected mastery, and based on enactive perception – enabling activity (2012, pp.

50–54).

…fine artists (…) look down their noses at the crafts because – shock, horror! –even highly decorative craftworks are potentially useful (Boden, 2012, p. 67).

These distinctions raise an interesting point. If craft is useful, and fine art avoids usefulness, then we have a dilemma, as ‘useful’ is a fundamental criterion of our definition of creativity (see later), and one could conclude logically that fine art is therefore not creative, and that craft is. Negus, however, rejects this binary oppositional view of craft versus art, and agrees with Simon Frith who also rejects the ‘clichéd opposition of art and commerce’ (1995, pp. 102–115). But whereas in

Art into Pop, Frith claims that pop music has provided the ‘solution [his italics] to the tension between commerce and creativity’ (Frith & Horne, 1987, p. 180), Negus believes Frith ‘too easily sweeps aside the sentiments of rock musicians and fans’ who do express their experience of record companies in terms of a conflict between commerce and creativity (1996, p. 325).

Recognising the symbiotic relationship between the two, McIntyre (2011a, pp.

148–159) contextualises the systems model of creativity and cultural production within the media industries, especially in the domains of songwriting and 55

recording. Bringing together the propositions of Bourdieu (1977, 1993) and

Csikszentmihalyi (1988, 1997) he highlights the importance of immersion to cultural producers (inculcation in the domain, or ‘habitus’ ), and applies the systems model of creativity to Western popular music songwriting (McIntyre,

2006b, 2008a, p. 43), examining the domain of songwriting, how songwriters acquired that domain to gain the habitus of songwriters, how the field operated in contributing to the selection of certain material over others, and finally, how songwriters, as the person in the system, contributed to this systemic process and were located as agents within their own personal sociocultural background and its associated values.

3.2.5 The Role of Gatekeepers and Value Judgment

Alexander describes a study of the popular music industry by Lopes (1992, pp.

165–185) as follows;

…the music industry does not produce innovations, although it may tap them. Once the innovations are pulled into the commercial system, the diversity of recorded music may increase as a consequence. The music industry plays a crucial, gatekeeping role in bringing music to the general public, nevertheless – and it can exclude innovations as well as include them. (Alexander, 2003, p. 111)

The gatekeeping role as described is, unfortunately, subject to abuse at the hands of powerful self-interested industry figures. As Csikszentmihalyi describes part of this process is that ‘intellectual or power elites hide their knowledge on purpose to keep to themselves the advantages that go with the information’ (1997, p. 337).

Bourdieu (in The Rules of Art: Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field), also identifies the class ‘snobbery’ sometimes apparent in judgments of taste, and highly visible in the songwriting domain;

56

No judgment of taste is innocent. In a word, we are all snobs. (…) social snobbery is everywhere in the bourgeois world. The different aesthetic choices people make are all distinctions-that is, choices made in opposition to those made by other classes. (…) The social world, (…) functions simultaneously as a system of power relations and as a symbolic system in which minute distinctions of taste become the basis for social judgment. (Bourdieu, 1986, pp. 1–7)

If this is the case it can also be claimed that each musical ‘tribe’ looks to differentiate themselves from others, watches out for non-conforming songs, and rejects them (See Ch. 7.4, Authenticity) on the basis of the criteria the group itself sets up and uses. From this position it can be argued that sociocultural context is therefore important to understand in relation to songwriting specifically and music more generally.

Having briefly looked at the socio-cultural world inhabited by songwriters and begun to understand some of its models and literature, we can now begin to examine specific research into creativity and how it exists, survives and flourishes in a complex relationship to those sociocultural spheres.

3.3 Creativity

3.3.1 Creativity Research

3.3.1.1 An Historical View of Creativity

In Explaining Creativity: the Science of Human Innovation (2006), R. Keith Sawyer focusses on a socio-cultural approach to creativity, and describes creativity as a response to broader social forces including the mechanized society of the late 19th century. As Sharon Bailin explains in Achieving Extraordinary Ends: An Essay on

Creativity; ‘in previous centuries, creativity tended to be viewed in terms of divine

57

inspiration or individual genius’ (1988, p. 2). These historical developments led to two widespread views that Margaret Boden, in The Creative Mind: Myths &

Mechanisms, calls ‘the inspirationist and the romantic’ (1991, p. 14). However she stresses that ‘they are not theories so much as myths; imaginative constructions, whose function it is to express the values, assuage the fears, and endorse the practices of the community that celebrates them’ (1991). Despite the belief in these historically generated discourses, ‘the present century, the latter half in particular, has been witness, however, to attempts to deal with this concept in a new way – scientifically’ (Bailin, 1988, p. 2).

R. Keith Sawyer in particular prefers this rationalist approach. He sees Rationalism as ‘the belief that creativity is generated by the conscious, deliberate, intelligent, rational mind; Romanticism is the belief that creativity bubbles up from an irrational unconscious, and that rational deliberation interferes with the creative process’ (Sawyer, 2006, p. 23). However, whilst Sawyer’s self-described sociocultural view may separate him from other psychologists who have tended toward the psychologically reductionist, it is misleading to exclude the individual contribution in the terminology that describes the phenomenon. This research is better served by emphasizing a confluent systems approach (discussed in chapter

4.0) where multiple factors, including the individual, contribute to creativity in an interdependent way. But it took some time to develop what has now been called a confluence approach to creativity.

In his 1950 APA Presidential address, J.P. Guilford pointed out that creativity was, at that point, a relatively neglected field and concentrated his further efforts on the 58

relationship between creativity and intelligence (1962). In his 1967 work The

Nature of Human Intelligence, he presented his Structure of the Intellect (SI) model suggesting three dimensions of intelligence. These were; operations, content and products (Guilford, 1967). He then proceeded to develop tests for creativity and intelligence putting action to his own words. Following his important APA address, as Sawyer (2006, p. 4) points out, creativity research then occurred in three waves; the first (1950s and 1960s) focused on creative personalities, the second (1970s and 1980s) focused on the cognitive approach, and the third wave of the 1980s and

1990s reflected an increasing interest in a sociocultural approach. In locating these various approaches in their book The Creativity Question, Rothenberg and

Hausman follow historically the philosophical and psychological lineage of thinking on creativity, from Plato and Aristotle, through Helmholtz, Galton, Wallas,

Freud, Thurstone, Guilford, Koestler, and Torrance (1976). Building on this work in his book Creativity: Theory, History, Practice, Rob Pope suggests;

The coming-of-age of creativity as an academic study, chiefly in and around psychology, can be traced to Sternberg 1988 and Runco and Albert 1990; and subsequent maturity can be appreciated in Boden 1994 and 2004, Runco and Pritzer 1999 and Sternberg 1999. (Pope, 2005, p. 273)

Robert Sternberg, an active contributor, collaborator and editor of much of the important writing on the matter, (1994a, 1999a, 1999b, 2006; 2001; 2002; 1988), provides a convergent or confluence based approach to creativity research. In general, confluence theories of creativity offer the possibility of accounting for diverse aspects of creativity’ (Lubart, 1994)

In their Handbook of Creativity, Sternberg and Lubart describe a trend toward convergence theories of creativity (1999a, p. 10). For example, Teresa Amabile 59

argues that creativity occurs as a result of a confluence of intrinsic motivation, domain-relevant knowledge and abilities, and creativity-relevant skills (1983).

Gruber and Davis propose a developmental evolving-systems model with a convergence of purpose, knowledge and affect (1988) and Csikszentmihalyi takes a different, ‘systems’ approach, highlighting the interdependency of individual, field and domain (1988, 1997). Howard Gardner describes individual, field, and domain as three ‘nodes’ of the creative triangle, and highlights what he terms ‘fruitful asynchrony’ as an important factor in this confluence of factors (see chapter 8.7), where asynchrony in this sense refers to ‘a lack of fit, an unusual pattern, or an irregularity within the creative triangle’ (1993a, p. 38).

3.3.1.2 Defining Creativity

From this overview it can be seen that much has been written from the view of psychologists, sociologists and philosophers. Over the past 25 years, researchers have attempted to fine-tune a definition of creativity through a range of terminology. For example, Kaufman and Sternberg (2010, p. 467) vouch for the inclusion of ‘originality’, and highlight ‘novelty’ and ‘quality’, where quality also implies ‘good’ or ‘useful’ (2010, p. 467. Gardner adds ‘solving problems’ and

‘defining new questions’ as outcomes of creativity (1993a, p. 33), and (noting the inculcation of habitus as described by Bourdieu), McIntyre includes notions of

‘antecedent conditions’ and makes the distinction of adding to the knowledge

(2006b). Boden includes the term ‘surprising’ (2012, p. 12), Weisberg requires the production of ‘goal-directed novelty’ (1993, p. 244) and Sawyer advocates

‘appropriateness’ in his socio-cultural definition of the term. He asserts that

60

‘creativity is the creation of a product that is judged to be novel and also to be appropriate, useful or valuable by a suitably knowledgeable social group’ (Sawyer,

2006, p. 9). In deference to the United States Patent Office description, ‘eligibility depends on the applicant proving that the invention is new, useful, and non- obvious’, Dean Keith Simonton includes the terms ‘original’ and ’non-obvious’, the implication being that the invention would not be considered obvious to someone who has ‘ordinary skill in the art’ (2014).

For Keith Negus however, it has proven difficult to maintain a consistent definition for creativity that can be applied even across sub-genres of popular music, let alone across all forms of creative enterprise;

Each genre is created with its own conventions of creativity; there are quite different conceptions of what is good and bad, artificial and authentic, true and false, in rap, rock, soul, disco, world beat and so on. (Negus, 1996, p. 334)

Finally, and significantly for this research, Csikszentmihalyi posits his ‘systems’ model as follows;

Creativity results from the interaction of a system composed of three elements: a culture that contains symbolic rules, a person who brings novelty into the domain, and a field of experts who recognise and validate the innovation. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 6)

In response to the ongoing debate about exactly what creativity is, Plucker,

Beghetto & Dow compiled a comparative chart of scholarly definitions of the term

‘creativity’ and as a result offered the following: For them creativity is;

…the interaction among aptitude, process, and environment by which an individual or group produces a perceptible product that is both novel and useful as defined within a social context. (Plucker, Beghetto, & Dow, 2004)

Conscious of the commonalties, and for brevity and consistency, this research will simply use ‘novel and useful’ to imply all the above considerations and for clarity, it 61

will refer to McIntyre, who integrates Bourdieu and Csikszentmihalyi, and many other significant academic voices;

…creativity is a productive activity where objects, processes and ideas are generated from antecedent conditions through the agency of someone, whose knowledge to do so comes from somewhere and the resultant novel variation is seen as a valued addition to the store of knowledge in at least one social setting. (McIntyre, 2008b)

3.3.1.3 The ‘Genius’ Debate

Concurrent with the search for a definition of creativity has been the debate as to whether the highly creative person should be characterized as a ‘genius’. Weisberg refutes the genius view of creativity as a ‘myth’, and argues for an analogical, convergent creative process model, describing it as the ‘ordinary view’ (1993, pp.

3, 7). However Briggs talks of highly creative persons who connect facts or information in new or unusual ways, or see significance where others see only anomalies, ascribing to that ability the title ‘genius’ (1984, p. 76). On the other hand, Csikszentmihalyi distinguishes between brilliant persons who express unusual thoughts and who are interesting and stimulating, insightful people who are personally creative whose perceptions are fresh, whose judgments are insightful and who make important discoveries that only they know about and, his final category, creative persons who have changed our culture in some important aspect. He posits that genius is ‘…perhaps brilliant and creative at the same time’

(1997, pp. 26, 27). In Genius Explained, Michael Howe adds further clarity, identifying four areas for discussion. He suggests prodigies can be explained by examining their childhood and that the capacities of a genius are gained gradually.

He asserts that geniuses are undeniably special, but that quality is not necessarily mysterious and that understanding genius is a problem, not a mystery (Howe,

62

1999, pp. 9–22), and based on my professional experience, I agree (see chapter

7.4.2.5 regarding ‘perfect pitch’).

3.3.1.4 Difficulty of Testing Creativity

In trying to resolve the mysteries of genius and creativity in general, various testing mechanisms for creativity have been employed, each with some strengths, but none adequate to satisfy all the elements of validity and reliability. Sawyer provides a comprehensive list of the most commonly used testing mechanisms5 and notes that the most widely used category of creative testing are the divergent thinking (DT) tests (2006, pp. 40–46). Following historically from Binet in 1896

(Barron & Harrington, 1981, pp. 439–476) and Guilford’s ‘Structure–of-Intellect’

(SOI) model (Guilford, 1959), to the Torrance Tests of Creative Thinking (E.P.

Torrance, 1974), Sawyer found that neither DT testing nor IQ testing could render a valid and reliable test for general creativity and that ‘all these testing methods for creativity have fallen short in some way’ (Sawyer, 2006, pp. 49–51). Sternberg and his colleagues continued the work of Torrance (1962) in searching for ways to test creativity (Gruber & Davis, 1988; Sternberg, 2006; Sternberg et al., 2001;

Sternberg & Lubart, 2002) but despite claiming to widen measurement away from

Spearman’s belief in a single, general, overriding factor of intelligence, or ‘g’ (1987, pp. 201–292), a view widely adopted and referred to by the field of psychology,

5 CAT – Consensual Assessment Technique (Getzels & Csikszentmihalyi 1976), Barron Welsh Art Scale (Barron & Welsh, 1952, pp. 199–203), IPAR Word Rearrangement Test (Barron 1963, pp. 139–152), Hall Mosaic Construction Test (Hall, 1972, pp. 225–235), LCS – Lifetime Creativity Scale (Richards, Kinney, Benet, & Merzel, 1988, pp. 476–485), CAQ – Creative Achievement Questionnaire (Carson, Peterson, & Higgins, 2005, pp. 37–50), RIBS – Runco Ideational Behaviour Scale (Runco, Plucker, & Lim, 2001, pp. 393–400), ACL – Adjective Check List (Gough, 1979, pp. 1398–1405), DCS - Domino Creative Scale (Domino, 1970, pp. 48–51), RAT – Remote Associations Test (Mednick, 1963, pp. 265–266), and CFT – Creative Functioning Test (G. J. Smith & Carlsson, 1987, pp. 7–14)

63

Sternberg’s tests themselves could still be described as skewed toward predominantly logical-mathematical skills and especially linguistic skills, with a small spatial component giving them a particular bias. Sawyer identifies another possible factor making creativity testing difficult;

The holy grail of creativity assessment research is a personality test to measure general creativity ability (…) if there’s no such thing as domain-general creative ability, then no general creativity test could ever be successful. (Barron, 1955) in (Sawyer, 2006, p. 58)

The difficulty of domain-general creativity testing is reinforced by Gardner, who identifies the interdisciplinary nature of creativity and emphasises that;

All creative work occurs in one or more domains. Individuals are not creative (or noncreative) in general (…) the study of creativity is inherently interdisciplinary (Gardner, in Boden, 1996, p. 145)

In order for creativity testing to be relevant for a domain such as songwriting, other capacities including musical, kinesthetic, intrapersonal, interpersonal, and naturalistic intelligences would need to be valued, as described by Gardner (1983,

1999). Not only is testing creativity at domain-general levels highly problematic, many views of creativity also make a distinction between different types of creativity with various orders of magnitude. John Baer’s ongoing discussion (and decade-long debate with Weisberg) into the area of interdisciplinary transfer of creativities is significant, and has recently been addressed by this researcher (C. M.

Harrison, 2016).

3.3.1.5 Categories of Creative Magnitude

A variety of potentially useful models of creative magnitude have been proposed by interested scholars. Following Eysenck’s idea of private novelty, ‘that which I discover and which is new to me’, and public novelty, ‘that which I discover which 64

is new to everyone’ (in Boden, 1996, p. 201), Margaret Boden makes a useful distinction between ‘P’ creativity6 (new to the person) and ‘H’ creativity (new in history) (1991). Significantly, and in a critical refutation of their presentation as a dichotomy, Boden notes that there is a deep connection between both types of creativity since by definition ‘there can be no psychological [P] explanation of this historical [H] category. But all H-creative ideas, by definition, are P-creative too’

(Boden, 1996, p. 77). One must firstly be P creative prior to becoming H creative, indicating not so much a polar division between these two types but a fundamental similarity, indicating a continuum from one to the other. Boden’s P-creativity also implies some magnitude of productivity (see also chapter 7.3.7.1 Productivity

Theory) which does move it some way toward the Pro-C distinction made by

Kozbelt, Beghetto & Runco, who also assert that the dichotomy presented between

Big C (eminent) and little c (everyday) creativity can ‘lack nuance and (…) be too inclusive in some instances and not inclusive enough in others’ (Kozbelt et al.,

2010, p. 23). In an effort to move beyond the limitations of the binary categories of little and Big C creativity, they suggest four types of creative magnitude which may also be imagined as stages along a continuum. These types move from mini-c

(personal), to little-c (everyday), to Pro-C (professional) and on through to Big C

(or eminent) creativity. For Kozbelt, Beghetto and Runco, ‘Pro-C makes room for professional level creators (like professional artists) who have not yet attained (or who may never attain) eminent status, but who are well beyond little-c creators’

(2010, p 24).

6 ‘P’ stands for both ‘person’ and for ‘psychology’ (Boden, 2012, p. 70)

65

In Table 1 below, they provide a useful comparison of the categories of creative magnitude favored by various contributors to the discussion and also provide an overview of the various perspectives on creativity delineated in terms of category, primary assertion, key concepts levels of magnitude and major studies and examples. They also provide an overview of the focus

Table 1 - Summary of Theories of Creativity

66

3.3.1.6 Little-c to Big-C creativity

A popular comparison adopted by many in the psychology community in the 1990s

(Sawyer, 2006, p. 10), is between ‘little–c’ (everyday), and ‘Big-C’ (eminent) creative works. In this context, a songwriter could be considered creative if they produce a body of works, but only the field may attribute the term Big-C to someone who changes the domain and who Gardner would refer to as an Exemplar

Creator. To that end, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Carole

King, Paul Simon, and Kurt Cobain, might be deemed Big-C creators. The problem with the little-c to Big-C dichotomy is that it does not account for creativities of the beginner or the prolific songwriter who contributes a great deal without changing the domain much, if at all. The Big-C (eminent)/little-c (everyday) dichotomy can

‘lack nuance and (…) be too inclusive in some instances and not inclusive enough in others’ (Kozbelt et al. 2010, p. 23) For songwriters of my persuasion then, the four

‘c’s model of creativity – mini-c, Little-c, Pro-C and Big-C adapted from Kozbelt et, al appears more relevant.

Songwriting Degrees of Creativity

Mini–c Little-c Pro-C Big-C

Songwriting in Everyday Professional Eminent, children or novices innovation expertise exemplary in a domain domain-changing domain-creating Songs that show a Songs that are not Songs that Songs that willingness to particularly new to contribute to the stimulate a new explore and the field, but signal domain without sub-genre or affect experiment progress for the changing it the culture creatively songwriter substantially7

7 Discussed further in Ch 8.8. See also (Kuhn, 1996) for discussion on Normal (elaborating on an existing paradigm) and Revolutionary science (proposing a new paradigm) 67

Figure 2 - The Four 'C's of Creativity From a songwriting perspective that recognizes from the inside the nuances involved, this model appears a more desirable way to categorize types of creativity, where mini-c refers to transformative learning in children or novices in a domain, little-c refers to everyday innovation, Pro-C refers to professional expertise of the type I demonstrably possess, and Big-C is reserved for eminent, domain-changing accomplishments that are the purview of popular music history.

Having identified the models likely to assist in identifying degrees of creative magnitude, we now need to locate which particular aspects of creativity it is we wish to examine, and which are most likely to inform this particular discussion.

3.3.1.7 Three Kinds of Creativity

Following Johnson-Laird in (Sternberg, 1988), and Baer (1993, p. 5) we can describe three main kinds of creativity. These are spontaneous (real-time), measured (multi-staged) and radical (paradigm-shifting). It is contended here that songwriting as a form of creativity is best described by the second, multistage description;

Real-time:

Spontaneous, or real-time creativity is exemplified by jazz improvisation, the activities of modern dance, and can even be seen in everyday conversation. In real- time creativity there is no time for pondering alternate possibilities or solutions or to revise decisions once made. The judgement of success or otherwise by the field is contextualised by the restraint of time. In these circumstances ‘errors’ are tolerated as an important element of expression. Whilst real-time creativity in this

68

sense does not generally apply to the songwriting process, one could include nuances of song performance such as the real-time singing and playing ‘tweaks’ that performers do on-the-fly during the recording process itself.

Multistage:

In a measured and not time-constrained situation there is the time and opportunity to consider multiple solutions, to evaluate and revise choices, and investigate multiple possibilities. Contrasting with the way a conversation is

‘improvised’ in real-time, a letter, email or song lyric can be written, edited, planned and refined in a multi-stage process before being communicated. The judgement of success or otherwise is by the field based upon perceived value and is often done without allowance for time constraint. It is claimed here that the world of the professional songwriter involves, for the most part, multistage construction of song artefacts along certain lines. Based upon (through domain immersion) an awareness of genre-specific norms, antecedent traditions, likely possibilities and constraints, and an educated awareness of the preferences and requirements of the field, the songwriter generates multiple possible candidate solutions to the question ‘what song shall we next embrace, accept, and deem worthy?’

Paradigm-shifting:

Radical creativity that changes a domain, develops it into completely a new domain, or creates options, possibilities and solutions that were previously unavailable, is deemed to be paradigm shifting. In order for that type of creativity to occur, there can be few constraints on the candidate solutions. Examples of times when Western songwriting constraints were limited, thus opening up new

69

possibilities, might include the advent of the 1960s singer-songwriter, the anarchy of Punk in the 1970s, the de-emphasis of melody in Rap in the 1980s, the proliferation of techno dance styles of the 1990s (previously unavailable in pre- digital times) and in the 2000’s, song globalization through file-transfer, downloads, and sharing via the internet.

3.1.1.6 The Four P’s of Creativity

The main kinds of creativity described above will also have some connection and be located within, what are typically called the ‘four P’s of creativity’. These four P’s of creativity initially proposed in the early 60s (Rhodes, 1961, pp. 305–310), have traditionally been described as: process, product, person and place, although

Weisberg refers to only three (omitting place), when proposing questions about creativity (1993, p. 5). The fourth ‘p’, place (or pressure) has been examined and focused upon by others (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997; Gardner, 1993; McIntyre, 2011a).

While all four are discussed in depth in chapter 7, the literature regarding process models is of particular interest to this research so we will examine that in more detail here.

3.3.2 Creative Process Models

In 1891, Helmholtz described the way his new and important [by our definition: creative] thoughts came to him;

…after having studied a problem ‘in all directions (…) happy ideas come unexpectedly without effort, like an inspiration. So far as I am concerned, they have never come to me when my mind was fatigued, or when I was at my working table. They came particularly readily during the slow ascent of wooded hills on a sunny day’ (Helmholtz, in Wallas, 1926).

This represents a vivid description of Helmholtz’s view of his own process which can be aligned with three distinctive stages in the creative process; preparation,

70

incubation, and inspiration. In The Art of Thought, Graham Wallas builds upon

Helmholtz’s three stages, adding a fourth, verification (1926). McIntyre notes that

‘Bastick saw that the first three could be subsumed inside the notion of intuition’

(2008b) resulting in just two; intuition and verification. Csikszentmihalyi prefers a five-stage model, but warns it should not be taken too literally, stating that this

‘classic analytic framework leading from preparation to elaboration gives a severely distorted picture of the creative process’ (1997, p. 80). Highlighting the need for recursivity in any process model, he reminds us that ‘it is essential to remember...that the five stages in reality are not exclusive but typically overlap and recur several times before the process is completed’ (1997, p. 83). Sawyer and

Scheffler concur on the recursive nature of the evaluation stage, Scheffler highlighting evaluation and reconsideration at each stage (Sawyer, 2006, p. 133;

Scheffler, in Bailin, 1988, p. 123). David and Arthur Cropley prefer a seven phase model focusing on the core products of each phase (in Kaufman & Beghetto, 2009).

To summarize the diversity of models, Sawyer provides a diagrammatic reference

(Table 2, below) for the various models proposed by researchers since Wallas’ original four-stage model of 1926 (2006, p. 89):

71

Table 2 - Sawyer's Eight Stages of the Creative Process

Creative Possibility Problem thinking Solving IDEAL cycle (Burnard, (Isaksen, Dorval (Bransford Robert Craft & Mumford's Sawyer's Wallas & Treffinger, & Stein, Sternberg Grainger, UK QCA Synectics (Gordon group (Scott et Eight Stages (1926) 2000) 1984) (2006) 2006) (QCA,2005) 1961) a., 2004) Identify Questioning Redefine 1 Find the problem Framing problems problems, Posing questions and Problem finding problems define goals challenging Acquire the Know the Information 2 Preparation Exploring data Learn Groundwork knowledge domain gathering Gather related Envisaging 3 Look Immersion Immersion information what might be Explore Constructing Take time Keeping 4 Incubation Incubation possible Play Concept search opportunities off options open strategies Generate Being 5 Generate ideas Insight Generating ideas Exploring ideas Divergent exploration Idea generation ideas imaginative Making Cross- Developing connections Conceptual fertilize 6 Combine ideas solutions and seeing combination ideas relationships Select the best Reflecting 7 Verification Judging ideas critically on Selection Idea evaluation ideas ideas Articulation of solution, Act and Implementation Building Sell the idea, Self- development and Elaboration anticipate planning and 8 Externalise ideas acceptance preserve determination transformation, outcomes action monitoring implementation

Bearing in mind each of the above caveats, we can now take a closer look at the various stages of the process.

3.3.2.1 Preparation

It takes a very long time to acquire the kind of sensibility that can make intelligent, sound discriminations, what’s good and what’s not good, what has already been done and what therefore now needs to be done which is different from all the stuff in the past. All that takes time (Hecht, in Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 252).

Following Hecht, Hayes found that the typical length of time between beginning musical instruction to production of the individual’s first ‘notable’ or ‘masterwork’ was ten years (1989, pp. 135–145). This ten-year ‘rule of thumb’ indicates the necessity of assimilating a ‘habitus’ or becoming immersed in the domain, as ‘only by immersing oneself in the domain can one find out whether there is room left for contributing creatively to it, and whether one is capable of doing so’

(Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 152). As Goleman points out however, 10,000 hours is

72

necessary but not sufficient; it cannot consist of mindless, semi-attentive muscular repetition, but must entail focussed, deliberate practice, constantly adjusted for ability, and including feedback loops to evaluate progress and development (2013, pp. 161–166). Songwriters, then, would benefit from having time enough to make important distinctions, learn the craft, study the artefacts, and become socialised in the culture. In terms of adeptus, the possession of all the attributes of an expert or master, preparation refers to the application of recursive, directed practice and reflection over an extended time period. This form of immersion lays the foundation for the other aspects of the preparation stage; the identification of problems to solve, acquisition of domain knowledge, question posing, information gathering and data exploration Sawyer (2006, p. 89).

3.3.2.2 Incubation

Wallas’ term incubation, drawn from biology, refers to ‘unobserved and unobservable operations within the creative process’ (Rothenberg & Hausman,

1976, p. 14). Csikszentmihalyi suggests that ‘after a creative person senses that something does not fit (…) the process of creativity usually goes underground for a while (…) it is important to let problems simmer below the threshold of consciousness for a time’ (1997, p. 98). Nickerson agrees asserting that ‘feeling of warmth judgments tend to increase with time when people work on problems that do not require an insight for solution, but not when they work on problems that do’ (in 1999a, p. 396).

Weisberg offers a concept of analogical transfer, wherein existing knowledge or design is transferred to an analogous situation and applied to create some novel

73

and useful variation or development (1993, p. 93). He cites the ‘whirling snakes’ dream of Kekulé as an example of ‘remote’ analogical thinking, and other examples to demonstrate the more common ‘near’ analogical thinking such as ray therapy transferred to light bulb repair, Whitney’s cotton gin, Watt’s steam engine and

Wright’s airplane (1993, pp. 99–113). This latter concept follows Arthur Koestler’s definition of creativity as the ‘bisociation’ of two conceptual matrices which are not normally associated, that is, the ‘sudden interlocking of two previously unrelated skills, or matrices of thought’ (1963, p. 121). Incubation then is a time for exploring possibilities, constructing strategies, taking time off from the problem, play, and concept searching.

In Creativity: Beyond the Myth of Genius Weisberg disputes the idea of incubation and subsequent illumination claiming that accounts of the usefulness, prevalence and validity of this notion are problematic (1993, pp. 44–47). He cites examples of tests carried out by Eindhoven, Vinacke and Olton and concludes that ‘no evidence for unconscious incubation’ (Weisberg, 1993, p. 48) exists, and by way of support states in conclusion, that incubation is ‘difficult to demonstrate in controlled situations’ (1993, p. 48). While he asserts that ‘there is no evidence save subjective reports that subconscious incubation occurs’ (1993, p. 67) he does concede, although not categorizing the phenomenon as divergent, that artist reports of inspiration do bear some consideration (1993, p. 252.253). Pope goes further, however, and questions the definition of ‘unconscious’ processes, suggesting that rather than considering the states of consciousness and unconsciousness as a binary relationship there may be a continuum between the two (2005, p. 70). In this regard Fromm describes fifteen major waking and altered states of 74

consciousness, ranging along the primary/secondary process continuum (1978;

Fromm & Shor, 2009, p. 100). Such a continuum is also referred to by Boden (1996, p. 163).

Resonating strongly with this researcher’s songwriting experience, Bastick (1982) speaks of pre-conscious thought occurring in states of hypnogogic reverie (the dreamlike just-above consciousness state often experienced as a person falls asleep or wakes up, discussed later in chapter 7.3), while Pope offers the incubation process as described by Wallas in 1926;

For Wallas, the periods of more or less unconscious Incubation and Illumination are central to the creative process, flanked by the more or less conscious stages of Preparation and Verification. (…) In fact, many of these models of consciousness work perfectly well without an ‘unconscious’. Instead, they involve levels or stages of more or less conscious processing (Pope, 2005, p. 74).

Theresa Amabile highlights perseverance mixed with incubation as a powerful combination for the creative process (1998), and Boden has found that both

Koestler and Poincaré explained creativity in terms of the unconscious combination of ideas from different domains, attributing the following to Poincare;

Poincare’s answer was that preparatory thinking activates potentially relevant ideas in the unconscious, which are then unknowingly combined. A few are insightfully selected (because of their ‘aesthetic’ qualities), and then refined by conscious deliberation. (Boden, 1991, p. 34)

As with the definition of creativity discussed earlier, because the terms unconscious, subconscious and pre-conscious seem at times to merge and cause confusion, this research will use the term below-conscious, to more closely reflect what, autoethnographically speaking, is presumed to occur during incubation.

75

3.3.2.3 Insight

The range of viewpoints [on insight] … spans the entire spectrum from those who imply that creativity is little more than building on an initial insight to those who deny that moments of insight are of any importance whatsoever for creative processes. The majority view, however, falls in between, with flashes of insight discussed as small but necessary components of creativity. (Tardif & Sternberg in Gruber & Davis, 1988, p. 430)

Margaret Boden, drawing highlights from Inventive Minds (R. J. Weber & Perkins,

1992), suggests that breakthroughs in the form of insight were ‘never so large as to constitute the whole story;, but rather smaller leaps ‘in plenty’ (in Boden, 1996, p.

131). Exploring this notion of chance further, Weber and Perkins articulate a spectrum of styles of research including; sheer chance (accidental discovery), cultivated chance (harvesting semi-random search), systemized chance (a large survey of options), fair bet (a reasonably conceived prototype), good bet (a likely prototype), and safe bet (an almost certain prototype). Added to this work, Richard

Mayer identifies a resurgence of interest in insight in the late 1980s and 1990s

(1999a, p. 459), and Baker-Sennett and Ceci declare that creative thinking requires some sort of ‘leap’ (1996, pp. 153–172); Nickerson sums up the debate, identifying two differing perspectives (in 1999a, p. 396). These perspectives include those who argue for sudden illuminations where problems require insight for solution

(Metcalfe, 1986; Metcalfe & Wiebe, 1987; S. M. Smith, Ward, & Finke, 1995) and there are those (Boden, 1996, p. 134) who argue against such illuminations

(Perkins, 1981; Weisberg, 1993). Pointing to a possible solution Nickerson argues

‘…whilst serendipitous discovery seems well-supported, lucky happenstances will be less likely to be noticed by persons unfamiliar with that domain knowledge’ (in

Sternberg, 1999a, p. 408). This final point is significant as it valorises the contribution of qualitative over quantitative research, where discovery is simply 76

more likely made by ‘insider’ experts deeply inculcated in a domain, than by researchers looking from the ‘outsider’ perspective.

In this [songwriting] case, the willingness of creative persons to explore ‘remote’ analogical thinking that may ‘break the set,’ not just ‘near analogical’ thinking, may provide alluring songwriting choices through such ‘sheer chance’ and cultivated chance’ (R. J. Weber & Perkins, 1992), leading to some interesting song outcomes.

In addition, possibilities are presented to the Pro-C and Big-C creators that others may simply not notice. This high level of immersion and expertise on the part of

Pro-C and Big-C creators allows creative, divergent, convergent and both near and remote analogical thinking to occur more readily. However, Sawyer also observes that creative combinations often result when people switch fields. These multidisciplinary insights may be explained by analogical thinking (property mapping and structure mapping) allowing the individual to perceive patterns that wouldn’t be apparent to someone working in only one domain (2006, p. 115) - for a further discussion see (C. M. Harrison, 2016).

Returning to Sawyer’s chart above (Table 2), the insight stage includes idea generation and cross-fertilization, divergent exploration, noticing and, importantly, recognizing as significant certain relationships and connections, and conceptual combinations. The ‘noticing and recognising as significant’ aspect of Sawyer’s chart resonates strongly with Gardner’s ‘useful fiction’(1999, p. 48) of naturalistic intelligence and my own emphasis upon discriminant pattern recognition in the definition of adeptus, that is, the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge that are the attributes of an expert or master. 77

Having worked through the preparation stage, incubated on the problems-at-hand, and fortuitously come up with some helpful insights, the next step for the songwriter is to evaluate the work and elaborate on it since none of the resultant insights, however personally exciting, will be recognized as creative unless such a judgment or evaluation is made by the field.

3.3.2.4 Evaluation and Elaboration

This stage of the creative process includes idea selection, anticipation of outcomes, testing for validity, verification, critical reflection, elaboration, articulation and explanation, and building acceptance by the field. A characteristic of Pro-C

(professional) and Big-C (exemplar) songwriters is that they ‘internalize an anticipated reception of their work as part of the process of production’ (Robbins,

2000, p. 84). In so doing, they anticipate the judgment of the field as accurately as they can, through an acquired habitus that includes knowledge of the field and how it operates, and using this, carefully attend to the cultural and historical preferences of the field (Csikszentmihalyi 1997, p. 116). Having a familiarity with the domain they work in gives them personal entrée to the field as a member of it.

As far as this concept goes, Chapter 5 represents a reflective evaluation of five albums, and it should be noted that each song recorded was evaluated and elaborated to the best of my ability at the time. The reflective process provides an insight into how my own idea selection, anticipation of outcomes, testing for validity, verification, critical reflection, elaboration, articulation and explanation, and building acceptance by the field has changed in thirty-six years. The song

78

artefacts have become time-capsules for analysis, that is, an archiving of my growth as a Pro-C songwriter with a gradually increasing adeptus, and they provide a reflective window into my evolving idiosyncratic songwriter personality.

3.3.3 The Creative Personality

While much has been written about the creative personality (Rothenberg &

Hausman, 1976; Bastick, 1982; Bailin, 1988; Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi,

1988; Boden, 1996; Gardner, 1993a; Howe, 1999; Pope, 2005) there is little to commend the idea that there are a set of personality traits identifiable in all creative individuals. For example, Csikszentmihalyi argues that;

Creative persons are characterized not so much by single traits as by their ability to operate through the entire spectrum of personality dimensions ...What dictates their behavior is not a rigid inner structure, but the demands of the interaction between them and the domain in which they are working. (Csikszentmihalyi, in Sternberg, 1999a, p. 331)

Highlighting inculcation in the domain, he also suggests that;

…to be creative, a person has to internalize the entire system that makes creativity possible (…) Creative individuals are remarkable for their ability to adapt to almost any situation and to make do with whatever is at hand to reach their goals (…) But there does not seem to be a particular set of traits that a person must have in order to come up with a valuable novelty. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 51)

To clarify, Csikszentmihalyi highlights; that no particular personality trait will guarantee attribution of the ‘mantle of creativity’, that the general characteristic creative persons do exhibit is complexity, and that complexity can be usefully described in terms of ‘ten pairs of antithetical traits’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, pp.

56, 57) (see further discussion chapter 3.4.2). However, there are some aspects of the creative person worth detailing; some of which are canvassed here and some discussed more fully later. These include asynchrony, attention, motivation,

79

intuition, and divergent thinking, each playing its part in propelling the songwriter from fair, to good, to great, or from little-c to Pro-C to Big- C creativity.

3.3.3.1 Asynchrony in Big-C Creative persons

Gardner (1993a, p. 38) claims that in exemplary creatives ‘there exist certain kinds of asynchrony within or across these nodes’ that is, the individual, domain and field components of the system, and that these may well enhance the likelihood of creativity. As mentioned earlier, asynchrony in this sense refers to ‘a lack of fit, an unusual pattern, or an irregularity within the creative triangle’ (1993a, p. 38). He sees this ‘lack of fit’ occurring both within each node and across nodes, and posits that an intermediate amount is desirable for what he describes as ‘fruitful asynchrony’ (Gardner, 1993a, p. 39). David Feldman highlights the ‘mystery as to why very few people feel the need to transform a domain, while most others are content to work within its existing boundaries and possibilities’8 (Feldman, in

Sternberg, 1999a, p. 173), and Gardner suggests that fruitful asynchrony (an asynchronous perspective that challenges the current paradigms) (see chapter 7.2) occurs when there is, between the creative person and the domain, some dissatisfaction or minor disaffection (1993a, p. 39).

3.3.3.2 Attention and Creativity

For Csikszentmihalyi, attention is a finite resource affected by survival matters, and needs to be in surplus for creativity to occur, often at the intersection of cultures. It requires specialized knowledge, and may contribute to an image of ruthlessness or arrogance (1997, pp. 8–10). He highlights also, that the motivation

8 Some possible answers to this mystery are offered in chapter 8.7 80

for creativity can be autotelic and exotelic (see chapter 8.1 Intrinsic vs. Extrinsic motivation) – an enjoyable process, as well as one that provides financial reward or reimbursement beyond mere enjoyment (1997, pp. 116–126). Such autotelic experiences, which Csikszentmihalyi describe as ‘flow’ in his seminal book Flow: the Psychology of Optimal Experience (Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi, 1991), are discussed in chapter 8.1.

3.3.3.3 The Confluence of Motivations

Sawyer speaks of the debate among educators in the 1950s and 1960s (Stein, in

Cooper, 1958, pp. 69–75; Osborn, 1963; Rogers, 1954, pp. 249–260; E.P. Torrance,

1965) as to whether or not to reward creative behavior - to attempt to focus motivation intrinsically, rather than extrinsically, for fear that extrinsic motivation in the form of rewards might actually cause creativity to decline (2006, p. 79,80).

In her early studies, Teresa Amabile hypothesized that the ‘intrinsically motivated state is conducive to creativity, whereas the extrinsically motivated is detrimental’

(1983, p. 91). This view has been criticised as being overly binary, and based on a set of Western cultural assumptions. For example, McIntyre gives Lennon and

McCartney, Woolf, Hemingway and Tchaikovsky as examples of highly creative persons motivated both intrinsically and extrinsically, and agrees with Eisenberg and Shanock’s (2003, p. 128) finding, that ‘extrinsic motivators are just as important to creativity as intrinsic ones are’ (McIntyre, 2011a, p. 113). Based on subsequent research (Cameron & Pierce, 1994; Deci & Ryan, 1986; Eisenberger &

Cameron, 1996; Hennessey & Zbikowski, 1993) Sawyer suggests that ‘the key is to design the external rewards carefully’ (2006, p. 80) rewarding only substantial effort, contingent on the quality of the work. Adjusting their approach somewhat,

81

Amabile and Gryskiewicz later found that, providing such motivators are not negative, for example, anticipated negative evaluations, win-lose competitions, constraint of how work is done, or ill-defined goals, extrinsic motivators do, in fact, enhance the creative process (1989).

3.3.3.4 Intuition

Mathematician Tony Bastick’s work Intuition: How We Think and Act provides a perspective on divergent thinking, insight, the role of primary process and hypnogogic (also spelled hypnagogic) reverie, and the phenomena of ‘eureka’ or

‘aha’ experiences as they relate to intuition (1982). He rejects the ideas that intuition is either a mystical metaphysical process or some form of telepathic process linked to parapsychological phenomena (1982, pp. 1–20), and instead defines intuition as ‘a form of non-linear parallel processing of global multi categorised information’ (1982, p. 215). His Theory of Intuitive Thought Processes is especially relevant to identifying comparatively logical vs. intuitive thought as well as identifying the non-linear nature of intuition. Bastick found that intuitive thought and logical thought processes were different;

In intuitive thought, elements are related by their associated feelings being concordant with the overall emotional state (…) Because the concordant feelings associated with the elements have been associated by the individual’s unique experience, original juxtapositions can result (Bastick, 1982, p. 61).

Bastick’s identifies twenty properties associated with intuition (Bastick, 1982, p.

25);

Table 3 - Numbered Properties of Intuition and Insight No. Properties 1 Quick, immediate, sudden appearance 2 Emotional involvement

82

3 Preconscious process 4 Contrast with abstract reasoning, logic, or analytical thought 5 Influenced by experience 6 Understanding by feeling – emotive not tactile 7 Associations with creativity 8 Associations with egocentricity 9 Intuition need not be correct 10 Subjective certainty of correctness 11 Recentring 12 Empathy, kinaesthetic or other 13 Innate, intrinsic knowledge or ability 14 Preverbal concept 15 Global knowledge 16 Incomplete knowledge 17 Hypnogogic reverie 18 Sense of relations 19 Dependence on environment 20 Transfer and transposition

Item 17, hypnogogic reverie, the dreamlike state of just-above consciousness experienced as a person falls asleep and as he awakens, is of particular interest.

This notion describes a state this researcher has regularly and fruitfully applied as a useful device for capturing divergently creative ideas, and which are elaborated on more fully further in the thesis;

There were many similarities also in the methods these writers follow as they ply their craft. All of them keep notebooks handy for when the voice of the Muse calls, which tends to be early in the morning when the writer is still in bed, half asleep (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 267)

The ‘feelings of warmth’ described by Nickerson earlier (chapter 3.3.2.2) has particular meaning for this songwriter. During an episode of hypnogogic reverie, I typically recognise a subtle awareness and subliminal excitement that a potential

83

solution to a songwriting ‘problem’ is emergent (see especially chapter 5). This shift in emotional state reflects Boden’s wish to include ‘surprise’ in her definition of creativity; the surprise she is referring to occurs on;

…encountering a creative idea [that] springs not from an unfamiliar combination, but from our recognition that the novel idea simply could not have arisen from the generative rules (implicit or explicit) which we have in mind. (Boden, 1991, p. 52)

Additional to this view, Bowers describes intuition as a ‘preliminary perception of coherence (pattern, meaning, structure) that is at first not consciously represented, but which nevertheless guides thought and inquiry towards a hunch or hypothesis about the nature of the coherence in question’ (Bowers, Regehr,

Balthazard, & Parker, 1990, pp. 72–74). This autoethnography will provide multiple examples of such insight phenomena occurring prior to and during the data collection research period, highlight its implications to discriminant pattern recognition (a key element of adeptus) and include observational and reflective discussion about it.

3.3.3.5 Divergent Thinking

For Robert Weisberg, ‘Divergent thinking uses fluency, flexibility and originality to

‘diverge’ from what we know to produce many original ideas’, and occurs when ideas and associations move in varied directions. Convergent thinking, the logical mode of thought, uses information to ‘converge’ on a single solution or idea, and occurs when cognition is used to identify one correct or conventional answer

(1993, p. 60). Weisberg, however believes that the Guilford premise that ‘divergent thinking should be a cornerstone of creative thinking’ is problematic, citing

Mansfield & Busse (1981), and concluding that divergent thinking is either not involved or insignificant (1993, p. 61). I do not share this view of two distinct and 84

opposing forms of thinking, preferring a systemic view of divergent and convergent thinking where the songwriting moves freely along a continuum according to the particular creative process stage. That is, songwriting can be seen as a confluent mix of both (see chapter 8.6.1). Given that songwriters do not seek a single ‘correct’ solution to the question ‘what is my next song?’, then the notion of convergence upon a single solution is insufficient. Fluency is required to provide multiple possibilities for potential solutions to the songwriting challenge. Related to the divergent thinking argument is the debate identified by Ward, Smith and

Finke (1999a, p. 208) between structured and unstructured thinking. They cite

Perkins (1981), Ward (1994) and Weisberg (1993) as taking the position that creativity is systematic, organized and highly structured, whereas Bateson (1979),

Findlay & Lumsden (1988), Johnson-Laird (1988) take the view that randomness allows one to depart from conventional patterns and thereby enhance creativity.

These ideas tend to presume a distinction between ‘little-c’ ordinary thought and

‘Big-C’ extraordinary thought (Gardner, in Brockman, 1993, pp. 28–47), and relate back to Bastick’s notion of ‘non-linear parallel processing of global multi categorised information’ (1982, p. 215), both described earlier.

It may well be that the songwriting process is both structured and unstructured, and that creativity is evidenced by both convergent and divergent thinking, depending on process stage and recursive factors, an idea supported by Cropley;

Divergent and convergent thinking can be both involved in creative efforts, which allows the generation of ideas that are both original and effective (Cropley, 2006, pp. 391–404).

In the systemic context of field, domain and individual, the songwriter may

85

observe that the song in development is predicted to be rejected by the field as too similar to another, that is, in Weber and Perkins’ terms, too predictable and a ‘safe bet’ (an almost certain prototype). Having identified that problem, the songwriter response may be to ‘think outside the box’ (i.e. more divergently) to explore more unexpected and novel possibilities. This relates directly to the other options referred to by Weber and Perkins, ‘cultivated chance’ (harvesting semi-random search), ‘systemized chance’ (a large survey of options), ‘fair bet’ (a reasonably conceived prototype), and ‘good bet’ (a likely prototype). (1992, pp. 321, 322).

This discussion on divergent thinking in songwriting is expanded in chapter 8.7, but the systemic context of field, domain and individual just mentioned needs to be elaborated upon and appreciated in the context of songwriting.

3.4 The Systems Model of Creativity

Following Becker’s approach focusing on both support personnel and core personnel (1982), a model of creativity was needed that connected and contextualized the creative individual acting interdependently with his/her environment. The collaboration that resulted in the paper ‘Changing the World: a

Framework for the Study of Creativity’ (Feldman et al., 1994) established some parameters for the study of creativity and proposed a ‘DIFI’ (Domain, Individual,

Field, Interaction) model of creativity based on the earlier work by Mihaly

Csikszentmihalyi (1988);

Perhaps more than any other theory of creativity, Csikszentmihalyi’s systems view emphasizes the ubiquitous role of place (or environment) among the P’s, especially for Big-C achievements; it also elaborates the nature of the creative persons by detailing how

86

individuals other than the creator contribute to the emergence of creativity (Kaufman & Beghetto, 2009, p. 39).

Drawn to the new humanist psychology movement championed by Maslow (1954) and Rogers (1954, pp. 249–260, 1954) emphasizing peak experience, inner motivation, self-actualization and creativity, and developed in Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention(1997), Csikszentmihalyi’s collaboration with Feldman and Gardner to create the ‘systems’ model of creativity (in Gruber &

Davis, 1988) has been widely adopted by contemporary psychologists and philosophers seeking clarity on the nature of creativity. His work serves to clarify the earlier ‘Art Worlds’ of Becker (1982) and the cultural production model of

Bourdieu (1983a) and provides a case-study analysis of how creativity works in a system composed of an individual (active agent), a domain (symbol system and body of knowledge) and a field (experts, ‘gatekeepers’ and important others).

Gardner talks in terms of three nodes of creativity situated within the cultural realm; ‘the individual with his or her own profile of competences and values; the domain available for study and mastery within a culture; and the judgments rendered by the field that is deemed competent within a culture’ (Gardner, 1993).

The systems model shows that ideas or products worthy of the label ‘creative’ are the result of a ‘synergy of many sources and not only from the creative mind of a single person’ (1997, p. 1). This shift of focus is not to say that the individual is no longer important, just not as important as previously attributed. They are necessary but not sufficient for creativity to occur;

For while the individual is not as important as it is commonly supposed, neither is it true that novelty could come about without the contribution of individuals, and that all individuals have the same likelihood of producing novelty. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 47)

The systems model, highly relevant to the creation of song artefacts, provides a 87

broad view of creativity within which the individual (and thereby Gardner’s seven multiple intelligences) operate (See Figure 2, below);

Figure 3 - System's Model of Creativity (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988)

This model represents a shift away from romantic and inspirationist views of creativity towards an interdependent model and satisfies the ‘need to abandon the

Ptolemaic view of creativity, in which the person is at the centre of everything, for a more Copernican model in which the person is part of a system of mutual influences and information’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988, p. 336). This is pertinent to the highly interactive relationships between songwriters (individuals), the music of the time and its antecedents (domain) and the audience, critics, industry and media figures and other intermediaries (field) involved in western popular music.

From a biopsychological perspective, Gardner saw the understanding of creativity at four levels, subpersonal, personal, impersonal, and multipersonal. The first two, subpersonal and personal, refer to the individual’s genetics, neurobiology, cognition, and personality. The third, impersonal, refers to the level of knowledge

88

of the current domain or discipline, and the fourth, that is, multipersonal, refers to the ‘other individuals sanctioned to evaluate’ – the ‘field’ (Gardner, 1993, p. 35).

Csikszentmihalyi asserts that ‘…each of the three main systems – person, field and domain - affects the others and is affected by them in turn’ (1988, p. 315).

He goes on to argue that;

For creativity to occur a set of rules and practices must be transmitted from the domain to the individual. The individual must then produce a novel variation in the content of the domain. The variation then must be selected by the field for inclusion in the domain. (Csikszentmihalyi, in Sternberg, 1999a, p. 315)

3.4.1 Individual

…the reigning stereotype of the tortured genius is to a large extent a myth created by Romantic ideology and supported by evidence from isolated and – one hopes – atypical historical periods. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 19)

While, as mentioned above, much has been written about the creative personality with little of that becoming definitive, Howe does include in his exploration of genius the characteristics of curiosity, dedication, single-mindedness, sense of direction, ferocity when they work, diligence and persistence (1999, pp. 14, 15).

Feist also posits that artists as creators tend to be more likely to be anxious, impulsive, sensitive, emotional and introspective than creative scientists might be

(1999a, p. 282). On the other hand, Gardner culled three lessons from individuals who are highly creative. He suggests they reflect on their efforts at length, they leverage their strengths and avoid their weaknesses, and they frame their experiences in a positive fashion (1993, p. xvii; Policastro & Gardner, in Sternberg,

1999a). In discussing personality traits and the decades of research into various characteristics of creative persons (Barron & Harrington, 1981; Feist, 1998; Tardif in Gruber & Davis, 1988; Tardif & Sternberg, 1988) Sawyer summarizes, stating

89

that the most important characteristic is;

…an almost aesthetic ability to recognize a good problem in their domain (…) that’s why creative people tend to be creative in one specific domain: it takes a lot of experience, knowledge and training to be able to identify good problems. This aligns with domain specificity. (Sawyer, 2006, p. 65)

However, Sawyer also states that ‘creative combinations often result when people switch fields’ (2006, p. 115). This assertion highlights the idea that while it is arguable that creative people tend to be creative in one specific domain, creativity is stimulated when the expertise of one domain is applied in another (discussed further in chapter 8.7). Following Baer (2012; 1993, 1998; 2005), Harrison (2016) posits that a combination of fruitful asynchrony and interdisciplinary skills- transfer may be a contributing factor to, and provide a catalyst for, domain- changing Big-C creativity.

3.4.2 Field

According to Csikszentmihalyi, ‘the easiest way to define a field is to say that it includes all those who can affect the structure of a domain’ (Sternberg, in McIntyre,

2008a, p. 42). Bourdieu uses the same term, field, to denote arenas of production, circulation, and appropriation of goods, services, knowledge, or status. McIntyre provides a clear comparison of two related concepts of ‘field’;

Pierre Bourdieu described a field as an arena of social contestation. While Csikszentmihalyi’s use of the term field tends to emphasize its Darwinian functionality Bourdieu, revealing his Marxist roots, conceives of the field in a complex and conflictual way (…) fields are thus spaces where struggles for dominance take place and those struggles are centred on economic, social, cultural and symbolic factors. (McIntyre, 2007a)

For songwriters, both models are true. Song artefacts are subject to social contestation in the struggle for acceptance by audiences, and survive or perish

90

based on the natural selection of the field, that is, those people who hold some understanding, to varying degrees, of the domain of knowledge. These include other songwriters as well as fellow musicians, publishers, A&R representatives of record companies and so on. Additionally, Sawyer describes a nested audience, containing the public, amateurs, connoisseurs and intermediaries or gatekeepers

(2006, p. 218) as further members of the field. Weisberg observes that the influence of the field and the judgment of its experts (gatekeepers) are powerful filters through which any candidate work must pass in order to be deemed creative (1993, p. 87).

3.4.2.1 Field-based and Mass-based domains

Csikszentmihalyi notes that selection by the field is a necessary condition for acceptance, but not sufficient to ensure the acceptance of the society at large. He suggests that the field needs to become interested in producing the novelty in the first place, however it is the general public’s reaction to the creative artefact that decides whether the creation will stand or fall, and makes the point that Einstein’s theory of relativity was only comprehended at first by a handful of scientists who championed the notion, but the broader audience accepted his work into the wider culture making his name a household word (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 43).

In the songwriting realm, songs by artists like Frank Zappa and Steely Dan were held in very high esteem and supported by the field experts (musicians), however mass audiences selected only their most accessible works for inclusion in the domain. One could consider then that the domain of jazz is ‘field-based’ - assessed largely by the field of experts, whereas expert endorsement is not sufficient in the

91

popular music domain (‘mass-based’ by definition) where the approval of the society at large is required. The field may apply a broad filter allowing a wide range of novelty, or it might apply a narrow filter, only allowing in those new ideas that it deems worthy (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 44). The choice as to what creative works (or ‘propulsions’) are deemed worthy may vary dramatically at times between experts and the mass audiences (Propulsion Theory of Creativity is discussed in chapter 7.4.4 in detail.

3.4.3 Kerrigan’s Revision to the Systems Model

In an adaptation of Csikszentmihalyi’s model, Kerrigan (2013, p. 114) places the elements of individual, domain and field within a triangular setting of culture, society, and idiosyncratic background. The intersection of these various structures enable creative works where multiple agents contribute creatively, such as in the

TV and film industries;

… importantly, Kerrigan takes the individual out of the centre of creative action to produce, as Csikszentmihalyi hoped would happen, a less Ptolemaic and more Copernican perspective in (McIntyre, 2013a, p. 13)

92

Figure 4 - Revised Systems Model of Creativity (Kerrigan, 2013, p. 114)

The Kerrigan model perhaps reflects more strongly the interdependence of field, domain and agent and locates creative practice at the intersection of these necessary factors. By acknowledging the field and its experts, intermediaries, gatekeepers and the public, as well as identifying the equivalent importance of both the domain and agent, this model provides a more effective reconceptualisation of creative practice for research into songwriting and will help locate and ground the multiple intelligences I investigate shortly.

3.4.4 Domain

This systems model suggests that for creativity to occur a body of knowledge or an accessible set of symbol systems must be existent. An individual acquires this knowledge by being immersed in it via learning and experience in order for them to then make suitable changes within it. This body of knowledge is called a domain. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997)

93

According to Bourdieu, ‘a work of art has meaning or interest only for someone who possesses the cultural competence, that is, the code, into which it is encoded’

(1986, p. 2). The possession of this code, or cultural capital, is accumulated through a long process of acquisition or inculcation (Bourdieu, 1983b, p. 7). A songwriter must be aware not only of the vital elements of lyric-writing and musical harmony, but also make themselves keenly aware of what Bourdieu describes as ‘field of works’ including the ‘space of possibles (…) an ensemble of probable constraints which are the condition and the counterpart of a set of possible uses’ (Bourdieu, 1996, p. 235). Bastick expressed a concept similar to

Bourdieu’s inculcation of habitus via a field of works and Csikszentmihalyi’s immersion into a domain, when he stated; ‘to increase the likelihood of objectively original and true verifiable intuitions, the creative person needs a global knowledge of his field of study’ (1982, p. 386). Simply put, ‘the domain is described as the structures of knowledge that the individual, in this case a songwriter, can access’ (McIntyre, 2008a, p. 42).

3.4.5 Constraints and Enablers

Certain factors conspire to provide boundaries for the creative person in his/her endeavours, and while such factors can be seen as negative mechanisms, that is seen as constraints, they are often helpful, seen here as enablers, allowing us to control the multitude of creative possibilities, As Sharples argues ‘constraint is not a barrier to creative thinking, but the context within which creativity can occur’

(Sharples, 1999, p. 41). Boden had earlier pointed out that constraints ‘map out a territory of structural possibilities which can then be explored’ (1991, p. 95); and in The Social Production of Art, Janet Wolff had identified these positive constraints

94

as enablers, arguing that;

Everything we do is located in, and therefore affected by, social structures (…) the existence of these structures and institutions enables any activity on our part, (…) practical activity and creativity are in a mutual relation of interdependence with social structures. (Wolff, 1981, p. 9)

This interdependence is significant to songwriters working within, and enabled by, the musical, commercial and social constraints under which they find themselves.

One such relevant constraint is the creative surroundings of the artist;

Being born to an affluent family, or close to good schools, mentors and coaches obviously is a great advantage (…) the ownership of what sociologist Pierre Bourdieu calls ‘cultural capital’ is a great resource. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 53)

The place where one lives is important for three main reasons. These reasons are, firstly, access to the domain (symbol system), secondly, access to novel stimulation

(density of interaction) and, thirdly, access to the field (experts) (Csikszentmihalyi,

1997, pp. 128–130). From a systems perspective, merely producing good works is not all that is required for success in the creative worlds. Csikszentmihalyi describes the gates, barriers and bottlenecks preventing access to influential persons who can allow or refuse passage, and correctly remarks that ‘access to a field is often determined by chance or by irrelevant factors, such as having good connections’ (1997, p. 55) or being able to persuade the right people that your work is worthwhile.

3.4.6 Persuasion

In looking at the last designated stage of the highly iterative and recursive creative process, that is, elaboration and evaluation, I discussed building acceptance by the field (chapter 3.3). This vital aspect of creative practice requires some capacities that sometimes don’t feature among the creative person’s strengths, or are simply

95

overlooked by creative persons due to their intense focus on their work. For example;

A person could have a great deal of creative ability – that is, the ability to think in novel ways – but if he or she is not willing to take a risk, or to defy conventions, or to fight for ideas that others might scoff at, that creative ability may remain latent and never see the light of day. (Kaufman & Beghetto, 2009, p. 469,470)

This situation highlights the relative risks to the creative person when attempting to move the field in any direction, or change its speed as they encounter the inertia of the existing field, and the need to persuade, cajole, negotiate or prove non- threatening the proposed shift to the domain;

… in our culture, a young person has to turn from being a withdrawn, introspective loner into becoming a gregarious self-promoter who can attract the attention of gatekeepers of the fields (Getzels & Csikszentmihalyi, 1976, p. 279).

The prospect of undertaking self-promotion in order to persuade the field of the worth of your work, can seem like a minefield of mixed feelings for the songwriter.

In order to present to the audience and the field as an ‘authentic’ member of a given genre, be it rock, rap, indie, reggae or jazz, it is often considered (within these art worlds) to be undesirable, inauthentic or crass to be overtly commercially-focused. The acquisition and display of cultural and symbolic capital appears appropriate, but commercial success (or a preoccupation with it) or the realisation of economic capital, is often frowned upon in a reflection of the limpet persistence of the Romanticist/Inspirationist perspective. From this perspective one may be financially rewarded but one should not appear to pursue financial rewards directly. To avoid the dilemma, an appropriate humility and professed ignorance of the machinations of the ‘industry’ is occasionally adopted in order to remain authentically devoted to the songwriting ‘art’. If one becomes fabulously

96

wealthy, then that is just ‘because the agents magically took care of business’. As described in Pierre Bourdieu’s Outline of a Theory of Practice, this doxa, the undisclosed rules that are so naturalised within certain fields that they appear to be common sense (Bourdieu, 1977, p. 162), while buried deep within

Romanticism, often appears to run contrary to a systems approach to understanding creativity. In light of the clarity that the systems model of creativity provides and against an understanding of the importance of the cultural context provided by Bourdieu, Becker, Alexander and others along with the intersections seen there between the ‘constraints’ of structure and the supposed freedoms of agency, it is useful to now turn to re-examining the songwriting individual and do so through the lens of Howard Gardner’s Multiple Intelligence Theory.

3.5 Multiple Intelligence Theory

3.5.1 Gardner’s ‘Argument’

I argue that there is persuasive evidence for the existence of several relatively autonomous human intellectual competences, abbreviated hereafter as ‘human intelligences’. These are the ‘Frames of Mind’ of my title (...) I have developed a framework that, building on the theory of multiple intelligences, can be applied to any educational situation. (Gardner, 1983, p. 8)

The term ‘theory’ in this context falls somewhere between two meanings; that used by physical scientists where the validity of conceptually linked propositions are tested through experimentation and that ‘promiscuous’ usage by lay persons where any set of ideas put forth qualifies, as in the statement ‘I have a theory about that’ (2006, p. 68).

Gardner has contributed much (1983; 1988; 1993, 1995, 1999, 2004, 2006, 2011) 97

towards an understanding of how the mind works, and in his Multiple Intelligence

(MI) theory he has provided an alternative educational model to the single, general, overriding factor of intelligence ‘g’ model popularized in IQ testing

(Spearman, 1987, pp. 201–292). In the introduction to Frames of Mind Gardner states that ‘the decision about what counts as an intelligence is a judgement call – not an unambiguous determination following the rigorous application of an algorithm’ (1983, pp. xxi–xxxix). He also argues that creativity is not the same as intelligence, that an individual can be more creative than he/she is intelligent, or far more intelligent than creative, and that whilst creativity tests are reliable, it has not been possible to demonstrate that creativity tests are valid (Gardner, 1993, p.

20). This research, then, sees intelligence in terms of human cognitive capacity and describes how such capacities support creative activities such as songwriting.

3.5.2 A Definition of Intelligence

…psychologists generally continue to think of intelligence as ‘scholastic capacity’, whereas MI theory attempts to expand the notion of intelligence to all manner of human cognitive capacities. (Gardner, 2006, p. 71)

Gardner’s original thoughts on a definition for intelligences were stated in terms of a potential or capacity (1983, p. 73). By 2006, the definition had evolved. In 2006

Gardner stated ‘intelligence is a biopsychological potential to process information that can be activated in a cultural setting to solve problems or create products that are of value to the culture’ (2006, pp. 33–34), a definition which is much broader than that applied to general intelligence.

3.5.3 Historical View of Intelligence(s)

Taking an historical view Gardner follows the study of intelligence, from Francis

Gall’s proposition of phrenology in the 18th century and French surgeon and 98

anthropologist Pierre-Paul Broca’s link between specific brain lesion and a particular cognitive impairment, through to the controversial British polymath Sir

Francis Galton’s assertion of a link between genealogical lineage and professional accomplishment (1983, pp. 14–16) and claims that genius is inherited, a notion that has been widely challenged in the psychology community (Burbridge, 2001;

Bouchard, in Sternberg & Grigorenko, 1997, p. 126). Early in the 20th century

Alfred Binet and Theodore Simon devised the first intelligence test, which was subsequently adapted by Thurstone, who suggested seven factors of measurement reflecting a set of primary mental faculties. The single ‘g’ view widely adopted9 and referred to by the field of psychology is problematic for Gardner, as it ‘does predict one’s ability to handle school subjects, [but is] definitely skewed in favour of individuals in societies with schooling and particularly in favour of individuals who are accustomed to taking pen-and-pencil tests, featuring clearly delineated answers’ (1983, p. 3,17). Gardner is not alone in challenging the notion of a single intelligence, in fact the notion of intelligence itself has been challenged (Eysenck,

1981; Haralambos & Foster-Carter, 1985; Haralambos & Holborn, 1995). For this research, MI theory has a much wider focus than that;

...we seek to use the methods and the overall schemes fashioned by Piaget and to focus them not merely on the linguistic, logical and numerical symbols of classic Piagetian theory but rather upon a full range of symbol systems encompassing musical, bodily, spatial and even personal symbol systems. (Gardner, 1983, p. 27)

9 In their book The Bell Curve (1994), Herrnstein and Murray argued that intelligence is best thought of as a single property distributed within the general population along a bell-shaped curve, moving beyond simple measurement to claim (using what Gardner refers to as ‘rhetorical brinkmanship’ that ‘those with low intelligence are more likely to be on welfare, to be involved with crime, to come from broken homes, to drop out of school, and to exhibit other forms of social pathology’ (Gardner, 1999, p. 8). Daniel Goleman (1996) responded to The Bell Curve with a book entitled Emotional Intelligence: Why it can matter more than IQ – his subtitle made clear his view, and offered a more hopeful message, especially to teachers, social workers and parents. Goleman’s emotional intelligence model is very close to Gardner’s two forms of personal intelligence – inter- and intrapersonal. (Gardner, 2002, pp. 139–142) 99

This quote from Frames of Mind pre-empts the identification of ‘symbol systems’ as part of the cultural domain, one important element of the creative triangle formulated by Feldman, Csikszentmihalyi and Gardner in the late 1980s and early

1990s, later known as the systems model of creativity (Feldman et al., 1994).

Domain immersion in musical, bodily, spatial and even personal symbol systems is an essential part of acquiring the necessary adeptus for expert creativity as a songwriter.

Gardner shows that as forms of study of intelligence wax and wane through the

20th century, first IQ testing was in vogue, then Piagetian theory of development became the rage, followed by cognitive science or information-processing, where the ‘studiously non-biological’ (1983, p. 25) goal is to describe developmental steps or stages so exhaustively that they can be emulated on a computer. IQ,

Piagetian, and information-processing approaches cause Gardner to take issue on three levels. For him they all ignore biology, none deal with higher levels of creativity and all are insensitive to roles highlighted in human society, that is, the systemic nature of the creative triangle (individual, field and domain) and specifically for songwriting, the role of the field of experts in selecting as worthy

(or not) songs for inclusion in the cultural domain. Reflecting his earlier neuro- scientific research, he presents a biological argument for separate intelligences

(1983, p. 60).

3.5.4 The Pluralization of Intelligence

Early researchers to take a pluralistic view included Thurstone (1938) and

100

Guilford (Guilford, 1967), and in support of these ideas Sawyer describes most studies as identifying from ‘three to seven distinct domains [models] of human potential’ (2006, p 59) while Holland proposed a model of vocational interest that contained six (1997). However, Gardner’s view that ‘it is misleading to think of humans possessing a single intellectual capacity, which almost always amounts to an amalgam of linguistic and logical-mathematical skills’ (2002), differs from those earlier psychometric efforts, in that he was able to survey evolutionary, biological, neuroscientific, anthropological10 and psychological literature (Gardner, 2006, pp.

233–240) and incorporate that into his thinking;

I decided to work in a veteran’s hospital as a researcher at an Aphasia ward, a floor of a hospital composed of individuals who suffered strokes or other kinds of damage to the brain. There I observed close up the variety of syndromes which result from damage to the cerebral cortex. Each day I was also continuing my research at Harvard, examining the development in young people of different symbol using capacities, no longer restricted to the arts (Gardner, 2011, p. 2)

3.5.5 Selection Criteria

In Frames of Mind (1983) Gardner applied eight selection criteria that would allow access to the problem of multiple intelligences. Recognising that ‘the selection (or rejection) of a candidate intelligence is reminiscent more of an artistic judgment than a scientific assessment’ (1983, p. 67), Gardner sought ‘a list of intellectual strengths that would prove useful’ (ibid).

These eight criteria he listed as follows. Firstly, the existence of a faculty that can be potentially isolated by brain damage would suggest a relative autonomy from

10 In Gardner’s words, he ‘put on the lens (…) of the anthropologist, (…) a proverbial visitor from another planet who was trying to understand the human mind’ (Gardner, 2011, p. 3) 101

other faculties. Secondly, the existence of idiot savants, prodigies, and other exceptional individuals, points to factors that isolate areas of exceptional competence or disability. Thirdly, the existence of an identifiable core operation or set of core operations, that is, basic mechanisms that deal with and are triggered by specific kinds of input (like pitch-sensitivity in musical intelligence, or other forms of discriminant pattern recognition discussed in chapter 9.4). Fourthly, the existence of a distinctive developmental history with identifiable milestones, along with a definable set of expert ‘end-state’ performances available to both normal and gifted individuals (valuable in education). Fifth, a plausible evolutionary history including capacities shared with other organisms (like song-making in birds). Sixth, evidence of support from experimental psychological tasks as to the ways in which modular or domain-specific abilities may interact (for further discussion see also Harrison, 2016). Seventh, support from psychometric findings of standard tests, although Gardner reminds us that ‘intelligence tests do not always test what they are claimed to test’ (1983, p. 70), and finally, evidence of susceptibility to encoding in a symbol system, for example mathematics, language, picturing, or music. Using these criteria as a set of selection mechanisms Gardner initially focused on seven intelligences. These were spatial, linguistic, logical- mathematical, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal (1993).

In his study of exemplar creators (1993, p. 13), Gardner does not, at any stage, suggest that the seven remarkable individuals studied worked with only (or predominantly) one human intelligence; creative people do not exhibit most or all of the intelligences in equal measure; nor do they excel in all or most; ‘in most cases they exhibit an amalgam of at least two intelligences, at least one of which 102

proves to be somewhat unusual for that domain’ and that they ‘typically exhibit intellectual weaknesses as well’ (1999, p. 123). As Alexander suggests, successful

‘artists need a number of co-talents to complement their artistic skills’ (2003, p.

149) in order to survive in the field and be recognised, and the co-talents she suggests as examples, outgoing personality and psychological robustness, draw upon the type of capacities Gardner refers to as interpersonal and intrapersonal intelligences . Howe agrees;

Darwin was by no means unusual or unique in having to call upon a variety of human qualities. Even Albert Einstein, although often seen as an isolated thinker, leaned heavily upon his communication skills and his capacity for friendship, and Thomas Edison would have achieved very little were it not for his impressive organisational powers. (Howe, 1999, p. 17)

Finally, Gardner provides an illuminating caveat to highlight his construct:

These intelligences are fictions – at most, useful fictions – for discussing processes and abilities that (like all of life) are continuous with one another (…) our intelligences are being separately defined and described strictly in order to illuminate scientific issues and to tackle pressing practical problems. (Gardner, 1983, p. 74)

As with the notion of a creative system suggested by Csikszentmihalyi and discussed earlier, the construct of multiple intelligence theory is simply a series of distinctions, that is, a useful perspective from which to view a confluent, interdependent and flexible relationship. With that last, but important, caveat in mind let us look at the distinctions Gardner provides.

3.6 The Seven (Original) Intelligences

In Creating Minds: An Anatomy of Creativity, Gardner applied Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model to seven Big C creators (1993). Gardner worked across the three nodes of the person, field and domain and identified ‘recurring kinds of tensions or

103

asynchronies which emerge within and especially across these three nodes’ (1993, p. 43). His broad approach was to examine whether a systems approach to creativity ‘will hold across other creative individuals, other domains and other times’ (1993, p. 47). Gardner’s particular focus was on the period 1885 to 1935. He indicated ‘it was important that there exist sufficient information about these individuals so that their creative processes and interim products could be examined’ (1993, p. 11). In focusing in on MI he limited discussion to his original seven intelligences, examining the lives of seven highly influential creators, each exceptional in one particular area of multiple intelligence. These included; verbal- linguistic intelligence (T.S Elliot), logical-mathematical intelligence (Albert

Einstein), visual-spatial intelligence (Pablo Picasso), bodily-kinesthetic intelligence

(Martha Graham), musical intelligence (Igor Stravinsky), interpersonal intelligence

(Mahatma Gandhi), and intrapersonal intelligence (Sigmund Freud)(1993, p. 11).

3.6.1 The Eighth Intelligence - Naturalist Intelligence

In the 2006 edition of New Horizons, based on his eight criteria for selection and after having time to examine many intelligence capacity candidates and reflect upon the comments, criticisms and suggestions of others, Gardner adds naturalistic intelligence to the original seven intelligences described in Frames of

Mind (1993). He describes it as including ‘the ability to distinguish diverse plants, animals, mountains or cloud configurations in their ecological niche (…) the core capacity to recognize instances as members of a species’ (2006, p. 19). As mentioned earlier in this research, this eighth intelligence capacity has significant implications for the songwriter especially in regard to genre which we will see in chapter 8.7.

104

3.6.2 (8½) Existential Intelligence

In Multiple Intelligences: New Horizons, Gardner ascribed the title ‘intelligence’ to one more capacity, existential intelligence, with the caveat;

it is (…) possible that existential questions are just part of a broader philosophical mind (…), my conservative nature dictates caution in giving the ninth place of honor to existential intelligence (…) but, in homage to a famous film by Frederico Fellini, I shall continue for the time being to speak of ‘8 ½ Intelligences. (Gardner, 2006, p. 21)

Earlier, in Intelligence Reframed: Multiple Intelligences for the 21st Century, Gardner had made clear his desire to avoid the manifest and problematic connotations of religious dogma or mysticism in a possible ‘spiritual’ intelligence, preferring to speak of ‘an intelligence that explores the nature of existence in its multifarious guises. Thus, an explicit concern with spiritual or religious matters would be one variety – often the most important variety – of an existential intelligence’ (Gardner,

1999, p. 60). For the purposes of this research into songwriting practice, an existential intelligence capacity will not be discussed so as to avoid the same problems that confronted Gardner.

3.6.3 Typical Roles of the Eight Intelligences

Verbal-linguistic intelligence involves reading, writing, speaking and conversing in one's own or foreign languages and is readily applied to poets, journalists, teachers, lyricists, orators, lawyers and singers. It connects the creative agent with the field (the audience) directly. Musical intelligence involves understanding and expressing oneself through music and rhythmic movements or dance, or composing, playing, or conducting music seen here applied to musicians, composers, songwriters and DJs and includes acquisition of domain knowledge.

Logical-mathematical intelligence involves number and computing skills,

105

recognizing patterns and relationships, timeliness and order, and the ability to solve different kinds of problems through logic normally applied to mathematicians, scientists, logicians, engineers, programmer and accountants, but also includes the more general acquisition of musical domain knowledge as well as working with intermediaries and industry personnel in the field of music. Visual- spatial intelligence involves visual perception of the environment, the ability to create and manipulate mental images, and the orientation of the body in space, typically applied to sculptors, sailors, surgeons, chess players, architects, but especially relevant to sound mixing of song products. Bodily-kinesthetic intelligence involves physical coordination and dexterity, using fine and gross motor skills, and expressing oneself or learning through physical activities

(dancers, athletes, musical instrumentalists, actors, surgeons, and mechanics).

Intrapersonal intelligence involves understanding one's inner world of emotions and thoughts, and growing in the ability to control them and work with them consciously (researchers, novelists, psychologists, philosophers). This awareness of self and metacognitive thought allows the creative agent to self-assess interpersonal relationships, seen typically in the actions of the field, as well as allowing the agent to monitor domain knowledge development of self. Especially important for action in the field, Interpersonal intelligence involves understanding how to communicate with and understand other people and how to work collaboratively. Nurses, politicians, leaders, teachers, counsellors and salespersons all have the necessity of possessing interpersonal intelligence. Relating further back to the systems model, this intelligence includes social capital, that is, an awareness of the ways in which the creative agent understands, communicates with and works collaboratively with other members of the field. Naturalistic 106

intelligence involves the ability to distinguish diverse plants, animals, mountains or cloud configurations in their ecological niche and incorporates the core capacity to recognize instances as members of a species. In the context of this research we can say that naturalistic intelligence refers to inculcation of genre, sub-genre, and the interpretations of technique and has something to do with the attribution of authenticity of style to songs.

In the context of songwriting research, it is noteworthy that Gardner omits specific mention of the term ‘aural’ from his MI Theory. I requested comment from him via email, as to whether he sees it as part of verbal-linguistic or musical intelligences, or both. His reply states;

As you surmised, ‘aural skills’ are most likely an aspect of both linguistic and musical intelligence. As such, I would recommend referring to ‘aural skills’ as being a combination of both intelligences. (Gardner, 2014)

While other potentially valid domain descriptors suggested by Gardner and others as worthy of consideration it can be claimed that entrepreneurial, problem solving and spiritual are either covered by the eight intelligences selected, or not deemed significant, informative or relevant enough. As such this focussed research delimits study to Gardner’s eight intelligences due to what I see as their resonance with the practice of songwriting.

3.6.4 Criticism of MI Theory

Howard Gardner Under Fire (Schaler, 2006) was produced from an invitation to thirteen experts in the educational and psychology fields to critique Gardner’s work, not just his multiple intelligence theory but also subsequent works including those addressing leadership, creativity, ‘good work’ and the U-curve. Of most

107

relevance to this study are the comments specifically directed at MI theory and possibly transferable to songwriting practice; those of John White, Nathan Brody,

Susan Barnett, Stephen Ceci and Wendy Williams. Gardner’s responses to each authors’ criticisms are consistent. Most are at pains to congratulate Gardner on opening the discussion, and Ceci and Williams criticize the detail rather than the broad concept of multiple intelligences. Gardner is somewhat despairing that, between his view and those of John White, there is ‘no bridge between us’, with

White questioning Gardner’s whole effort and suggesting it is hopeless ‘to try to place on a scientific basis distinctions and categories that essentially grow out of our language, our ways of talking, and conceptualizing’. Gardner responds that he sees his chosen criteria as ‘an entirely reasonable first pass’, and invites White to suggest alternatives (Schaler, 2006, p. 296). Of Brody’s preference to continue to embrace the single ‘g’ or general intelligence, Gardner offers the opinion that ‘g’ is simply the current common factor in that odd set of tasks that psychologists have assembled over the years, as they attempt to predict success in scholastic settings’

(Schaler, 2006, p. 296). Simonton, Runco and Spillane respond not with critique, but development and expansion of Gardner’s ideas. Where Kuhn is concerned regarding developmental issues and sees them as general and generic, Gardner takes a position closer to David Olson, and would ‘prefer to think of development of skill in specific domains and disciplines’ (Schaler, 2006, pp. 288, 289), however he disagrees with Olson’s view that individuals differ in talent and ‘we can’t do anything about this, and so it falls properly outside the realm of psychology, and certainly outside the realm of education’ (2006, p. 290).

I am of the view that perhaps psychologists who are invested professionally in ‘g’ 108

intelligence models have more to be challenged about or threatened by Gardner’s work. These would fall within the opposite school of thought than the one Gardner generally occupies. Those who see psychology as a natural objective science would consider work done from the literary humanist tradition, to which Gardner is more closely allied, to be problematic. On the other hand, educators appear to have readily embraced his work – for example, studies that successfully utilize multiple intelligence theory as a framework for education research across a variety of disciplines include; diversity (Barrington, 2004), musical creativity (Odena, 2013), dramatic arts (Davidson, 2010), songwriting (Brown, 2007), classroom teaching, literacy (Armstrong, 2003, 2009) music education (Kassell, 1998) arts, creative writing, language, sciences, mathematics (Marks-Tarlow, 1996), singing (Helding,

2009), web-design (Osciak & Milheim, 2001), and gifted education (von Karolyi, in

Colangelo & Davis, 2002, pp. 100–112).

Gardner does not take an immovable position on any aspect of MI theory, at every turn allowing and encouraging counter-comment and lively discussion, and he repeatedly suggests that others apply, examine, evaluate and improve the ideas he presents. Accordingly, this research embraces the opportunity to examine MI theory from a songwriting perspective.

3.7 Songwriting Literature

Research into music composition and its place within the research into creativity has, up until recently, focused largely on European art music (P. S. Campbell, 1995;

Tagg, 2011, 2013). While popular music has received some academic attention

(e.g. de Clercq & Temperley 2011; Frith & Goodwin 2006; Frith 1996, 2004, 2007; 109

Moore 2001, 2007, 2009, 2012; Temperley 2011) creativity expressed in contemporary song research terms has been so far, limited to a handful of researchers, notably McIntyre (e.g. 2001, 2008a, 2011b) and Bennett (e.g. 2010,

2013) (see chapter 7.3.9). Beyond these contributions, the multi-faceted nature of genre, sub-genre, and songwriting culture has had little attention. In this regard

Sawyer proposes the following;

…creativity researchers have been biased toward genres of music that are culturally valued by an educated elite – the same genres that align more readily with the Western cultural model of creativity (…) [a] science of creativity must be judged on how well it explains the most widespread and the most active creative domains, not on how well it explains the high- status genres of a privileged few. (Sawyer, 2006, p. 355)

In an endeavour to address that suggested bias, this research focuses on the widespread and active domain of songwriting, where song artefacts constantly appear as subtle variants from their antecedents. Similar to Perkins’ Darwinian reference that ‘each generation of an organism yields a range of variants, each variant constitutes a trial’ (in Boden 1996, p. 126), Bennett takes a view of song evolution, where music fans ‘select’ songs, unselected songs don’t ‘survive’, and songwriters provide a form of ‘reproduction’ inasmuch as they write subsequent, slightly varied songs (2010). Bennett extends the metaphor to include song

‘mutations’. Boden (2012, pp. 71, 72) describes three types of creativity – combinational, exploratory and transformational. Applied to songwriting practice the three models would give us; unfamiliar and interesting combinations of familiar song ideas; novel song structures whose possibilities may not have been realized prior; and altering rules or style to allow songs that were impossible before.

110

Finally, McIntyre highlights the confluent nature of songwriting creativity (2011,

2013a, p. 77) in the ‘systems model’ (2008b), placing songwriting within popular

Western culture. His book Creativity and Cultural Production: Issues for Media

Practice, (McIntyre, 2011a) provides a link between the broader influences of culture and creativity on songwriting process, product, place and person, as well providing a platform and perspective from which to view this autoethnographic research which is specifically focused on the ‘insider’ view of a single creative agent working within a system of western popular music songwriting. 3.8 Summary

In examining the available scholarly literature across culture, creativity, and songwriting practice for those factors within the existing literature that potentially answers the research question ‘How do songwriters go from fair, to good, to great?’, this chapter focussed on socio-cultural context, a systemic approach to creativity, and a multiple intelligence approach to songwriting practice. It was found that

Becker, Bourdieu, Alexander, Gardner, Csikszentmihalyi, Negus and McIntyre,

(among others), have presented a clear socio-cultural context from which to view songwriting endeavours. Weisberg, Sternberg, Boden, Howe, Pope, Sawyer and

Kaufman (among others) have provided valuable distinctions regarding creative personality, process, testing and practice, but most relevant to this research is the combined work of Csikszentmihalyi, Gardner, and Feldman in their systems model,

(later drawn into the songwriting realm by McIntyre) with highly valuable and unique contributions from Gardner, Kozbelt, Sternberg, and Bastick. Finally, the songwriting-specific writings of Tagg, Sawyer, Boden, Temperley, Bennett and

McIntyre create a stepping-off point for deeper inquiry. 111

The following chapter situates songwriting practice within the systems model of creativity and draws into the ‘fair/good/great’ (or ‘little-c/Pro-C/Big-C’) discussion some valuable elements missing from previous attempts to understand the continuum – the importance of domain and field to the creative agent.

112

4.0 The Systems Model for Songwriters

Introduction

A persistent question raised by tertiary songwriting students and professionals alike is ‘How do I get my songs “out there”?’ Surprisingly, the answer seems to be not, as one would expect to simply endeavour to write better and better songs

(although that is a worthy and contributory pursuit). A key factor in this element of the broader research question is found embedded within the systems model of creativity first identified by Feldman, Gardner and Csikszentmihalyi (1988) and presented in more detail in (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997). This chapter places songwriting practice within the cultural milieu, and within the systems model highlighting especially those factors influential and significant to the research question.

4.1 Locating Myself within the Sociocultural

Songs provide microcosmic stories, lessons, melodies and musical designs that add value to the lives of people throughout contemporary Western society. The most satisfying aspect of my own commercial success was not the large royalty cheques

I most thankfully received, but the notion that all over the world my songs brought positive emotions into the lives of some complete strangers; people I may never have the pleasure to meet face to face. At the forefront of that realisation was the gratitude I felt for the army of distributors, agents, sales people and other industry support personnel, also, for the most part, complete strangers, who facilitated such wide and abundant access to audiences for my songs. From the perspective of 113

Howard Becker, I was able to add value to stranger’s lives because my song artefacts were distributed successfully in a supportive ‘Art World’. In the terms of

Bourdieu, my songs had survived and flourished in the ‘arena of contestation’ that is the music industry.

Following Becker’s view that comparison is a useful research method, simply placing two case studies side by side and observing their differences, and similarities, and asking why their results differ (Becker, 1982, p. xi), chapter 5 provides a comparative analysis of five separate albums over thirty-six years.

While many of the anecdotes and blogs referred to as collected data were obtained by comparison of song process, product, person, and place, it is fair to say that in the songwriting realm, artefact comparison is constant. The first thing record companies, radio stations and audiences seem to ask is ‘who do you sound like?’

Because my work has involved listening to, assessing, arranging, producing and writing many thousands of songs, I rarely listen to commercial radio – my ears need a rest, and my analysis mechanism is permanently engaged, to the point where I write charts in my head when watching movies, hearing songs for the first time, and even during moments of semi-consciousness at 3am whilst lying in bed

(see chapter 7.3 for an understanding of hypnogogic reverie), but the first time I heard Gotye’s song Somebody That I Used to Know in the car I said to my wife,

‘whoever that guy is that sounds like Sting, he’s gonna have a huge hit on his hands’. To my often-cynical and highly critical ear, his voice was familiar-sounding and ‘authentic’ across a wide-ranging demographic, the song was simple and contemporary, and the lyric was loaded with heart-felt and well-expressed emotion. The final piece of the commercial puzzle was evident as well – the song 114

had made its way onto radio, so the ‘access to the audience’ box had been ticked.

Clearly, Gotye had the cultural capital to appreciate the culture ‘trending’ at that specific time. Put simply he had made a range of excellent songwriting choices having acquired the necessary habitus.

Bourdieu’s concepts of ‘habitus’, alternatively seen as a ‘feel for the game’ (1983b, p. 7), and cultural capital which ‘equips the social agent with empathy towards, appreciation for, or competence in, deciphering cultural relations and cultural artefacts’ (Johnson, in Bourdieu, 1993, p. 7), are valuable to any study of songwriting and its production, circulation and consumption. As demonstrated more fully in chapter 5, my own career has fluctuated wildly as I moved from rock to jazz, from live performance to the studio world, from 3 minute songs to advertising jingles, and from 30 second advertisements to 90-minute telemovie underscores and theme songs. With each shift of professional focus my lack of habitus and specific cultural capital in the newer realm of creative activity was exposed, and in each new sub-domain of song composition, success came only when those elements were combined with the other factors necessary for my acquisition of mastery, my ‘adeptus’. Many times I misread the culture, lacked the appropriate habitus, or was otherwise not equipped to ‘read the game’ successfully. If success had been steady and effortless, perhaps I would not so actively have sought answers to the ‘How do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’ question. In hindsight, it was frustration found in failure that fanned and

115

fueled the fire.11

4.1.1 Art vs. Commerce

Various dichotomies have been posited and discussed around contemporary song including the oppositions of art versus commerce, low culture versus high culture, and art versus craft. I would contextualize these debates with the comment that whilst each dichotomy has had an influence on my songwriting (I was after all, part of particular music cultures that had their own naturalised doxa), I was not aware of the issues at the time and rarely discussed them. In hindsight, songwriting for me always seemed to encompass both artistic and commercial constraints and enablers. I was in no doubt that songwriting was artistic when done well but ineffective if nobody bought the record. For me, there was never an ordinary or low culture or a high culture, rather each song was either an effective or an ineffective representation of the pervading rock, jazz, country, funk, or classical film-scoring culture. And for as long as I can remember, songwriting has been both art and craft at different stages of songwriting process. Following Western cultural norms, the intuitive, incubative, creative moments I deemed art and the labour- intensive song development and editing, performance, recording, mixing and final production aspects I deemed craft. The debate as to ‘which side of each dichotomy is most relevant or important’ to the final song outcome was itself, moot. Whilst I agree with Negus and Frith’s rejection of a binary oppositional view of commerce versus art (discussed earlier), and am aware of the sentiments of many rock musicians and fans who see a conflict between commerce and creativity I was far

11 An alliteration perhaps worthy of inclusion in a song lyric... or not? [evaluation]… too much? [referencing the field’s view of such obvious sonic device - perhaps in a rap? [not my style -. decision…. [first or last three ‘f’s, but not six… 116

too busy meeting the deadline and planning how to more quickly move from fair, to good, to great. It would, however seem that my perspective of and rejection of these cultural binaries is atypical of the songwriters I have worked with.

Consistent with the widely held Romantic view of songwriting, many (even most, I would venture) see their songwriting overwhelmingly as art, rather than craft, and commerce as an impediment to their creativity. Some even go so far as to adopt a form of genre-specific snobbery, that is, that their chosen songwriting style is the only worthy way and that those who don’t agree have probably ‘sold out’ to the

‘industry.’ In my teaching practice I find it troubling to hear such views espoused occasionally by the newest generation of young songwriters. I confess, I had hoped the binary view would have been rejected as passé by now. Perhaps Weinstein sums up best the resilience and tenacity with which popular songwriters and musicians cling to the binary opposition of art and commerce;

Less believable than it ever was, the art-versus-commerce myth is promoted and probably believed in as much if not more than it ever has been. The myth persists because too many people gain too many different things-money, identity, prestige, or a common critical standard-from it to give it up. As long as this continues to be true, the participants in rock discourse will continue to take cover under romantic illusion. (Weinstein, in K. Kelly & McDonnell, 1999, pp. 56–71)

Regarding the class snobbery alluded to by Bourdieu in chapter 3.1, I found myself particularly frustrated at times in my career as I moved amongst fans of different musical genres, subgenres and socially-constructed forms. From rock, to jazz, to classical realms, I was confronted with what I have called musical ‘style-snobs’ as well as views that attempted to diminish one work in order to make another appear more valued. For the most part, on reflection, I have maintained a fairly

‘genre-agnostic’ view - to borrow Joe Bennett’s term (in Burnard & Haddon, 2014,

Chapter 3) - as a useful device to describe a view that appreciates the best of both 117

art music and popular music. Asked, as I often am, what my favourite song, band or artist is, my stock reply is ‘I love the best 2% of everything’ revealing my underlying quest to move from fair, to good, to great. In 2013 I wrote a blog entitled ‘Classical, Rock, Jazz – which is best?’ discussing a range of commonly-held debates and rejecting the notion of having genres in opposition;

Classical, Rock, Funk, Jazz, and Folk are all different, each with its own priorities and interpretations of melody, harmony, rhythm, improvisation and style. One is not better than the other, and the top 5% of each is incredible. This topic is one that can be argued endlessly. I won’t do that (…) Pick one, and seek its mastery. (C. Harrison, 2013j)

4.1.2 Taste preferences

Following Bourdieu (1983a), Frith usefully separates the Art Worlds of Becker

(1982) into three ‘taste’ aspects relevant to contemporary songwriters. He labels these: Bourgeois Music (High Art - Bourdieu’s dominant culture) which includes classical (or art) music, which includes the music of the academy (universities and conservatories); Folk Music (Folk Art - Bourdieu’s popular culture) which includes traditional music where the song as a commodity has value to a certain social group depending on its social function as a reflection of both art and life; and

Commercial Music (Mass art - Bourdieu’s majority culture) where the song as a commodity has value depending on sales charts, downloads and the like which become the measure of what is good (Frith, 1990, pp. 97–99)

Observing the many Pro-C songwriters I have worked with, I would suggest most have a well-defined personal preference that loosely fits within Frith’s tripartite model. In that respect, however, my professional practice has been atypical.

Writing as I do primarily to a brief, that is, a statement of client-approved

118

requirements for a commissioned songwriting work, I have found it useful to produce all three varieties with a form of deliberate demarcation. These have included commoditised song artefacts, traditional rock and jazz songs for my own intrinsic pleasure, and a rare ‘art’ piece if I feel the need to express such a thing.

More typical among writers of songs is the type of subtle shifting into creative

‘mode’ without such specific end-use consideration as described by Naylor;

I might see a lyric line in the newspaper or I’ll be taking the dog for a walk in the morning and I’ll get a really strong melody idea (…) and it’s not something that I’d immediately think ‘how can I sell this?’ It’s something for me, and if it did go on to do something, well that’s fine, but that’s not the impetus to actually do it in the first place, it’s just that ‘wow, I’m really liking this idea that’s buzzing around in my head and I want to do something with it’. (Naylor, 2015)

4.1.3 Socialisation in the domain and field

The focus of this research is delimited to Western contemporary popular song as a socially constructed form given meaning by contemporary Westerners;

Sensei Blog #014 – The Culture of Songwriting Wherever you live, on every continent, if you pluck a string or blow in a bamboo pipe, you will hear the overtone or harmonic series of tones that conforms to the laws of physics. That series exists and is measurable repeatedly and consistently. In Western (European-based) society we have, from that harmonic series, constructed a scale that has developed over a few thousand years into what we now know as the chromatic scale. In other societies (Middle Eastern, Asian, African for example) that same harmonic series has been interpreted differently by the local culture (…) sometimes with different pitches including quarter-tones, or tones that sound out of tune to our Western sensibilities.

Because music and song has evolved subject to cultural and historical interpretation, (…) the meaning we give music and songs is a meaning that is constructed by its participants; performers, composers and listeners (…)

Through immersion in song and what makes up song ‘knowledge’; the lyric, melodic and harmonic devices that have historically been used successfully to communicate to others, we can not only make informed choices as songwriters, but also break new ground and create novel and useful variations and developments of song style and craft. (C. Harrison, 2013g)

119

From an autoethnographic perspective, it is useful to highlight that within the systems model, it behoves the creative songwriter to not only immerse oneself in songwriting domain knowledge and obvious symbol systems, but also to enter and achieve membership of the songwriting field itself by familiarisation with its less- obvious idiosyncratic dialects, practices and behavioural norms of the culture itself. Beyond merely studying the song artefacts, music theory, lyric conventions and production aspects of contemporary song, and in order to be socialised into the cultural ‘village’ of musicians and songwriters, creative individuals will often need to adopt the language, behaviours, attitudes and dress of the sub-genre in which they wish to be accepted;

They learn how to operate within the field via a number of methods. These include but are not limited to: engaging in live performance, learning how to analyse and understand a song for a performance, assimilating behaviour patterns at rehearsals, understanding what is expected from a road crew when touring, gaining an understanding of how a DJ relates to a producer and when the two adopt the same persona, absorbing techniques of how to engage an audience night after night, and acquiring a knowledge of where a songwriter fits in the hierarchy between performers, managers, promoters and agents (…) In this way, socialisation can be seen as the process by which individuals learn the culture of their society and it is an ongoing and lifelong one that sees the members of an occupation absorb the status, roles and norms of that occupation. (McIntyre, 2003, p. 238,239)

Members of certain highly specialized music genres are protective of their

‘different-ness’ and can be cautious about admitting any person not credentialed and deemed an authentic candidate for admission. For an example from my experience, a singer announcing a desire to join in with a jazz group, for example, should not cite Moondance by Van Morrison as an example of familiarity with the jazz style, although it is popularly considered to be a jazz song. To the highly experienced jazz practitioner, Moondance is likely to be deemed a ‘pop’ song, and

Morrison a pop singer. If, however, the would-be singer asks to sing a jazz standard 120

that is deeply embedded in the jazz subcultural domain, like A Nightingale Sang in

Berkeley Square or Lush Life, a performance collaboration is more likely to be allowed12. Similarly, a singer auditioning for a ‘screamo’ metal band should wear the appropriate clothes, and act in a manner appropriate to the values of that style, reflecting their socialization in and prior acceptance by the subculture.

It is no different then, for songwriters. Each successful song survives within a localized and specific musical genre (or hybrid of genres) and relies on the life- support system that genre provides within the musical domain and field. The fan- base and industry provide the wherewithal for the propagation of that small species variant. If successful, the species will grow. If the species alienates its own fan-base, as has happened to an extent in the jazz domain, the species’ capacity to survive will naturally diminish. In short the songwriter operates within a social and cultural milieu, and is influenced by it creatively. These three factors – the creative agent or individual, a cultural domain and a social field are this critical to understand. It is appropriate now to address the world of the creative individual(s) or agent(s), and their unique perspectives.

12 For some jazz musicians, each song suggestion is filtered from the perspective ‘am I likely to enjoy performing and improvising within this song’s structure and chord progression and melodic material?’ For the uninitiated singer, they may well select songs based on their ability to sing it well, yet that may not be enough to please the musicians, who value highly the source material of the song itself as fodder for their own expression. 121

4.2 Creative Individual or Agent(s) 4.2.1 A Rationalist Perspective

Creativity has been recognised as a fundamental human capacity available to all, in varying degrees, not just those who have a special connection with the divine, or are somehow blessed with the attributes of genius. As Negus posits;

The acceptance of mystical explanations and the reluctance to look beyond the immediate subjective and metaphorical account of the moment of inspiration, hampers any attempt to get at the social context, the material conditions and social and artistic relationships and practices that produce creative texts and innovations (1996, p. 329,330)

While the stereotypical view of songwriters as having ‘this or that’ personality is unreliable and often misleading, it is however still useful and informative to look at the songwriting process from the perspective of the individual(s) who create songs, including some typical barriers, constraints, enablers and helpful traits.

These individuals are, after all, a necessary but not sufficient part of the creative system. Sawyer (2006, p. 33) summarises historical views of creativity and these conceptions are reinforced by Sharon Bailin;

In previous centuries, creativity tended to be viewed in terms of divine inspiration or individual genius – neither source admitting of the possibility of external intervention. The present century, the latter half in particular, has been witness, however, to attempts to deal with this concept in a new way – scientifically. (Bailin, 1988, p. 2)

Said differently, romantic and inspirationist views don’t help us see creative songwriting in the context of Bourdieu’s field of works, nor do they take into consideration the powerful influences of the field referred in Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model.

The idea of authorial authenticity is a culturally powerful one, and it is allied to romantic notions of creativity-as-divine-genius that, despite being roundly debunked by creativity scholarship (Boden, Csikszentmihalyi, Simonton and many others), persist in the media and in the minds of some aspirant songwriters. (Bennett, in Burnard & Haddon, 2014) 122

An example is the statement by songwriting expert and author John Braheny, who describes one type of songwriters as ‘hard-core-inspiration writers’, and makes the following observation;

My impression (…) is that they will write only when inspired and won’t rewrite, feeling that the remarkable revelation they got from the Creator and put on paper is sacred. This attitude will stand in the way of success for these writers, regardless of how wonderful their inspirations are. (Braheny, 2006, p. 18)

4.2.2 The ‘Tortured Genius’

The ‘tortured genius on drugs, early suicide, impossibly perverse, disorganised, dis-functional and morally bankrupt’ view of songwriters, has been firmly rejected by many Pro-C songwriters who have experienced things from the ‘inside’ and take a more rationalist view. For example, Tony Naylor states;

I reckon so much of that is just a myth, really, in that some of those people were very talented before they became drug-addled and died, and were burnt out by the pressures of the industry before they got to that stage, I would think, or pushed to that degree by managers and promoters – I don’t see them as being any more geniuses than any of the people that are still alive, I mean, Paul McCartney’s still alive (…) some of them were very, very talented, but I don’t think you had to be drug-addled and life a fast life to be talented and be successful. (Naylor, 2015)

Regarding the ‘genius view’, I agree with Weisberg and Howe in that firstly, prodigies can be explained, secondly, genius is gained gradually and, thirdly, that genius quality is not necessarily mysterious. Based on the thousands of incredibly talented songwriters, musicians and performers I have met and worked with in my career, my perception is that none possessed ‘mysterious, inexplicable’ gifts – rather, their ‘genius’ was at least by my reckoning the result of adeptus, developed through the steady acquisition of expertise and mastery.

123

Overwhelmingly, having contributed to over 90 record albums over forty years, my own experience is that most successful songwriters are as mentally balanced, drug-free, relaxed, organised, focussed, hard-working and functional as in any other occupation; ‘writing those songs was like, it just had to happen – I was getting up at 5:30 in the morning to do it because I had my full day at the publishing office’ (Connors, 2015). This reinforces Csikszentmihalyi’s perception that there is not one set of characteristics that can explain creative personalities other than a tendency toward complexity. Because I was not a drug-taker, I tended to circulate among similar non-users so my own perception is likely to be somewhat skewed, however, I stand by the observation, as I was privy to the real songwriters in action, rather than their often sensationalised media image. This observation is even more remarkable given the drug-friendly environment, ease of access and peer pressure to participate. Perhaps, once the experimental drug- taking of the 60s and early 70’s had passed, the tendency I observed for the songwriters I was familiar with to be introverted, solitary and intrapersonally sensitive, contributed to their rejection of social drug-taking. I am however willing to concede those who did partake in the readily-available drug culture would argue that it improved their capacity for divergent thinking (discussed earlier in chapter 3.3.3.5), and that may be true. Unfortunately, it often impeded greatly their capacity for convergent thinking, most necessary for the practicality of getting the job done. A typical example from the early eighties was a famous Australian band in a studio next to where I was recording, who spent an entire 16-hour day getting stoned and smacked-out while they plugged in equipment in the studio, did not get the job finished, and went home at midnight without playing a note. All their work was dismantled the next morning to set up for a large orchestral recording with a 124

prior booking. It’s my observation also that;

…the reigning stereotype of the tortured genius is to a large extent a myth created by Romantic ideology and supported by evidence from isolated and – one hopes – atypical historical periods. (…) If so many American poets and playwrights committed suicide or ended up addicted to drugs and alcohol, it was not their creativity that did it but an artistic scene that promised much, gave few rewards, and left nine out of ten artists neglected if not ignored. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 19)

Despite Inspirationist and Romanticist views having been roundly debunked, the

‘troubled, drug-addicted, depressive songwriter’ archetype provides television, magazines and other media with better photo opportunities, newspapers sales, headlines and topical conversation. Songwriters themselves are complicit in this equation as well, since it makes for a far better story to tell an interviewer that the song came instantaneously and exotically;

in a South-East Asian smokin’ den, People here Cambodian, Snakes and rainbows scarin’ em, they be rippin’ up some opium

…than the actual truth; that the song came as the result of three weeks of trial and error, involving long hours struggling to complete the lyric, and dealing with a raft of technical problems in the studio. To be clear, I am not suggesting that inspiration does not occur (on the contrary), nor that songwriting is not a glamorous pursuit (it is). I believe that creative songwriters do not need to wait for inspiration from some external source, that they can be ordinary people (anybody with the songwriter’s tool-kit and an idea), and that creative songwriters can improve their skills through further observation, immersion, study and practice.

However, while a Rationalist perspective is appropriate wherein everyone has the potential to be creative, that does not imply that everyone has the potential to be equally creative.

125

4.2.3 Genetic or Learned?

A commonly held belief is that children are naturally creative and that societal influences can often stifle such creativities. On being commissioned to write a song for the movie The Hobbit, Neil Finn in his address titled ‘Unknown Pathways: Neil

Finn on Songwriting and Creativity’, stated;

I felt a little bit like Bilbo (…) having an unknown path opened up to me (...) getting to the point where really, it’s child’s play; it’s being untethered, it’s utilising that natural latent urge we all have to explore the unknown, I think we’re all born with it and somehow along the way it gets suppressed… (Finn, 2012)

In Sigmund Freud’s presentation, ‘Creative Writers and Day-Dreaming’, he states that ‘every child behaves like a creative writer’, that growing up tends to put an end to such ‘play’, and that in its place is a form of ‘phantasying’ through daydreams (1908). However, Duncan Petrie challenges Freud’s uncritical acceptance of the Romantic ideal of ‘enshrining creative ability as a naturally-given attribute’ and ‘providing what is effectively a re-reading of the Romantic agony’

(Petrie, 1991, p. 5) and cites Trilling, who argues that he (Freud) ‘was merely adopting a popular belief of his age’ (Trilling, 1959, pp. 321–337). Picking up on the phrase ‘we’re all born with it’, and the suggestion that children are innately creative; in an email to the APA’s creativity subgroup Div. 10, Simonton suggests that ‘genius is partly born’ and that creative potential is both emergenetic,13 a property typical of systems, and epigenetic14. For Simonton;

It is often stated that all of us start creative as little kids, but then have it

13 Emergenetic: from Latin emergere (‘to rise up or out’) based on the theory that people are born with thinking and behavioural traits already in place, and where genetics and environment, or nature and nurture, make up the behavioural and cognitive characteristics of each person. 14 Epigenetic; epi- (Greek: επί- over, outside of, around) where it is theorised that cellular and physiological trait variations that are not caused by changes in the DNA sequence; in layman’s terms, epigenetics is essentially the study of external or environmental factors that turn genes on and off and affect how cells read genes. 126

hammered out of us by misdirected socialization (…) yet this romantic outcome seems most unlikely in light of empirical research. Creativity is strongly associated with several individual difference variables that have substantial heritability coefficients. Examples include openness to experience, tendencies toward cognitive disinhibition, and even general intelligence (which is not uncorrelated with creativity) (…) In crude terms, genius is partly born, not just made (or unmade). Hence, we may not all start out as Picasso's and then have our creativity stamped out by conservative instructors who don't like our finger paintings. With respect to creativity, we are not all born equal. Talent really exists. (Simonton, 2015a)

Where Simonton correlates (to some degree) general intelligence with creativity, this research view is that for songwriters, the Gardner model is more relevant; songwriting can be taught and learned, but the ensuing song artefacts will vary in quality dependent on the individual’s capacities across all eight multiple intelligences. The Simonton email does, however, remind us that when studying the songwriting domain, qualitative variation is not discouraged, it is necessary. We, as songwriters, don’t seek the correct song solution, we seek multiple solutions, from which the field will select the most desirable, useful, novel and non-obvious artefact for domain inclusion. Put simply, successful creative songwriting requires learned habitus, expert skills, access to the domain and the field, and talent helps.

4.3 Domain Acquisition

A contemporary Western popular music songwriter must be aware of the domain of songwriting, identified (…) as lyric and melody, form and structure, rhythmic components, simple harmonic components, accompaniment, arrangement, and orchestration, and performance and production characteristics that enable their work to be manifest in a material form. It is this expanded set of components that constitutes the conventions of the symbol system, the knowledge structures, and the cultural capital residing in the field of works, that is, the domain that songwriters draw on to produce a contemporary Western popular song. (McIntyre, 2008a, p. 47)

127

4.3.1 Immersion in the Domain

For Sawyer, domain immersion in the form of formal training will not squash creativity, it is essential (2006, pp. 405–409). Most creative ideas come from people who are deeply familiar with a domain and are immersed in it. To that end creative persons stay connected to the field and the domain. However, like Sharon

Bailin (1988, pp. 96-97), he clarifies an important step beyond simply satisfying all the ‘rules’ of the songwriting culture; most innovations involve breaking at least one rule, but one must master the domain to be able to know exactly which rules to break. As Bailin contends, (reinforcing the concept of ‘adeptus’ - the attributes of an expert or master);

… when rules are broken in the course of significant achievement, it is generally by a master of the discipline who is at such an advanced stage in the discipline that he can see the point in doing so. It seems then, that one difference between creative and uncreative performances relates to having a real understanding of the discipline in which one is engaged (Bailin, 1988, pp. 96, 97).

Without easy access to the notated music of jazz standards in Sydney in the late

70s due to a lack of money and limited distribution of such materials, I simply compiled my own notated charts for the purpose, by ear;

… I’ve got about 300 jazz tunes written out and a lot of them I just did off the record which gives me an insight into compositional styles (…) a lot of music and musical ideas are communicated through dots15, so you have got to have a basic understanding of that – it just makes things so much easier when you can write out a solo, compare it with the chords and the environment where that little piece of music happens, rather than trying to memorise it. (C. Harrison, 1979)

As described in chapter 2.6.6, the practice of diligently notating songs as charts including chords, melody, structure and rhythm became an integral part of my

15 The term ‘dots’ is a working musician’s slang term for conventional music notation in score form, rather than less formal notation systems like chord charts or tablature. 128

session and live musician practice. It is estimated that over forty years, I have transcribed several thousand hit songs for performance purposes, and a further thousand or so for recording use. This was an informative educational practice where insights into compositional style have been noticed and added to the habitus. Added to that are the hundreds of hit songs performed without charts which were played from aural memory, and thousands of jazz standards performed from the variously named jazz ‘fake books.’ I currently have approximately 3,500 such songs in my performance library.

The cool thing is, once I have done that song once I will never have to transcribe that song again, ever. I now have a permanent record. Call me up in two decades and ask me to play it, and I will play it exactly like the record. (C. Harrison, 2013c)

When being interviewed about their songwriting process, expert songwriters often have difficulty reflectively describing how they do what they do, when they do it. It is quite common, in conversation with songwriters, to hear them describe aspects of their process in vague terms such as ‘I don’t know why, it just feels right.’ Those feelings echo McIntyre’s description of songwriters possessing a ‘feel’ for how to write songs, having forgotten (effectively) how they came to make the creative choices they make (2008a), This is linked to Braheny’s use of the term ‘osmosis’;

I believe that many successful songwriters have acquired their craftsmanship unconsciously, by osmosis (…) they go by feel, but behind it there’s a subconsciously developed analytical process. (Braheny, 2006, p. 18)

In the evolutionary world of songwriting, nuances of style are paramount.

Audiences immerse themselves in genres and sub-genres like Death Metal, Roots,

Indie Pop, Post-Grunge, or Folk-Metal, and are highly sensitised to what is, or is not, appropriate or authentic in that style. A songwriter’s domain-specific skill-set must include the specific characteristics of creative style necessary to convince the 129

listener of the songs’ authenticity within that sub-genre, or to convince the audience that a proposed subtle variation or development of style is analogous enough to be accepted as a worthy development. This idea is referenced by

Weisberg when he states:

…not only are different skills important for creativity within subdomains, but as changes occur in style and taste, the characteristics required of those who would excel within the domain probably also change. (1993, p. 257)

Significant to this research perspective is how such nuances of style are acquired; much of which comes not from formal tuition, but from informal immersion through listening, observing, and socialisation in the culture or sub-culture.

4.3.2 Formal Music Tuition

Pro-C songwriter Rai Thistlethwayte places formal music tuition and theory knowledge into perspective for the songwriting process. He suggests, in differing terminology, that it provides access to a symbol system and language for communicating to other musicians and experts, and a domain

‘hyper-awareness’ when writing and listening to songs;

CH: Does your study at the Con [Sydney Conservatorium of Music] and your theory knowledge help you deconstruct what you’re hearing and identify the techniques?

RT: If I want to explain it to other people who might be performing the song with me or if I want to use any song as a case-study in terms of other songwriting, for help that I’m giving other people, or if there’s a music geek who’s hanging out with me and I want to have some fun by just talking a certain language that’s just fun, I might. I mean, you’re very aware, hyper- aware when you write songs, when you hear other songs… it’s just hyper- sensitive in a really good way. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

Tony Naylor (2015), another Pro-C songwriter interviewed for this research, highlights the importance of deliberately breaking existing rules to create surprise and a point of difference from those songs that have come before.

130

With so many songs being created daily, one may need to explore all manner of rule-breaking in order to create a species variation that the audience responds to favourably and to break through the clutter of songs that are merely useful and be recognised as having created something novel or original. To the interview question, ‘What are the factors that formal music education miss?’ he responded;

The first one is that they don’t expect you to break the rules, and quite often breaking the rules is what makes a song stand out (…) formal training can be a real disadvantage to some people because they wouldn’t break the rules and they wouldn’t be trying to find that point of difference to make a song stand out. (Naylor, 2015)

John Braheny points out that any ‘rules’ we might apply to the act of songwriting are not absolute and often a successful song will indeed break one of those rules. He advises songwriters to become;

aware of principles, the freedoms and restrictions of the medium for which you want to write, and have at your command a wide range of options with which to solve each creative problem (Braheny, 2006, p. 10)

McIntyre argues that domain acquisition occurs from within a variety of sources that ranged across both formal and informal sources’ (2008a, p. 47), and that rarely could it be said that it was entirely oral or entirely formal.

Furthermore, he identifies Bastick’s idea of intuition, that is, a form of ‘non- linear parallel processing of global multi-categorised information’ (1982, p.

215) as reflecting the notion of ‘habitus’. While songwriters would rarely describe their immersion in such terms they do refer to a ‘feel’ for the music or choices becoming ‘second nature’ (2003, p. 291.292); in particular, those choices are based on discriminant recognition of stylistic nuances embedded in each sub-genre acquired through informal learning (a form of naturalistic

131

intelligence, discussed in chapter 10.4).

Every popular, successful sub-genre of song became popular for a reason; it was relevant, accessible to the audience, timely, expressed something of value, or in some other way desired and appropriated by a large enough group of followers to have been deemed ‘successful’. The leading musicians, artists, songwriters in each sub-genre have identified nuances, and made distinctions that capture the sub- genre successfully. Where hundreds or even thousands try, only a handful succeed in making the critical distinctions as to what is important to include in the song and how to present it to the audience in a way that will be collectively embraced.

This could be via appropriate instrumentations, texture, lyric style, harmony, melody, rhythm and the subtle nuances of each. Listening critically to multiple examples of songs is a vital part of the equation; as defined in chapter 1.1, the music score is no longer the principle text for study purposes; it is the recording itself. In the domain of songwriting, each song contributes to the ‘fields (or spaces) of works’ (Bourdieu, 1996, p. 235) that make up the domain aspect of the systems model. That domain knowledge is often contained within the recordings of the songs themselves. In this case the recordings become the ‘text’ to be studied and inculcated, as well as the books, videos, articles, interviews and images of the domain that need to be acquired as a form of cultural capital that contributes to the

‘habitus’ a songwriter needs to obtain (Bourdieu, 1977, 1983b, 1996).

4.3.3 Tacit Knowledge

In his 2003 doctoral thesis, Phillip McIntyre identified the problematic nature of researching creativity within this relatively new field of songwriting (2003, p. 22)

132

and the necessity to investigate the wealth of material generated not only outside the field, but also beyond academia. This exists in the extensive biographies, autobiographies, interviews, and other primary sources like popular songwriting method books. Regarding the latter, McIntyre cautions;

…they do not, however, explain in any theoretical sense what is occurring at the coalface of western popular music. It is the related field of the study of creativity itself that does, however, offer far more possibilities for theorising the pragmatics of song composition. (McIntyre, 2003, p. 33)

As we incrementally creep towards a better understanding of creativity and in this case creativity in songwriting, gaps in the knowledge continue to ‘hamstring’ research. For example, formal music theory textbooks often lack relevance to the evolving domain of popular Western songwriting, and existing popular literature appears shallow and often based upon a Romantic view of individual creative agency. This body of work also tends to ignore the field of experts, intermediaries, critics and audience while much academic research has been focussed upon socio- cultural aspects. For Philip Tagg, tertiary music education in Western culture tends to partition into two schools; ‘nothing but the music’, or alternatively, ‘everything but the music’. For Tagg, teaching curricula focuses either entirely on how to (in this case, write songs), or entirely on what it means (song culture from a sociological perspective). In an email distributed to the International Association for the Study of Popular Music he laments that popular music studies have;

…also failed to bridge two important epistemic and institutional gaps - [1] between knowledge in and knowledge about music, and [2] between music as culturally specific sonic materiality and the sociocultural context of those sounds. (Tagg, 2015)

Still missing is useful research into the ‘coalface of western popular music’ the daily everyday activity of songwriters (McIntyre, 2003, p. 33). This has not come from academic scholars who have observed from afar and focussed on the 133

interaction of songs in the culture, nor has it come from Romanticist songwriters talking in terms of ‘channelling the ether.’ It is also missing from the research of scholars in the classical or jazz realms applying their own habitus borne of immersion in different domains. In order to interpret what songwriters do ‘at the coalface’, we need to filter data from successful songwriters who operate at that coalface, analyse that information and interpret it based on the qualitative perspective available only to an expert practitioner. This necessary information will allow scholars to theorise with the benefit of that depth perspective. For example,

Don Walker, a highly successful Pro-C songwriter, describes his own ability to see the ‘insider’ perspective in the songs of others, based upon his own experience of hundreds of live performances where the songs were tested in front of live audiences;

I do feel that I can hear, in musicians and songwriters, the ones that have spent a lot of their formative years in front of real people in a live situation. You can hear Thelonius Monk spent a lot of his formative years doing tent- shows with a gospel singer and that those conditions that he was playing in were quite primitive, the audiences were probably quite primitive, and the music was probably quite primitive and there’s an indefinable foundation of reality in what he does that a lifetime at Julliard cannot teach you. (Walker, 2015)

His point that a ‘lifetime at Julliard cannot teach you’ sums up concisely that there is far more to understanding songwriting than currently exists in the textbooks.

Rai Thistlethwayte, when asked what successful songwriters do beyond what is in the textbooks, stated;

…they just do what they do and they’re already awesome and they’re just doing more awesome stuff; when they get the whiff of people are digging it… so they just keep going and then they break through the clouds if they’re happy to stay ahead of the pack by thinking different and following their heart… that’s what I think it is. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

When Thistlethwayte states ‘they’re already awesome’ he is not implying that they

134

were born awesome or possess some ‘genius’ that mortals may not. In context, what he is suggesting is rather, that songwriters (having already enjoyed some degree of success) are more likely to continue to simply ‘do what they do.’ If they

‘break through the clouds’ they attempt to ‘follow their hearts,’ repeating whatever successful actions facilitated them ‘staying ahead of the pack’. Described in the lyrical language redolent of his craft, Thistlethwayte clearly sees the songwriting industry as highly competitive with rewards for endeavour somewhat elusive. This position reinforces the idea that aspirants to adeptus, to mastery, won’t find those elusive elements in the available literature. The problem is in the lack of qualitative literature, that is, texts that describe the elements of songwriting beyond merely quantitative analysis of melody, harmony and lyrics.

A little over two years ago, as an adjunct to the tertiary songwriting lectures I deliver, I began writing a weekly blog for my students about my long career as a songwriter and musician. Student response was unexpected, immediate and overwhelming. It was clear that the blogs addressed a type of learning and information not covered in the lectures and other music study undertaken at the college where I teach, and the students clamoured for more of this informal, anecdotal context. Why were these blogs so engaging and necessary in the students’ eyes? Because they described and articulated missing elements of valuable and applicable cultural capital and domain knowledge that student’s saw as vital to their everyday lives as working musicians and songwriters, and because of a desire for a deeper engagement with ‘insider’ understanding. Students are willing and ready to learn the course content being delivered, but the blogs and anecdotal stories add value not normally included in a textbook; 135

The person (…) acts to further the thing valued in some way, to extend the possibility of him developing it, to deepen his involvement with it. (Krathwohl, Bloom, & Masia, 1984)

A further question is implied, ‘do the blogs address a laçuna in the teaching process?’ Far beyond the available texts in the library, students clearly wanted to know about my musical life, how I write, why I make the choices I make, and the informal context that sculpted my songwriting world. Looking back on a career as a songwriter, it is clear that one makes a myriad of choices and decisions during the act of creating songs. These choices suggest a series of related questions like, why do I take the songwriting paths I take, how do I apply my experiences, by what generalised theories do I operate, what has led me to adopt those generalised theories, and how have I tested those theories, and what are the results?

As I hope this thesis is demonstrating, autoethnographic research allows for considered analytical reflection on songwriting choices and decisions. In the process of exposing the knowledge that was at one time quite tacit, one can reverse engineer one’s songwriting techniques and consider the underlying theories to which one is adhering. These generalised propositions or concepts have come from innumerable tests and observations in the field that themselves served as a bedrock of tacit knowledge, and which are based on a belief, rightly or wrongly, that the theories would increase the likelihood of songwriting success in some way16. By shining a light on these processes, theories, generalisations,

16 While I appreciate that songwriting may seem magical, subjective, mysterious and ephemeral for the uninitiated, for me it is perfectly logical, fascinating, engaging and an endless source of curiosity. I would be professionally negligent if I did not pass on what I have learned thus far; I consider the act of dismissing as mysterious (and therefore unteachable) any aspect of songwriting unforgivable, and in Philip Tagg’s words ‘tantamount to intellectual treachery’ (2012, p. 16) 136

propositions, and the life events that triggered them, it is hoped to identify, clarify and validate (or even refute) the value or novelty of the creative practices used, extrapolating the underlying tests, considerations, thoughts and formative theories as they were adopted in creative practice. Written for students, the resultant blogs referenced herein were designed to contextualise and make more accessible and relevant the sometimes dry symbol system that has been inherited from the

Western euro-classical theory model.

4.3.4 Habitus

Having immersed oneself in songwriting practices, techniques, nomenclature, notation systems, sounds and song artefacts themselves, one then has the necessary accessible knowledge to confidently proceed;

…the process of domain acquisition has resulted in an available body of knowledge readily and, in Bastick’s terms, intuitively accessed and processed by these songwriters. In Bourdieu’s terms, they acquired the habitus of songwriters. (McIntyre, 2008a, p. 47)

What successful songwriters ‘do when they do it’, is to access and process their knowledge as a direct result of many years of immersion in the songwriting process. While producer Brian Eno may construct songs in the studio;

…you no longer come into the studio with a conception of the finished piece. Instead, you come with actually rather a bare skeleton of the piece or perhaps with nothing at all…. Once you become familiar with studio facilities, or even if you’re not, you can begin to compose in relation to those facilities…. Actually constructing a piece in the studio (Eno, 2004, p. 129) in Tobias (2013, p. 215)

…it should be put into some perspective. Many decades of immersion in songwriting, recording, production, marketing, harmonic, lyric and melodic integration and deductive thinking enable Eno to use the tools of the studio to construct songs. For someone lacking such habitus, simply walking into a studio

137

would not make such productivity possible, but for an experienced professional songwriter such as Eno, the process would be not dissimilar to a writer of novels finding a comfortable spot with her lap-top to write a short story. So songwriters need to acquire songwriting habitus, but there is more to it;

The ability for songwriters in the contemporary Western popular music tradition to make choices and, therefore, be creative is thus both circumscribed and facilitated by their knowledge of the domain of contemporary Western popular music and their access to, and knowledge of, the field that holds this knowledge. (McIntyre, 2008a, p. 48)

4.4 Field of Experts, Intermediaries, Gatekeepers and Audiences

Put simply, to be a good songwriter one needs to know the rules and understand the industry and audiences, that is, the field of experts, intermediaries, gatekeepers and audiences that can affect their output. To begin to understand the industry and audiences, returning to Alexander’s model provides a good starting place.

4.4.1 Distributors in practice

Since the Tin Pan Alley era of the late 1800s, and throughout much of the twentieth century, record companies, publishing houses and radio stations have played a vital role as distributors of music. In the twenty-first century these distribution tools have been added to via YouTube, Facebook, live streaming, ‘cloud’ servers and direct website sales. Despite such changes to the way songs are distributed,

Alexander’s Modified Cultural Diamond (chapter 3.2.3) is consistently relevant and the basic elements remain intact. As an example, a songwriter accesses consumers via some form of distributor, with both art and society having an influence. What is perhaps missing or understated in this model from a songwriting perspective is the reverse flow, where consumers through their choices, profoundly influence the 138

creators and the next creation they come up with. That interdependency is a vital part of the equation, as songwriters adjust their songwriting choices a posteriori

(based on observation or something known from experience) in order to better locate a willing audience.

4.4.2 Field Verification

McIntyre applies Csikszentmihalyi’s point that ‘a field is seen as being necessary to determine whether the innovation is worth making a fuss about’

(Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 41) and states;

It is in reference to the field that a songwriter must verify the merits of a song and decide whether it may then be included in this dynamic body of knowledge. (McIntyre, 2003, p. 171)

Pro-C Songwriter Don Walker, who is also potentially a candidate as a Big-C songwriter, highlights the role of the field in filtering unworthy songs from distribution;

It’s both a positive and a negative. It’s negative in that, if you’re a songwriter, nobody will hear what you do unless it passes through some kind of filter in the industry or between you and the audience. That’s unless you can find a way of getting directly to the audience (…) The positive is that an industry filter like that is a good way of filtering out artists and songwriters who… you know we all run the danger of disappearing up our own arse, in things that are desperately important to us but which really don’t make much sense to anybody else. (Walker, 2015)

Despite his distaste for the Australian ABC hit TV show Countdown’s ‘pop’ appeal,

Walker does acknowledge that the industry typified by shows such as this also provided a ‘pipeline’ of access to an audience unreachable to live bands at the time;

[The] ABC/Countdown culture, we were just a million miles away from it – it was like a different industry; (…) we went on it as did other people in our situation because it was probably the only pipeline that we had into putting ourselves in front of people, beyond clubs with eighty people in them at midnight. (Walker, 2015)

139

4.4.3 The Evolving Field

Given Walker’s historical reference to his days working in rock band Cold Chisel it is interesting to observe what is similar and what has changed in the fifty- something years since the early days of pop and rock music in all its variations;

Today (…) a songwriter in order to become economically successful has to have his materials accepted by a publishing firm, recording firm, a performing artist, by disk jockeys across the nation, and finally by the listeners who, in turn will have to purchase sheet music and phonograph records of his tunes. (Etzkorn, 1963, p. 101)

Since Etzkorn’s 1963 observation, much has changed in the detail. Radio station disc jockeys rarely decide what is played, we now have singer-songwriters who perform their own work, sheet music sales have been decimated, the phonograph disappeared briefly for a time (replaced by tape, then CDs, then digital files), and then returned as an audiophile’s must-have piece of equipment. However, the roles of the field players have not varied. Commercial songwriters still need the institutions of the music industry with all its attendant support personnel to gain access to large audiences. Each song genre and sub-genre is still supported by a sophisticated society representing distributors and consumers. What has changed profoundly is the nature of distribution. Where once the audience heard songs on the radio, went to the music store and purchased the song in the form of a physical recording for several dollars, now the audience hears the song from a streaming site, on-line store or website, selects it for download, and gains an audio file or merely a link to one, for a fraction of a cent. This evolution of the field has had a direct influence on songwriters.

4.4.4 Field influencing the Creative Agent

Caution should be taken to avoid attributing control of Alexander’s Modified

140

Cultural Diamond simply to the creators, for the influence of the field on the songwriter’s output should not be understated. This influence is a vital part of the evolutionary process of songwriting. Highly cognizant of the expectations of the audience, subgenre-initiates, early adopters, experts, critics, publishers, agents, record company executives, radio stations and peers, songwriters actively compose songs parallel to that market-place sensitivity. They compose with an acute awareness as to what has come before – the antecedents to each song, the successes and failures in each song style, and the cultural history that makes one song appropriate and another inappropriate.

Assimilating the style of predecessors is necessary before one can develop one’s own. Only by immersing oneself in the domain can one find out whether there is room left for contributing creatively to it, and whether one is capable of doing so. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 251)

The field (experts and the society at large) selects songs for inclusion in the domain. Over time, songwriters with the necessary habitus will respond to songs already accepted into the domain with their own artefacts. These song artefacts will be inspired by, influenced by, or even directly derived from the successful works of others. Much in the way that Lennon/McCartney responded to the Beach

Boys competitively (Ceulemans, 2009; Clydesdale, 2006), Thistlethwayte describes the active response to hearing a highly appealing song and immediately wanting to respond with a creation of one’s own;

You have various waves of that… it probably doesn’t happen right then and there… you’re more in a bit of awe, if there’s something that’s really great that you love, but then later on you do get inspired by it, to have a conversation with it by doing a response… and the response is your creation. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

4.4.5 Creative Competition

One of the successful practices that has spurred songwriters toward better song

141

outcomes, is competition, not only from external songwriters, as in the Beatles versus the Beach Boys (Ceulemans, 2009) but also internal songwriters, as in Paul

McCartney competing with John Lennon, (Clydesdale, 2006), the competition between all the writers in Fleetwood Mac (Brackett, 2007), Tim Finn competing with his brother Neil Finn of Crowded House (Bourke, 2014) and from this researcher’s personal experience, Gobles, Birtles, Shorrock, and Briggs from the

Little River Band. Bracket (2007, p. 155) describes the competitive tension among the Fleetwood Mac members, citing a 2006 telephone conversation between

Rolling Stone magazine senior editor, Anthony de Curtis, and Fleetwood Mac songwriter Lindsay Buckingham;

Much of Fleetwood Mac was a double edged sword. Band politics can be joyous and supportive, or competitive and sinister. For me, things tended to fall into the latter category. Maybe that’s because I was the glue, the one putting the songs together, and yet I wasn’t necessarily the one with the political power in the group (Buckingham, in Decurtis, 2006)

Clydesdale describes the development of the Beatles creativity in terms of three elements; internal rivalry (with cooperation) for hit single ‘A sides’; external competition (with no cooperation) from other bands, especially the Beach Boys in the USA; and ‘mutually reinforcing personalities and talents that created continual improvement’ (Clydesdale, 2006, p. 137) provided by other support persons. He posits a view of Lennon and McCartney’s songwriting moving from ‘early mediocrity’ through a gradual skills development over time and with the guidance of other collaborative supporters such as producer George Martin paralleling the movement from little-c through Pro-C to Big-C creativity described by Kozbelt et al

(2010, pp. 23-24). In the documentary The Making of Sergeant Pepper, McCartney describes the productive internal rivalry between himself and Lennon;

He’d write Strawberry Fields. I’d go away and write Penny Lane (…) it was a 142

very friendly competition because we were both going to share in the rewards anyway (…) so we were getting better and better and better all the time (The Making of Sgt. Pepper, 1992)

Reflecting the Beatles ‘curious Transatlantic slugging match’ (George Martin, in

Clydesdale, 2006, p. 133) with the Beach Boys and their key songwriter Brian

Wilson, McCartney describes the external rivalry and notes;

…the single biggest influence on Sergeant Pepper was the Beach Boys record Pet Sounds and I think Brian Wilson was a great genius (…) we were inspired (…) and nicked a few ideas (The Making of Sgt. Pepper, 1992)

Clydesdale adds that George Martin provided significant expertise in music and technology, which none of the Beatles had in the early years. What they brought to the table was a deep knowledge of and appreciation for the nuances of rock ‘n’ roll.

As the Beatles grew in expertise, evident on later albums, they were able to dispense with Martin’s producing skills. Following Clydesdale, and based on actual songwriting credits taken from some 1,500 albums, Ceulemans quantitatively focusses on three parts of a rock band’s internal organisation (2009). For

Ceulemans these are; internal competition (as in Lennon and McCartney), outsourcing (where external parties contribute songs for the band), and instability

(band member line-up changes). He finds that internal competition is correlated with increased probability of success, and that outsourcing and instability are negatively correlated. However, Ceulemans admits that external competition between different bands may have a role not included in their quantitative research.

The findings of Clydesdale, Brackett, Bourke, and Ceulemans resonate with those of this research. In the band scenario, songwriters who pay attention to the works of others, and cooperatively compete within the relative safety of their own band, 143

avoiding intrapersonal band conflict, stand a greater chance of achieving commercial success. Competition, however, that becomes non-inclusive, antagonistic or non-collaborative is likely to eventually dissolve the band partnership, as exemplified in the self-destruction of Fleetwood Mac, the Beatles,

Little River Band, and Split Enz. In the last two examples, this researcher was an active participant in recording sessions where the interpersonal band member friction was palpable (see chapter 7.3.8.4, the Distribution of Power). Cultural leverage (power) and the defence of symbolic and commercial capital became paramount, rather than collaboratively pursuing greater songwriting success.

4.4.6 Nested Audiences

Sawyer described the ‘field’ as a nested audience.; The movement from the circumference of the concentric rings towards the centre of the ‘bull’s-eye’ moves from the uninitiated raw public through higher and higher levels of domain immersion and expertise, where the intermediaries (and critics, experts and gatekeepers) exist. The whole field decides what is or isn’t creative; i.e. useful and novel.

144

Figure 5 - Nested Audiences representing the ‘Field’ (Sawyer, 2006, p. 218)

In this respect Kaufman and Baer (2012) ask ‘who decides what is creative?’ For the songwriter, it could be asked, ‘which elements of the nested audiences should we then listen to, respond to, seek criticism or advice from, or deem important to the furtherance of our songwriting careers? Following Csikszentmihalyi and

Bourdieu, we can say that acceptance into the creative milieu is facilitated by the field through the deployment and recognition of symbolic and cultural capital, seen in such things as chart success, awards, airplay, ‘likes’ on social media, etc., and economic capital, seen in the uses for profit of sales, downloads, appearance fees and royalties. However;

The most valid judgements of the creativity of any product or idea in a domain are the collective opinions of those people who the world has deemed experts in that domain (Kaufman & Baer, 2012)

Put pragmatically, who do songwriters need to convince as to the worthiness of their song? Would this be a Rolling Stone critic, a Sony executive, a judge on The

Voice, or 500,000 Facebook likes? Or does the songwriter feel they have studied the field enough to make their own ‘judgment of worthiness’ reliable? This last capacity, based on a posteriori knowledge, an ability to anticipate accurately the likely industry or audience response, is the realm of highly successful songwriters and producers. Pro-C songwriter Graeme Connors’ work as a music publisher heightened his awareness of the field and its expectations, and provided him with a unique perspective to evaluate his own songwriting. He describes his time as the managing director of Rondor Publishing;

I did that for about four years and it was a fantastically formative time in my career. I was working with songwriters, I was pitching songs, I was

145

hearing what the record industry thought of artists from the other side of the table. (…) As a songwriter, to realise that all your precious thoughts and all your precious little creations have to live in an economic environment, otherwise no-one is going to take you seriously. (Connors, 2015)

This post-Darwinian view can be glimpsed in Neil Finn’s highlighting of the role of

‘natural selection’ during the songwriting process, which can also be described as a form of naturalistic intelligence capacity for discriminant pattern recognition. It is centred on observing and evaluating what song elements are likely to be attractive to the audience;

A big part of creativity is developing powers of recognition and editing, noticing details along the way and choosing the ingredients that seem right to you (…) you choose elements of style and detail because you believe that that will make your idea more attractive or more stimulating for other people (Finn, 2012)

Clearly, based on his extensive a posteriori knowledge Finn anticipates field notions of creativity and worthiness and writes to his audiences, selecting carefully, based on his own exemplary adeptus, what is likely to succeed. However, even for the most gifted and talented musicians, what pleases the connoisseurs and experts in the field, those seen to exist in the centre of Sawyer’s ‘nested audience’, may not necessarily please the less educated public, located at the model’s circumference.

4.4.6.1 Audience Reactions

A classic exemplification of music moving beyond audience comprehension can be observed in the dramatic and hostile audience response to Igor Stravinsky’s ‘Le Sacre du Printemps’ at the Theatre des Champs-Elysees. From the dissonant sacre chord, the exaggerated repetitions, frequent and abrupt rhythm changes, unrelieved fortissimo of percussion and promising melodies ‘dropped with unanticipated decisiveness (…) dissonant chords, irregular rhythms, exotic scales and modified accent patterns virtually rained down on the listener. (…) Virtually every musical and balletic expectation had been violated most provocatively (Gardner, 1993, p. 191)

Here we had the composer Stravinsky, at the peak of his powers in the act of 146

creating a shift in a well-established domain. It can be argued that the subsequent press and controversy which in this case resulted from Stravinsky’s move beyond audience comprehension, contributed to the lively debate and eventual positive response of the field.

It is rare in songwriting practice for such a negative initial audience reaction to evolve into widespread acceptance within a domain. There is, however, a constant willingness to explore and test new hybrid music stylings and sub-genres. Despite strong resistance to new genres from those already commercially established, there seems an insatiable appetite from audiences for freshness, subtle innovation and experimentation based on familiar song styles. The established songwriting symbol systems and enormous over-supply of songs, via radio, YouTube and

Facebook, being released create a commercial environment where the market demands novelty first, usefulness second;

The high rate of turnover of hits on the ‘Hot 100’ may no longer indicate rapid aesthetic innovation but rather aesthetic exhaustion as trivially different songs quickly reach the top of the charts and as quickly fade because they are so derivative. (Peterson in Crane, 1994)

Facebook ‘likes’ and YouTube ‘hits’ form a part of the filter that recognises novelty to some extent, however at the time of writing, the aspects of usefulness and quality are still measured in actual sales, largely from radio. Historically, controversial new songwriting hybrids like Rock and Roll in the 1950’s, Punk and

Disco music in the 70’s, Grunge in the 90’s, Gangsta Rap in the 2000’s and current styles such as Dubstep and Death Metal may polarize opinion, but for their practitioners that is the point. The ‘provocative violation of expectation’ Gardner referred to in the Stravinsky example is clear in such forms. These creative

147

practitioners have developed a following, a subsequent place in the market-place, and thrive on being in some way the ‘opposite’ of what surrounds them in the commercial marketplace17;

Young, working-class men symbolically resist both adult culture and middle-class values, through a process called bricolage. They pick and choose products and combine them in unexpected ways that adults find shocking, and they develop new musical styles, also shocking, that help define them as a group. (Alexander, 2003, p. 185)

The worldwide news and social media to which songwriters are exposed highlights the music trends we are experiencing, brings them to the attention of the world, and allows others to adopt their idiosyncrasies overnight. Songwriters, aided by media exposure, influence the development of these trends, and are themselves influenced constantly by the trend-setting of others. Whereas geography played a big part in the localised style-setting of songwriting of the 60s and 70s, technological advances including television, the internet, satellite communication, and global media now allow sub-genres to develop across international borders, beyond the streets of Liverpool, London, San Francisco, Seattle and Melbourne.

4.4.6.2 Audiences

As appalling as the notion may seem to the young songwriting ‘artiste’, radio stations are not in the business of selling songs. They are in the business of selling audiences to advertisers. If radio surveys show that playing indie songs attracts a lot of relatively wealthy young people with surplus income who are open to try a different brand of car, they can convince car makers to advertise on their radio station. That advertising revenue pays for their staff, DJs, and importantly, for their

17 For relevant socio-cultural research, see also (Frith, 1996; Negus, 1996; A. Bennett, 2001; Echols, 2010). 148

expensive broadcast licence. This licence has a royalty component that is passed on to the songwriters via collection agencies such as APRA, ASCAP, BMI, and their equivalents in various countries. Songwriters therefore need the car, detergent, toy, hardware, office furniture, and appliance manufacturers to spend on radio advertising. It allows radio to survive, and operate broadcast licences to distribute revenue to songwriters (as a secondary benefit, it also keeps a legion of songwriters surviving with the occasional advertising jingle). In one respect a century of radio has created an expectation in the minds of listeners that they are likely to enjoy what they hear and that it will improve their lives somehow. Writing and releasing a song on radio implies an agreement of sorts between songwriter and audience (see Appendix A for an example of such an implied ‘contract’).

The challenge for writers of songs is to create works that give something to the listener, by way of a transaction. In exchange for the listener’s attention and possibly 99 cents for a digital download, the songwriter tacitly promises to provide some emotional, attitudinal or experiential artefact to amuse, bemuse, entertain, disturb, stimulate, activate or observe. Any one of those outcomes would make the song useful to the listener. If the work is also in some way novel, surprising, different, unique, unusual, fresh, or unexplored, then novelty may be also attributed by the field and the work is to a greater or lesser extent, deemed creative. To that end, songwriters make multiple attempts to create novel variations seen for example in albums of songs and the field, occasionally experts, more often the CD-buying or downloading public, selects (or does not) the song for inclusion in the domain:.

To have any effect, an idea must be couched in terms that are 149

understandable to others, it must pass muster with experts in the field, and finally it must be included in the cultural domain to which it belongs (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 27)

Changes to a domain need to be sanctioned by some group entitled to make such decisions. Whilst the term ‘field’ is often used to designate an entire discipline or kind of endeavor, here we refer to the gatekeepers - teachers, critics, journal editors, museum curators, agency directors, Radio, TV, YouTube, Facebook, live audiences, even the public at large, that is, the social organization of the domain

(Csikszentmihalyi, in 2012, p. 315,324)

A maker may view his or her work as creative, but if there is not an audience that sees it that way, then the work is not considered creative (Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010, p. 468)

Often the songwriter loves a particular song for ‘little-c’ reasons – because it is creative for him/her, or in Boden’s terms, ‘P’ (personally) creative. It may contain an exciting new chord progression, a particularly satisfying lyric outcome, some production aspect, or highly charged with personal emotions unique to the songwriter. The audience that the songwriter has access to at the time, however, may have a slightly incompatible set of criteria for what is valuable and useful;

More important, to the general public (…) I would say that ninety percent of the audience would listen to two things; they listen to the lyric, and the general rhythm. (…) it’s that old thing that ‘it’s got a good rhythm and you can dance to it’ (laughs). (Naylor, 2015)

4.4.6.3 Intermediaries

Having argued that in order to consistently create songwriting artefacts, a creative agent needs the domain and field to be functioning favourably, it is relevant to identify the powerful role of intermediaries, not only in the distribution of songs, but in the access to opportunity. The list of persons who have ‘opened doors’ and acted as intermediaries throughout my career is a long one, but some significant

150

parties are listed below (paraphrased from a 1985 motivational speech I penned) with the circumstances under which they helped my career. These include: Bootleg

Band members Tony Naylor and Geoff Cox, who encouraged my songwriting efforts in Melbourne in my teens; Melanie Safka’s pianist Emile Pandolfi, who organised a jam at his home in LA and invited Chick Corea, so I could meet and play with my hero; my high-school hockey teacher Mr. Woodward, who gave me the confidence to believe I had enough natural ability to be excellent at something;

Tony Naylor (again), who assured me that my songs were worthy; jazz pianist

Michael Bartolomei, who introduced me to critical listening and highlighted what was important and for three decades played on my songs across multiple genres;

Recording engineers Ross Cockle and Ernie Rose, who recommended me for studio work in Melbourne at the tender age of 18; and guitarist Steve Murphy, from whom I modelled my practice regime (C. Harrison, 1985).

Each of these examples of ‘opening doors’ identifies a single step in this songwriter’s career development and highlights some factors that influence the progression along the creativity continuum from little-c to Pro-C and toward domain-changing Big-C creativity (or from fair, to good, to great). For Big-C songwriters Lennon and McCartney, factors including location of birth, year of birth, radio broadcasts, access to the live performance venues of Hamburg, an insightful and supportive manager, publishing company and record producer, all impacted, facilitated or propelled their works to the popular music forefront. It is not disputed that John Lennon and Paul McCartney were a transformational, brilliant songwriting team, however, the field and the entire system in which they moved had a profound influence on their career trajectories. With that in mind, 151

McIntyre wonders what impact they might have had if, for example, they had; been born in the 1940s, not in post-war Liverpool - speaking English and exposed to both English music culture and American rhythm and blues - but in neutral

Switzerland; not had the opportunity to hone their performance craft and broad song repertoire in Hamburg over three years in their formative years, playing up to

7 nights a week, up to eight hours a night - by 1964 they had played over 1200 gigs

(Gladwell, 2008, p. 49,50); not benefitted from Brian Epstein’s early, decisive management enabling a record deal with EMI/Parlophone; not acquired Dick

James as their Publisher to set up Northern Songs to guarantee their future financial strength; employed a record producer other than George Martin, at a time when England was at the forefront of experimental recording technology?

(McIntyre, 2011).

Clearly, the success of the Beatles was not due to raw talent alone which they clearly had, it was also precipitated by the timely access to the field of intermediaries around them. As well as benefitting from the support and judgments of intermediaries, one needs access to an audience, often via gatekeepers such as critics, industry icons, spokespeople, secretaries, and facilitators.

4.4.7 Value Judgment

How is the field to decide if one song is better than another? Is it a bad thing to write songs that are popular? Or is that actually the point and is it excursions into the avant-garde that are irrelevant, silly and unnecessary? As you would expect, it is not a mutually exclusive dichotomy, but simply a continuum along which

152

songwriters move. Theodor Adorno’s famous critique ‘On Popular Music’ (Adorno

& Simpson, 1941) lamented the standardization of composition where music is made up of ‘easily recognisable and (through frequent repetition) accepted formulae, within an overall scheme which remains basically the same’ (Adorno,

1988, p. 29). Adorno argued that the jazz-influenced dance music of his day should be described as a regression of listening. His disdain for, and dismissal of, such popular music ‘encompassed all music which is unable to resist exploitation as commodity’ and as Paddison put it, ‘Adorno simply detested popular music’ (1982, p. 208). Adorno’s work devaluing popular music gained him notoriety among popular music scholars and seventy years later, critics and songwriters still argue over music as art versus commodity, serious versus popular music, and critical versus uncritical listening. As outlined earlier, this researcher’s perspective on these matters borrows Joe Bennett’s term genre-agnostic (in Burnard & Haddon,

2014, Chapter 3) to describe an appreciation for the best of both art music and popular music, and a willingness to enjoy the best 2% of everything.

As songwriting culture evolves and popular song changes, the question of who the

‘gatekeepers’ are in any period, those who make value judgments, remain indistinct. Last century it was more obvious who the gatekeepers were. They sat in offices in big record companies and publishing houses. However, as discussed earlier, the roles of the field players have not varied, but the methods of distribution have. Those gatekeepers still exist, however their influence is challenged by the millions of people with easy access to popular songs online facilitated through streaming apps, ‘torrenting’ downloads, and social media.

Effectively, the entire audience now has its own little gate, and can easily filter 153

what type of songs, styles and artists it accesses;

An individual committed to a career in a field demanding creativity simply produces work which he or she believes is good; sometimes such work is acknowledged by others and sometimes it is not, and the creator has essentially nothing to do with these judgments (Weisberg, 1993, p. 87).

The above reflects the nature of the songwriter’s experience, where the songs selected by audiences as being ‘great’ are often not perceived as such by the songwriter;

It’s very flattering when your peers recognise you for putting forward quality work, (…) the more commercial success I have, the more it reminds me that it’s completely separate from the creative act in terms of success or failure and also how you believe in it yourself. (Gotye, 2012)

4.4.8 Unpredictable Selection

Despite the songwriter’s best attempts to predict what the field will select as the

‘next big thing’, very few consistently get it right. Many times the specific songs selected as ‘hits’ by the society at large come as a surprise to the author of the work(s). For example, when musing on the success of Radiohead’s Creep;

Thom E Yorke sounds breathless, amazed and exhilarated. Radiohead's singer has had plenty of surprises in the past couple of years -- but this is the most astonishing yet. ‘Getting to Number Seven - whoa! That's as silly as America!’ And this with a re-release that the band vehemently opposed for ages. ‘We did a lot to interviews where people asked us, 'Are you going to re-release Creep? And we said 'Oh no! Not in a million bloody years! Over our dead bodies!' 'But then we got back from America and just thought, 'Why not?' l suppose the song won in the end (Jennings, 1993)

Similarly, for Nirvana’s Smells like Teen Spirit;

Geffen president Ed Rosenblatt told The New York Times, ‘We didn't do anything. It was just one of those 'get out of the way and duck' records’ (Azerrad, 2013, p. 228).

For Mars Volta’s Bedlam in Goliath it was stated that;

‘We're surprised by any kind of commercial success or acceptance on a mainstream level (…) we really don't understand it at all,’ guitarist Omar

154

Rodriguez says of Bedlam in Goliath's #3 debut. (Gonzales, 2008)

Bombay Bicycle Club’s Flaws;

Was never meant to be a big deal, [it was meant to be] a self-centred thing to release it for our own pleasure, front man Jack Steadman said. He added: ‘A lot of the time I was just recording it for fun and didn't think it [bedroom music sessions] would go on any albums. (…) I think we're all surprised by how well it's done’. (Bychawski, 2010)

Releasing a single, EP or album can come with some trepidation on the part of the songwriter. Creative types and innovators are, and should be, always subject to evaluation, but sometimes the criticism is brutally negative or downright destructive. Koestler describes the tragedy that befell Semmelweiss who, on discovering a prevention for puerperal fever, was exiled and driven mad by the resentment of the medical profession;

…the history of science has its Pantheon of celebrated revolutionaries – and its catacombs, where the unsuccessful rebels lie, anonymous and forgotten (Koestler, in 1987, pp. 299–314)

For songwriters it ‘goes with the territory’. The results of their labour are always likely to be subject to criticism. Some criticism is justified; some un-called for, or even deliberately provocative;

A person could have a great deal of creative ability – that is, the ability to think in novel ways – but if he or she is not willing to take a risk, or to defy conventions, or to fight for ideas that others might scoff at, that creative ability may remain latent and never see the light of day. (Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010, p. 469,470)

As a 19-year-old, I penned six songs for the Avalanche album (see chapter 5.2), simply because we needed original songs. One was about my girlfriend of the time, a candid and highly personal declaration of love. To my complete surprise and utter devastation, a reviewer in the Adelaide Advertiser newspaper slammed the lyrics. It had not even remotely occurred to me that my lyrics would ever be 155

subject to critique, and it took me some years to recover the will to again reveal my innermost thoughts in song. On reflection, he was simply doing his job, however at the time of the songwriting process, I naïvely thought that my love song would be warmly received without judgment for what it was – a simple pledge of love from a young musician.

4.5 Songwriting within the System

From McIntyre’s (2003, p. 228) synthesis of theorists Csikszentmihalyi, Bourdieu, and Negus, the most valuable lessons in this discussion for the songwriter are the perspectives that simply writing songs is not enough. Distribution and access to the domain and the field, are vital. We, as songwriting practitioners, write songs having absorbed the song culture of the time, and cannot avoid having been influenced in our songwriting decisions in a profound way. In order for a song to become part of the domain it must be deemed worthy by the filter of the music industry. This situation leads to a conclusion that the Romantic paradigm of the songwriter as a completely independent creative agent is a myth. Songwriters as creative agents act within a songwriting system of creativity where agency and structure are interdependent. It should be stated that this distinction is not meant to dismiss the creative work of the songwriter as irrelevant or less important; merely to place it in a useful context and acknowledge its interdependence with a particular Art World (Becker, 1982);

While the individual is not as important as it is commonly supposed, neither is it true that novelty could come about without the contribution of individuals. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 46,47)

What is suggested here is that ‘the de-centering of the subject [the individual],

156

must not be made equivalent to its disappearance’ (Giddens, 1979, p. 45), and that while ‘authorial dominance in the text has been (…) thrown open to question’, the author retains a central relevance, having been ‘the first person to fix meaning’

(Wolff, 1981, p. 136).

To use the film industry as a comparative example, and to include the gaffers, runners, set designers, wardrobe and makeup artists, post-production crew, and audio as central to the creative process is misleading. While their roles are vital in the production of the film artefact, the most significant share of the creative input and primary responsibility for the end result still lies with the collaboration between, primarily, the scriptwriter(s), director, cinematographer, composer and a few others, that is those who are paid ‘above-the-line’. Somebody came up with the stimulus material that propelled the creative expression, and it is also true that without the field, the movie is not likely to get made. The ‘somebody’ in question was most likely inspired by, stimulated by, and inculcated with, the movie industry and so the stimulus material created was inescapably attributable to, and affected by, those influences. Similarly, with the songwriting process, an interdependent system is at work.

4.5.1 Applying the System

In collaboration with Howard Gardner and David Feldman, Mihaly

Csikszentmihalyi created what he describes as a ‘Systems Model of Creativity’

(1994), identifying three vital factors. These are the domain, described as a set of symbolic rules and procedures, a field which is comprised of all those who select

157

ideas for inclusion into the domain, the individual, that is, a person who uses the symbols of a particular domain, instigates a new idea or sees a new pattern, and whose novel idea is selected for inclusion into the relevant domain.

What this model suggests is that songwriters need to understand the traditions, rules and techniques of songwriting, add their own creative ideas to the existing song culture, and, importantly, have those creative ideas recognized by the field of experts, in order to be deemed ‘creative’. As McIntyre (2003, p. 1) clarifies,

Csikszentmihalyi shifted the focus of the creativity question from ‘what is creativity’ and ‘who is creative’ to ‘where is creativity?’. The implications of this distinction are that, for songwriters, it is not simply a case of the agency of an individual, it is an individual operating within a complex interactive system, where each system element influences and contributes to the other.

This de-centering of the individual leads investigations away from simple linear cause and effect and towards the idea that the key to understanding creativity may lie in its dynamic non-linearity. Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model sees creativity as a dynamic and complex system which incorporates person, field and domain in a system with circular causality where the individual (both environmentally and genetically influenced), the social organisation they create within, and the symbol system they use being equally important and interdependent in producing creative people, processes and products. (McIntyre, 2003, p. 290)

McIntyre’s summation of various theorist’s views (Barthes, 1977; Becker, 1982;

Foucault, 1977; Gardner, 1993; Rothenberg & Hausman, 1976; Sternberg, 1999a;

Weisberg, 1993; Zolberg, 1990) and his linking of Csikszentmihalyi’s system’s model (1988, 1997) with the cultural production model posited by Bourdieu

(1977, 1983a, 1993) resonates strongly with this experiential research. Circular causality is indeed present. Songwriters, affected and influenced by an established domain, create works, some of which are accepted as novel, useful and original in 158

some way by the field or industry, and those songs become part of the evolving domain, to influence other songwriters. In this case we can no longer conceive of the songwriting process as linear, where a songwriter creates a work isolated and independent from the surrounding culture.

Our customary view is that creation is presumed to take place first with an idea manifesting itself from the creative person’s head, as it were—the flash of lightning, the light bulb turning on (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988), the stroke of creative genius within, or, as Freud would have it, a quasineurotic individual (cited in Rothenberg & Hausman, 1976). However, the information that goes into the creative idea ‘existed long before the creative person arrived on the scene. It had been stored in the symbol system of the culture, in the customary practices, the languages the specific notation of the domain’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988, p. 325). The domain is described as the structures of knowledge that the individual, in this case a songwriter, can access (McIntyre, 2008a, p. 42)

For songwriters this is a significant distinction. As Walker describes, we create within a swirling soup of cultural, and societal influences;

The music I was exposed to as a child was probably 1920’s, 30’s and 40’s music by my father; big band music, he was a big fan of the harmonica player Larry Adler – my father was a harmonica player himself. It was that kind of music (…) Ella Fitzgerald would be one name I could bring up. Then living in rural areas, which I did pretty much until I was 16 or so, I was also exposed to … not so much country music but what was played on provincial, rural stations in those days; Patsy Cline – that whole era of late 50’s early 60’s country-ish music. (Walker, 2015)

The following diagram, adapted from (Kerrigan, 2013) highlights the multiplicity of factors impinging on the contemporary songwriter’s idiosyncratic background of the songwriter and process, including cultural influences, the symbol system of songwriting, societal institutions, their social organisation, and the nested audience of experts, gatekeepers, intermediaries and critics who form the field of experts;

159

Songwriting System’s Model

Figure 6 - The Systems Model for Songwriting

The judgement of experts and intermediaries, for example program directors at radio stations, can have a critical influence on a songs commercial success, by allowing or disallowing access to the audience. Stevie Wright’s 11-minute epic

Evie: Parts 1, 2 and 3 written by Harry Vanda and George Young is an example of field experts (in this situation radio executives), deciding that a song has merit and

160

supporting it.

The song started out with five different ideas (…) we knew it was a gamble, but sometimes a song is what it is, and should not be hacked to bits to fit a radio format (…) credit to the radio stations. They took a gamble playing it, and that they did was mostly down to Rod Muir, then boss of 2SM. He had the balls to kick it all off. (George Young, in Kruger, 2005, p. 73)

In Australia throughout the 1970’s and ‘80s, the ABC Countdown program, compered by Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum, and aired nationally every Sunday night in prime-time, was a dynamic and vital filter for airplay. If your band performed on the Sunday night TV show, you were almost guaranteed airplay on the major commercial radio stations the next morning. Molly’s Meldrum’s signature catch- phrase, ‘do yourself a favour’ i.e. ‘buy this record’, was effectively the greatest endorsement by an intermediary a band could receive at the time, and his evaluation was trusted by radio programmers. So if your band was good

(preparation), and you gained access to the audience by being there, in their living rooms on the television (proximity), airplay was granted (opportunity) (see also chapter 7.5.2 Luck Management).

For songwriter Tony Naylor, growing up in Tasmania, radio playlists had a profound effect on his songwriting influences;

…back in the 60s there were a couple of favourite [radio] DJs that certainly influenced what I listened to, (…) Stan Rofe was one – I used to tune into him from Launceston in Tasmania because the local stations were pretty ordinary, whereas he had a red-hot show here [in Melbourne] (…) you’d go out and but the first Led Zeppelin album, because you knew that Jimmy Page was in it and because, ‘oh I like these songs, so I can’t wait for the next album’, a hangover from the Beatles thing. (…) There were big groups of people (and remember that records were expensive); quite often you could only afford to buy one album or two albums (…) if one of these new albums came out we’d all sit there and analyse it; ‘did you hear the bass lick in that?’, and ‘why does that verse work like that’ and ‘I’ve never heard a bridge like that before’. (…) Actually, the very first time I heard Eric Clapton – I knew of the Yardbirds and I’d heard Yardbirds’ songs, but that actually 161

came about from a girl in Hobart who imported records from London before they ever became available here (…) it was all word-of-mouth (Naylor, 2015).

Television and radio programs such as those mentioned, whilst selecting-as- worthy certain songs, artists and performers, and enabling distribution access for those selected, simultaneously acted as both enablers and constraints, or positively and negatively, for bands or artists who were out-of-step with their commercial selection criteria. Songwriters needed airplay access to audiences, they needed gatekeepers and intermediaries, and they needed to understand and be proficient in the specific contemporary music culture, in order to have a chance of cultural success. With Csikszentmihalyi’s System’s Model of Creativity as a principal research lens, a comparative analysis of five record albums composed and recorded across forty years is now presented as an autoethnographic starting- point for the analytic discussion of primary research material and as a means to provide depth insight into the various aspects of contemporary songwriting.

4.6 Summary

This chapter focussed on Csikszentmihalyi’s Systems Model of Creativity and its implications for the songwriting realm. We discovered its significance as a factor not only in evaluating songs-in-progress but also in positioning songs within the culture and the vital field and domain. A greater understanding of where the songwriting agent(s) are placed in the wider realm of songwriting within the popular music culture is gained, and distinctions regarding preparative and incubative domain acquisition, insightful idea generation, evaluation and verification by the field are highlighted. This greater understanding goes some way

162

to explaining the forces influential in ‘getting my songs out there’, a previously misunderstood process of distribution and access to audiences. By highlighting the nested audiences and cultural domain within which songwriters strive, the individual song artefacts and their creation can be seen differently. With that in mind, the next chapter reflects on and analyses a lifetime of songwriting artefacts ranging along the continuum of creative magnitude, and presenting findings based on the quest to move from fair, to good, to great.

163

5.0 Comparative analysis of 5 albums

5.1 Introduction

This chapter presents a comparative analysis of songwriting practice conducted by this researcher over 36 years. While there exists ample scholarly analysis of record albums to date, the insider perspective of the songwriters themselves at the coal- face of songwriting is missing from the literature. As described earlier, what is available are predominantly songwriter responses to ‘outsider’ interview questions, often coloured by a Romanticist view of creativity and filtered through a desire to protect commercial and cultural capital. However carefully conceived the interview questions may have been, answers to the research question remain elusive. This comparative analysis attempts, through honest and candid reflection, to fearlessly illuminate the area from a pragmatic and Rationalist perspective in order to codify and contribute to the knowledge.

The practitioner observations presented suggest notions relevant to the research questions posed, and a summary of these observations and their relevance is made in the chapter following. Each analysis uses the four p’s of creativity, that is, process, product, person and place (Kozbelt et al 2010, pp. 24-25) as a structuring device for the discussion. For clarity, and to best capture the unique ‘insider perspective’ of the author, this work is written at times in the first person, although a consistent effort has been made to maintain an analytical, rather than evocative, autoethnographic voice.

164

Of the 13 original albums written and recorded in my career, five in particular serve to archive evolving songwriting styles, expanding domain knowledge, individual creative expertise and the shifting sands of the field and its responses.

Not included in this analysis are multiple song artefacts created between 1983 and

1996. For example, an album of children’s songs was written and recorded in 1992, but never released, save one song, Caterpillar Walk18, which was appropriated by the ABC’s CHED (Children’s Education department) and recorded for an album series called 0-9 without my knowledge, and for which I never received accreditation, acknowledgement nor royalties. Additionally, during the period

1982-88, around 35 experimental genre-hybrid songs were written but not released. Those songs achieved only ‘demo’ status, but form a background to the ongoing data collection. From 1988 until 1996 a further 800 (an approximation) short pieces were commissioned for advertising and corporate purposes, and although many presented interesting songwriting challenges and reflected the principles of songwriting practice, they too, serve only as background data to this research. This chapter will discuss then the following 5 albums;

 1976: Avalanche – Bootleg Records/ ABC Records USA (rock)

 1982: Once Bitten – RCA Records worldwide (jazz fusion)

 1997: Swamp Fever – Polygram Records (humorous songs from the TV

series Crocadoo)

 2006: Up Yours, Buddy – CD Baby Records (acoustic jazz)

 2012: Noizy Pocketz – CD Baby Records (hybrid rock)

As discussed in chapter 1.1.1 and later in chapter 7.4, and based on the atypical

18 See Appendix D for hand-written lyric from 1992 165

and holistic perspective of my own songwriting practice, the operational

definition of song described earlier, ‘a short musical work (including lyrics)

influenced by and directed toward contemporary western popular music culture’

is taken for this chapter to include all aspects of song, arrangement, track,

lyrics, music and production.

5.2 The Naïve (but apparently valuable) Rock Songs of a 20-year-old

Band Album Avalanche (1976) (see Appendix J)

(Members: Tony Naylor, Geoff Cox, Adrian Campbell, Clive Harrison)

5.2.1 Rock Place

My early rock-style songs were typically constructed late in the evening, sitting alone on a mattress on the floor of a rented bedroom. The furnishings consisted of a mattress, an open suitcase of clothes, and a cardboard box. The barred and permanently jammed, part-open window provided dual-cycle air-conditioning; an icy draft in winter and an occasional blast furnace in the summer months. The view was a panoramic vista of the red-brick wall of the next house-next-door observed at point-blank range. These early little-c song artefacts were derived from a ‘lyrics first, music later’ songwriting process. Lyrics were scribbled in a tattered exercise book, to be later edited and archived in a small notebook still, thankfully, in my possession (see Appendix H for an example). The music could only be provided by my unamplified Fender Jazz Bass, as the out-of-tune upright piano in the shared lounge room was far too loud. There was an entire family living in the room across the hallway; the drummer, his wife, a toddler and a baby. Singing songs quietly on a mattress with an un-plugged Fender Bass proved an adequate and effective 166

creative practice environment for songwriting in the styles deemed appropriate for the band – pub-rock with a funky twist. In these early songs, little recursivity was evident, once the lyrics were written, very little editing or re-working was considered. Similarly, the initial iteration of key, harmony and structure, once

‘conceived in the bedroom’, was for the most part the one performed live and released on record.

5.2.2 Rock Product

Evident in these little-c ng examples from 1976 is a clearly preferred musical style.

It consisted of a confluence of influences; British bands including the Beatles,

Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, the Who, the Kinks, and the Hollies; and guitar-driven

US country-rock and country-funk bands such as the Eagles, the Doobie Brothers and the Allman Brothers. The songwriter was knowingly influenced at the time by the domain, especially those songs being played on Melbourne radio at the time that were deemed to be of good musical authenticity and where the performance and production quality were recognised as both valuable and novel by the field, and appropriate for a touring energetic rock band. For this reason, the two ballads on the album, Annie (Naylor), and Something I Need (Harrison), were rarely performed live, if at all. The touring pub-rock scene in Australia at this time was an often-violent, male dominated, drunken scene not unlike Hollywood portrayals of the ‘Wild West’ of the USA. The particular working-class, alcohol-affected demographic that attended these shows was not receptive to romantic ballads. The message was clear and usually thrown from the crowd in the form of a glass or beer-can; play painfully loud, absurdly fast, and aggressively. Avalanche supported, and were supported by, some early developing young bands including AC/DC, Cold

167

Chisel, Dragon and Split Enz (the precursor to Crowded House) who all went on to become successful nationally or internationally. Travelling all year round and playing live gigs up to 10 shows per week in a highly competitive industry where bands took turns supporting each other, gave multiple opportunities to observe both positive and negative audience reaction to songs; the former evoking dancing, cheers, applause, and sexual opportunity, while the latter evoked boos, aggressive abuse, objects thrown at the stage, even physical assault. As songwriters, feedback was immediate and honest. Beyond the intrinsic motivation to simply write a good song, there was a keen sense of extrinsic motivation - to write songs that would be popular with the ladies whilst simultaneously avoiding being bashed in the car park after the gig by the men-folk. As a pale, skinny, and slightly androgynous teenage bass-player with waist-length hair I was conspicuous and constantly under threat of violence. I learned through bitter experience of physical assault never to use a public urinal in an Australian country town.

5.2.3 Rock Process

By far the most common industry practice in the 1970s, before home studios, laptops, plugins, Garageband©, Logic©, ProTools©, and other recording facilitators were introduced, was to simply take your song ideas to the rehearsal studio, where the other band members would add their significant instrumental parts. We would then experiment with structure, add vocal parts, musical hooks, and performance devices to hopefully present the song at the next live gig, which was usually only a day or two away, for testing on live audiences. Live performance consolidated any performance issues raised with the new song, ironed out any uncertainties, and highlighted the positive or negative response of the audience. In

168

the latter case, an adjustment would be made at the next rehearsal. The final major stage of development was in the recording studio. Bands like ours in the seventies typically had two-album-per-year contracts, so the next big recording dates were always on the horizon. At the time, capturing the energy of the band’s live performance was a priority;

I got my big amp set up (…) alongside Geoff’s drum kit, and Tony’s big amp and we all turned up flat out and blasted away to get the live feeling across. (C. Harrison, 1976)

The studio also presented an opportunity to fine tune the performance elements, create accurate and precise harmonies, alter the arrangement slightly if deemed necessary, and significantly, to overdub extra parts that were impossible to contribute under the constraints of live performance. This is where the second or third guitar parts, extra keyboards, percussion, vocal doubling, stacking and sophisticated delays, reverb, compression, and exotic sounds could be added.

5.2.4 Rock Person

Lyrics penned at that time were a mix of fantasy/fiction (Closer to Love, Bermuda

Triangle, Spark in the Dark), and self-conscious romance (Something I Need), underpinned with irony based on an introspective nature and natural shyness with girls. Interviewed for Juke magazine July 24th 1976, my description of the lyrics included;

[Bermuda Triangle] …it’s not meant to be a serious comment on it, it’s more like a fairy-tale answer to it. [Overnight Sensation] It’s a little bit of a social comment song, I suppose, about a band I was in a long time ago where we were thinking of ways to improve the band, and decided that it was a matter of presentation. Like, it doesn’t matter how good your product is, if the presentation’s not there then you’re not going to sell it. (C. Harrison, 1976)

These early songwriting efforts were arguably naïve and raw emulations of the exemplary hits of the day, filtered through a lens of not simply what was successful

169

commercially, but what was clearly deemed stylistically valuable by the older, more experienced rock musicians with whom I worked (for the first decade of my professional career I was the youngest member of each of the bands I worked with). On reflection, the Avalanche album included original songs strongly reflecting immersion in the styles of Pink Floyd and the Eagles (Something I Need), the Allman Brothers (Closer to Love), the Beatles (Spark in the Dark), the Who

(Bermuda Triangle), and a quirky song that vacillated from funk to rock (Overnight

Sensation). This last song was later sampled without permission by Kool G. Rap and used in the soundtrack to the Warner/Orion pictures Colors – a movie about

LA gang culture in the 80s. The subsequent out-of-court settlement for misuse of property netted forty times the royalties that the original recording generated. As well as solo songwriting efforts at this time, there were successful song collaborations which included Tie Your Laces, and Bar-Room Ladies with guitarist

Tony Naylor (one of the interview subjects of this research), who served as a personal mentor and supporter of my early development both as a musician, recording artist and songwriter.

In this formative songwriting period, creative flow was often difficult, elusive, and ephemeral, bound by a sense that everything needed to be ‘in place’ in order to effectively compose songs. My undocumented recollections from the time (1975) identify self-imposed, highly limiting, rules for effective songwriting; the house must be quiet, late at night for the vibe (11pm-3am); I must be fully rested, eaten well (anything within the past 24 hours qualified); I must have coffee, and cigarettes; it could never occur on a day that I had to also do financial business or a

‘hassle-laden’ thing; not when I was stressed or too emotional to complete 170

anything; not when I was really excited or happy (I found in this case that lyrics became trite and lightweight); not during a romantic partnership dissolution (I found that I was too vulnerable); only if I thought the band would like it (fear of rejection); only if I had finished all my bass practice (guilt); and only if at every stage the song was going to be as technically challenging as possible (fear of failure). In hindsight, all those counter-productive rules explain why each song seemed to take a very long time to complete.

5.2.5 Observations

It is worth noting that during this period between 1974 and 1976 no members of the band used traditional music notation, nomenclature or terminology at any stage in the songwriting process. Lyrics, melodies and vocal harmonies were simply sung and chords, riffs, motifs and rhythms played, without analysis or explanation. Viewed through a multiple intelligence lens on reflection, song choices were based upon aural-musical rather than logical-mathematical evaluation, that is, we just attempted to mimic what we heard, rather than understand the concepts underpinning them. Furthermore, decisions as to whether a lyric, melody, chord or rhythm were appropriate repertoire candidates or not were naturalistic in a

Darwinian way (see chapter 9.4). Song ideas survived or became extinct based on the band members’ collective evaluation of merit.

The experience of having written, recorded, performed, and video-taped original song with bands and having those songs played on radio and charting nationally by the tender age of 19 years, provided early evidence that emulating successful songwriters was effective in providing song artefacts that had a high likelihood of

171

acceptance by the field. It also provided evidence that songwriting based upon immersion in a specific song style had a tendency to garner industry support, and that song artefacts with unclear lineage and style were less popular with industry intermediaries and gatekeepers than those whose target market were quite obvious. The synchronous performance of the band members at the recording stage added substantially to the song artefacts in areas of authenticity, appropriateness of style, and by the addition of motifs, musical ‘hooks’ and rhythmic context for the lyrics and songs that had dynamic, authoritative rhythm were highly prized, that is commercially valuable, sexually advantageous giving us strong social capita, and they acted as valuable pacifiers to drunken, bored live audience members which aided our survival.

When guitar, bass, drums and keys agree on the feel (i.e. they all play with rhythmic authority at exactly the same tempo and with the same rhythmic nuances of groove), (…) you create music that allows the audience to have 100% confidence in the beat, and they (the audience) will reward you with their unconditional participation. (C. Harrison, 2012c)

5.3 The Complex and Conflicted Jazz Tunes of a 30-year-old

In the years 1980 to 1988 my songwriting fell into three styles, named for research purposes herein as Jazz, Fusion, and Junk. These styles can be described in the following ways.

Jazz consisted of mainstream, acoustic jazz tunes for quartet – piano, acoustic bass, drums and saxophone (for the most part, played extensively live, but in the main unrecorded; only the ‘head19’ arrangements remain as lead sheets in the Realbook

© style (see Appendix I). I refer to songs without lyrics as simply ‘tunes’ – hence

19 A ‘head’ arrangement is a chart containing a notated melody (the ‘head’) with the harmony stated as chords above the musical stave. The chart is used as platforms for jazz improvisation. 172

the distinction. As far as Fusion goes, a single album, Once Bitten Feat. Chick Corea

(1982) comprising funk and Latin technical pieces was designed to showcase technical expertise adequate in itself to create an emotional impact. For the category of Junk, a collection of jazz-funk songs (with lyrics) of narrow appeal were recorded as demos for Warner Brothers Publishing. These songs constituted an attempt to bridge the gap between jazz-fusion and commercial music which were self-described as ‘junk’ because they were deemed too commercial for the jazz community, and simultaneously too complex for commercial release. This situation provides a fine example of an industry gatekeeper (Warner Bros.) who, having decided that the field was unlikely to accept these song artefacts into the domain, limited access to the listening audience. Whilst I enjoyed writing and recording these ‘junk’ songs, the narrow potential audience and limited appeal had not escaped my notice. It could be said that I was testing a less common form of creative propulsion (songs that ‘propel the field’) referred to earlier by Sternberg,

Kaufman & Pretz (2001) as Synthesis, and was unsuccessful culturally and commercially in this instance. Said differently, rather than find a hybrid acceptable to both audiences, I managed to invent one that was roundly rejected by both.

Mostly the ‘tunes’ written within all of these above styles at this time were written

without lyrics, rather than songs per se. In this period of my songwriting and as a

reaction to the previously mentioned scathing review, I had stopped writing lyrics

and vowed to never again share my innermost feelings with the world (see chapter

4.4). I resumed writing lyrics in the mid-1980s.

173

5.3.1 Fusion Place

By 1982, my surroundings were slightly more salubrious. A spacious rented apartment in beach-side Sydney was the location; I had two rooms, a bedroom with a view over Coogee beach, and a separate music room where I was surrounded by music books, LP records, cassettes, electric and acoustic basses, an early MIDI20 keyboard, a mono cassette deck, and an overflowing ashtray. I was chain-smoking and drinking 15 cups of instant coffee a day. In a decade of intense study and work I spent every available moment outside the recording studio and the jazz venue in this room practicing scales, exercises, technical pieces, or reading every book on chord theory and arranging that I could get my hands on. In these pre-Internet times, jazz theory knowledge was not easy to come by. My personal study referenced a collection of relevant material. These included my own record collection and the shared records of all my peers, the few bass teaching books that were available, the jazz rehearsal tapes of Jamie Aebersold, jazz standards as notated in the Realbook ©, the Dick Groves Arranging book and the George Russell

Lydian Chromatic Concept of Tonal Organisation. The only available copy of this latter book in Sydney was owned by a drummer who had studied at Berklee. I left my prized Fender Bass with him for the day as security, photocopied the entire book at the Waverley Library using 20c pieces, one per page, and later transcribed the entire book by hand in order to assure I understood every line and paragraph

(see Appendix F).

20 MIDI: an acronym for Musical Instrument Digital Interface – a system for data entry for musicians, allowing a piano keyboard (usually) to enter musical ideas into a software program, rather like an author types on a laptop. 174

An autodidactic approach, in the form of deep immersion through analytical listening and discussion with a supportive peer network, and the occasional formal tuition via the Sydney Conservatorium Summer Jazz Masterclasses, contributed to my jazz performance domain knowledge. Significantly, however, no songwriting classes, books, videos, lectures or other resources were available at this time. John

Braheny’s outstanding book The Craft and Business of Songwriting was first published in 1988, and I purchased my first copy 25 years online, after all the albums herein were recorded.

5.3.2 Fusion Product

5.3.2.1 Jazz tunes

The original jazz songs from this period were typically 32 bars long, harmonically complex, rhythmically ambiguous and elusive, and incorporating extended improvisations in the modern jazz style. The tunes employed extensive use of chord extensions, polychords, and other devices designed to evoke the knowing nods of academic ‘jazz-heads’. Freed of lyric constraints, the melodies were based on themes and motifs, were often highly rhythmic, and challenging to articulate, especially vocally, although the masterful Australian jazz singer Kerrie Biddel was able to sing them (using ‘scat’ vocal sounds in the place of lyrics) virtually on sight, to my delight and astonishment.

5.3.2.2 Fusion tunes

These fusion compositions from Once Bitten (RCA Records) were complex in their arrangement, lengthy in performance, challenging to perform, and designed to allow each instrumentalist to extend themselves technically within a highly rhythmic funk or Latin context. Tempi were, in some cases as fast as was possible

175

(e.g. Bondi Bump), and melodies were often played tutti21 for dramatic effect. As a result, there was no place for lyrics or even singers; the tunes were deliberately and exclusively the domain of the expert instrumentalist. For a time, I enjoyed not having to concern myself with attempting to integrate lyrics in a musical genre where the focus was almost entirely on instrumental expertise and virtuosity.

5.3.2.3 Junk songs

I would not argue with a listener view that the songs I produced for Warner

Publishing in this period were ill-conceived exploratory jazz/funk hybrid song artefacts that missed the mark. I think I can safely say the results of these explorations were effectively only enjoyed by a niche audience within a niche audience that is, those listeners who understood jazz, liked funk music as well, and could tolerate long sections of vocals performed by a singer of only modest ability

(this researcher). However, in true Edisonian style, I inevitably came to the conclusion that having discovered what did not work was informative and valuable in the larger scheme of things. While my jazz performances had for some time been validated by the field through excellent critiques and peer review as worthy, and some technical aspects of my songwriting were quite advanced, the field (in this case, Warner Bros), weren’t convinced these were the works of a Pro-C songwriter.

5.3.3 Fusion Process

5.3.3.1 Jazz tunes

Having moved from being a little-c jazz novice to a Pro-C jazz professional in

Sydney, my world centred around regular performance at the Basement jazz venue, study at the Sydney Conservatorium, and daily jamming within a diverse

21 Tutti: all play together in unison 176

network of enthusiastic young jazz musicians like myself. Tunes from this period were entirely composed with live performance parameters in mind, and for archival purposes a simple lead sheet was adequate, as performance instructions were not necessary, due to the interpretive skills of the musicians I was privileged to work with. It would have been presumptuous and restrictive of me to include instructions in the charts, and counter-productive for the loose improvisation style of the music.

5.3.3.2 Fusion tunes

The works for the album Once Bitten (RCA Records) were scored in far more detail with accurate notated melodies, tutti sections, and specific rhythmic elements added. Improvisational sections were delimited, so a piano solo may occur based on a different section of the tune to the section allocated to the saxophonist for his improvisation. For the drums, bass, guitar and keyboards, each section was rehearsed thoroughly to establish a workable rhythmic ‘groove’ prior to performance, and individual musicians contributed their own parts based on their own habitus in the subgenre. Each section therefore had an intertwined, interdependent combination of candidate rhythmic guitar patterns, keyboard motifs, ostinato bass lines and complex drum patterns that were referred to as a starting point for the improvisations.

5.3.3.3 Junk songs

These could be described as jazz-funk fusion structures where individual parts and rhythmic variations were stripped down and simplified, made more repetitive and predictable, and made less ‘busy’, to allow for a vocal melody and lyrics (see

Appendix H for lyric example). Improvisation was de-emphasised for commercial accessibility and song structures shortened to a commercial length of less than 177

four minutes.

5.3.4 Fusion Person

I refer to this period of my songwriting as ‘conflicted’ because at that time I wanted to express both technical virtuosity (appreciated by jazz aficionados), and broad appeal to wider commercial audiences. In hindsight, it would be fair to suggest I wanted to be simple and clever at the same time. Whilst my original motivation for studying jazz was entirely based on an overwhelming desire to better understand melody, harmony, and improvisation, I did not lose my appreciation for the simple lyrics and engaging melodies of my songwriting heroes. My early attempts to write rock songs in the 1970s had been plagued by the observation that in harmonic terms, I was guessing. I was an avid ‘borrower’ of chord progressions and styles, and could easily recognise what was appropriate stylistically or otherwise, however I was unable to answer the question as to why some chord movements were deemed pleasing to the ‘field’, and others were not. I knew some chord progressions were pleasing to my ear and others were not, but the logic behind such qualitative evaluations escaped me, and I sought generalisations that would enable repetition of successful song strategies, and the minimisation of unsuccessful strategies. Jazz seemed to provide some technical answers, but in that realm I felt uncomfortable playing music that was, by design, hard to grasp.

On reflection, I have always valued melody very highly. That is, the logical, motivic development that is predictable yet surprising, repeatable but not boring, that allows and rewards listener participation. In the same way that Tchaikovsky pleased my ear more than Stravinsky, so I enjoyed Tin Pan Alley songs more than

178

early blues, the Great American Songbook rather than beat poetry, McCartney’s songs slightly more than Lennon’s, and Clifford Brown’s post-bebop improvisations rather than John Coltrane’s later explorations of polytonality and

‘outside’ improvisation. My conflict was how to reconcile my ideal that songs, even jazz songs, should always engage the listener and allow them to participate melodically and rhythmically. To be blunt, I wanted people to tap their feet and whistle my jazz tunes in the garden, to dance like no-one was watching and sing my songs like no-one was listening. My jazz tunes were becoming far too clever, to the exclusion of even the dedicated listener. My fusion tunes were fun to play, but well beyond the capacity of the man-in-the-street to decode and, in my ‘junk’ songs,

I had successfully invented a sub-genre for which the audience was almost zero.

One night at Sydney jazz club The Basement, I made the secret observation to myself that writing and performing songs that were so complex to be beyond the accessibility of willing listeners, was a musical ‘sin’ if such a thing could exist. I am not religious, but I felt the song artefacts I had created contradicted my own

‘purpose’ in being a musician. I decided that night that I could no longer write or play this form of music. The conflict was then, if this style is ‘wrong’, what is ‘right’?

Unable to answer that question, I retired from the jazz community, sold my double bass, and moved into writing songs for advertising, the corporate world, and later for film and television where ‘others’ could shoulder the responsibility of deciding what is ‘right’.

A further contributing factor to my walking away (pun intended) from the jazz milieu was the perspective from which I viewed the live jazz performance. Rather than seeing it as an exploratory improvisation involving risk-taking and the high 179

potential for flaws and mistakes, I felt it should be viewed as the presentation of a highly prepared sonic work devoid of flaws as much as was possible. This perspective viewed the goal of the music making not as ‘exploration and process’, but ‘the presentation of an artistic product’ (Pressing, 1988). This perspective not only was contrary to many in the jazz community, it was often at odds with my own technical ability, as I struggled to tolerate my own errors of note choice or pitch, in a vain quest for transparent performance perfection. ‘Transparent performance’ is my term (devised many years earlier in 1974 whilst listening to Pink Floyd’s Dark

Side of the Moon) for musical performance where technique is effortless and undiscernible. From this point of view, the listener is not aware that somebody is playing an instrument, and the singing is apparently without effort, rather like the notion of ‘artless art’ expressed in Zen in the Art of Archery (Herrigel, 1953). By contrast, non-transparent performance would therefore be where the listener notices sonically the effort-making to play the piece. Thankfully, a more sustainable viewpoint evolved in years to come (see Ch. 5.5 Glorious Imperfection).

5.3.5 Observations

The nature and detail of the notated musical charts, lead sheets and scores used in this period provided an effective method of controlling the input and contribution of the musicians who collaborated in the recorded or performed realisation of the songs or tunes, and skilful notation both constrained and enabled the musicians in their task.

What I had learned was that melodies written without consideration of voice or lyric constraints can lead to melodies that are difficult to engage with, certainly

180

from an audience point of view, and jazz-funk songs are a small niche, without a broad popular audience base - probably for a good reason. Broad popularity requires connection with a high percentage of the listeners, and my hybrid attempts did quite the reverse. The ambitious targeting of an audience that could only include jazz aficionados, funk lovers, and people with a high tolerance for inexpert vocal authenticity of style resulted, in the Darwinian sense, in the extinction of my hybrid species. This experience of what didn’t work was frustrating at the time, but like Edison (Simonton, 2014), I knew that understanding the elements at work was a worthy quest and that knowing what didn’t work was valuable. Over the following decade of producing song recordings for advertising and a subsequent decade composing for film and television, I became highly sensitised to this vocal authenticity distinction. In that time, the distinction enabled me to successfully produce arguably more satisfying and communicative vocal performances.

Writing songs that impress musicians is relatively straightforward and reliably achievable. Further, highly technical song compositions certainly get the attention of some elements of the audience, but may lack the qualities necessary to sustain that interest, and add meaning to the lives of the listeners (other than music students). What presents as a more intriguing challenge, is to write songs that are both simple enough to readily connect with audiences, and sufficiently complex to provide multi-layered levels of listening complexity (rather like unwrapping a

Christmas present or peeling an onion).

181

5.3.6 Enough of that Jazz

Having enjoyed more than my share of industry kudos for my studio work in the late 1980’s, I had acquired substantial cultural and social capital, and had realised a dream - to have recorded an album featuring internationally famous jazz pianist

Chick Corea (Once Bitten). By this time, I was married, had a mortgage, was looking to start a family, and felt the ‘fire in my belly’ to pursue excellence as a bass-player had definitely waned as my motivation moved toward obtaining a higher level of financial capital. The metaphor I used at the time to describe my musical yearnings was that I had spent my entire career laying on the sandy bottom of the glorious ocean playing the bass, looking up at the myriad life-forms and colourful flora and fauna moving elegantly above me, that is, the melody, harmony and lyric stories. It was time to become a full-time composer/songwriter, rather than ‘merely’ a performer on the bass who occasionally wrote songs.

To that end, and for overtly financial reasons, I became an advertising composer for eight years (1988 to 1996), followed by a decade of writing music for film and television, consolidating my place among other Pro-C songwriters. The years writing only advertising music, engaging in other people’s commercial requirements rather than my musical expressions, represented the dominance of extrinsic, over intrinsic motivation for me. Virtually every song, tune and underscore composed in this period had an order number, an invoice, a strict completion deadline, and a cheque attached to it. Music had become a business, rather than a passion, and the more business-like I became, the less passionate I felt about my work. The only music I listened to for pleasure in this time were

Frank Sinatra recordings. These were standards, beautifully arranged by Nelson 182

Riddle or Count Basie, penned by Tin Pan Alley and jazz greats like Cole Porter, and recorded expertly at places like Capitol Records, with large orchestras and excellent big bands. Sinatra’s range (baritone) matched mine, the harmonies were complex, the orchestration dense, the bass-playing masterful, and the melodies monarchic - ruling over all other considerations. This music represented a simpler time in jazz, one where the audience could whistle, sing along, and tap their feet.

Confluent with those factors were rising stress, multiple collapses from over-work

(I was hospitalised three times in the 1990’s due to stress-related collapses), oppressive deadlines, utter dissatisfaction, the constraints of musical expression, loss of enthusiasm, and inevitably, a nervous breakdown (2003) and 18 months of inability to work at all. I had also made an enormous amount of money, which I thought was disproportionate to my talent. Thankfully, I had made enough to take

18 months off from work and redesign a better, more sustainable life/work balance.

5.4 The Humorous Ditties of a 40-year-old

After 8 years (1988-1996) of composing music and songs (jingles) for the advertising industry, I desperately needed to find a compositional form where the pieces lasted longer than thirty seconds, and weren’t required to have the product name inserted at the top and tail of the piece. In 1996 I quit advertising entirely and began writing music for television; primarily documentaries, telemovies and animated TV series. One such TV series, Crocadoo spawned an album of songs about life in the ‘Crocadoo National Park’. The singing was provided by the voice- over actors on the show, and of particular surprise was the singing and character-

183

acting of Hollywood actor Hugo Weaving, who sang two of the songs, with the crocodilian tones of characters ‘Jazz’ and ‘Waldo’. The album was called Swamp

Fever (1998) and the voices were supplied by George Washingmachine, Hugo

Weaving, Rachel Holmshaw, and Tony Barry (see Appendix M).

5.4.1 Fun Place

By 1996, having ‘sold my soul to the devil’ (a doxa I considered valid at the time) of advertising for eight years, I had the financial wherewithal to move my work from an expensive rented recording studio across town in Sydney NSW into a purpose- built studio in my home. My new ‘place’ was an upstairs extension with a control room, studio, office, equipment, and storage room. With two small children, I wanted a working life that didn’t have me away from them from 7am until past their bedtimes at night. Noise was not a problem. When composing music and songs I like to work quietly. Not for me the 120+dB auditory madness of the seventies recording studio environment I had experienced. I was working 12-16 hour days, and my ears needed careful nurturing to prevent the onset of fatigue.

During this period of intensive TV and film writing, I did not undertake any live performances. I felt that live gigs and rehearsals were a poor use of my time. As a result, until she was 15 years old, my oldest daughter was not even aware that I played the bass. To her, I made music all day upstairs for ‘cartoons and stuff’.

5.4.2 Fun Product

In this period of film and television composing from 1996 until 2006, every song or piece of music written was commissioned, so every musical idea was filtered through the expectations of the field. These expectations included the target audience demographic, the director’s vision for the look and feel of the show, the

184

producer’s budgetary constraints, broadcast network technical requirements including transmission formats, time constraints of delivery schedules, air-dates, and an underlying desire for peer-approval.

These songs were all conceived as style first, lyrics second, music third, melody last. The lounge-jazz style was a ‘given’, the lyrics needed to be based on the scriptwriter’s character bible and episode plots, appropriate chord progressions and grooves needed to be realised, and melody (which I find easy to write), came last. My personal musical wishes were not completely ignored, but they were, in hindsight, subjugated for the purposes of providing music that was demographically-appropriate and likely to contribute to the success of the TV or film product. Personal songwriting satisfaction was, however, something I attempted to subliminally include within the prevailing constraints. For example, the Crocadoo album was unusually satisfying in that I was given the latitude to write humorous lyrics, and place them in a ‘lounge-jazz’ musical environment.

These constraints were enablers in this case, stimulating my jazz background and drawing on my passion for the 1950s animation style of Chuck Jones and the innovatively comedic musical styles of Carl Stalling and later, Milt Franklin.

Evident on this album, and also in later songs for the telemovie Gumnutz: A Juicy

Tale (2006), are the musical and comedic poetry influences of my childhood; Lewis

Carroll, Stanley Holloway, Dudley Moore, Warner Bros cartoons, various Broadway and British music-hall nonsense-songs, doggerel poems, and the Hollywood movies of artists like Danny Kaye, including of course the songs written by his incredibly gifted wife, Sylvia Fine. A few examples of such light-hearted and nonsensical lyrics are provided; 185

I wrote this little hip-swivel ditty, While lazin’ at the swamp-bompa-loo- bom (Itty-Bitty Hip-Swivel Ditty, in Swamp Fever, 1998)

Take your pick, our menu’s selectable so long as you pick fish, its delectable, And don’t dress up just something that’s comfy and respectable. (Waldo’s Eatery, in Swamp Fever, 1998)

5.4.3 Fun Process

By the mid-1990s I was extremely adept at the use of music software program

Logic©, and had built up a library of quite convincing MIDI sounds good enough to fool audiences and even some studio musicians. (At one time I mischievously composed and recorded (via MIDI) an impressive two-minute drum solo in the style of jazz great Steve Gadd, and played it to a Sydney session drummer as a recording of ‘this new guy from LA I just had in for a job’- just to give him a fright.

The demoralised drummer was convinced for a few minutes that his work was about to be decimated by arrival in town of this ‘hotshot’ - until I showed him the

MIDI file).

For the next decade, all my songs and underscores were first conceived in MIDI, and replaced later, at least when time and budget allowed, with real musicians, before adding vocals. For me, computer generated music resultant from the use of

MIDI and digital sequencing always fell flat compared with the experience of hearing real musicians. The apparent ‘perfection’ computer music had promised in those years was, on delivery, somewhat disappointing, compared to the ‘glorious imperfection’ of real bands, and real musicians. Debate raged at the time as to what the subtle difference was, and it was commercially valuable to software designers and programmer/composers like myself of the day to attempt to capture ever-

186

more-nuanced performance. Digital recording now allows us to actually see and measure such nuances of timing, rhythm, melody, and pitch, but in the eighties and early nineties, it was an area of debate, conjecture, suspicion and that something was not right, some aspects were missing. The suspicion and unease experienced is redolent of Mori’s Uncanny Valley, where, as computer music approximated the

‘real thing’, it became less appealing for some. Certainly, for musicians threatened by the potential for loss of income, computer-performed music began to look like

‘proximal sources of danger’ (Mori, MacDorman, & Kageki, 2012, p. 100).

On reflection, the most successful production model for me, was when songs were played in the studio by real musicians, who had the benefit of listening to demos meticulously prepared in the computer. Demos were usually created with guide vocal parts, using my own modest, unappealing, but ‘accurate-enough-for-the- demo’ vocal abilities. I mixed and mastered all this episodal music and songs myself, and was fortunate to be able to hear my mixes over the television on a weekly basis, for over a decade. Just as the live audience reaction during my ‘rock period’ was immediately useful this recursive evaluation of creative output was highly informative and an ongoing source of opportunities for fine-tuning balance and prioritising mixes. For songwriters, the opportunity to hear their works repeatedly (weekly) and over a long period of time (ten years) as they refine their process is unusual; few ever have their songs aired at all, and those that do often have only a few songs played per year. At times I had multiple theme songs and songs embedded in television shows being broadcast daily, weekly, or seasonally all year round.

187

5.4.4 Fun Person

Contrasting the sometimes indulgent and inaccessible jazz songs penned in the

1980s, and the heavily constrained, commercially-driven, ‘artistically bereft’ songs composed from 1988 to 1996 - for what I found to be an oppressively competitive and aggressive advertising industry22, the songs written for the Swamp Fever album represent songwriting from a far more focused individual perspective.

Clearly delimited by demographic, target market and obvious commercial requirements, but creatively a ‘good fit’ for my idiosyncratic background as a creative agent within the system, the resultant song artefacts reflect a ‘flow’ state where challenges and ability were in sync. Writing fun, light-hearted lyrics, with plenty of opportunity and freedom to make musical jokes and lightly-sophisticated cultural references appealed to me across multiple capacities; linguistic-verbal, musical-aural, and intrapersonally. I enjoyed immensely the freedom to be flippant, ironic, humorous and mischievous. Perhaps my music contributed in a small way to the world-wide success of the shows I wrote for but the field certainly played a vital role in delivering those songs to a vast audience. An enormous business network of marketers, managers, publishers, performance royalty collection societies, broadcasters, movie theatres, DVD manufacturers, licencing lawyers, many of whom I have never met, performed that part of the equation.

22 There is no hiding my reflective disdain for the music I wrote in my ‘advertising years’, however the advertising industry is neither oppressive nor aggressive; that view was simply the reality I projected onto it at the time. In hindsight, it was entirely my own misguided choice to believe that advertising music and I could be a good fit. To that degree, it would be fair to say I wasn’t ‘good at it’, even if some of the music and songs I composed were very successful in that realm and could arguably be said to have had merit. 188

Csikszentmihalyi’s Systems Model of Creativity (1988) worked for me. My first six- figure overseas royalty cheque was such a shock I was reduced to tears on its arrival, especially after the stress levels I had been enduring through over-work, deadlines, and a less-than-fruitful asynchrony, a lack of fit, an unusual pattern, or an irregularity within the creative triangle (Gardner, 1993) with the advertising industry over the previous eight years. That first huge cheque was for me, an overwhelming and transformational relief. It was a clear symbolic indicator and long-overdue confirmation that I was creatively worthy, that I had enough talent, and served as a reminder that talent was only part of the picture. Access to the audience was vitally important. Personal diary entries from 1995 identify the profound way my rules for songwriting had evolved since the rules of 1975, stress, self-imposed pressure and extrinsic motivation having moved to the forefront. The notes reveal that I would write only if someone was paying me. For fear of ever being seen to ‘fail’, I’d work 16 hours a day and 80 hours a week, and never say no to a job (however awful) since I reasoned that my family needed the money. In my mind, every recording needed to be technically flawless, and I was determined to make the delivery deadline or die in the attempt23

5.4.5 Observations

The writing and recording of the Swamp Fever album occurred during a period of prosperity and abundance. At the time of the recording of this album, and for the decade following, royalty cheques derived from over 80 countries sign-posted a shift in terms of commercial capital. It was arguably a time of great productivity,

23 Multiple visits to hospital from exhaustion, were testament to my adherence to this last item.

189

and certainly qualified as the functioning of a successful Pro-C songwriter- composer working within the strict constraints of commissioned writing for the film and television industries. From the reflection on this busy time five key points can be identified. First, it is possible to write songs and music for up to 16 hours per day, 7 days a week but it is ultimately unsustainable. Second, distribution, that is, access to the audience, was the fundamental and most valuable distinction of difference between previous unsuccessful projects and these highly successful projects. Third, in writing for television, the challenge/ability balance or ‘flow state’ as described by Csikszentmihalyi and Csikszentmihalyi (1988), had led me to a musical environment that was satisfying, enjoyable, sustainable, and commercially successful. Fourth, immersion in the ‘habitus’ (Bourdieu, 1977) of cartoon music, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV after school in the early sixties, had paid unexpected dividends forty years on, and fifth, I came to the realisation that computer programmed and sequenced music was good enough in the day, and especially helpful for delivering pseudo-orchestral music to a broadcast-worthy point. However, any and every time a live instrument was added to the MIDI realisation of the song my perception of the song’s value was improved dramatically, and every vocal added by professional singers raised my perception of the song’s authenticity (Rubidge, in P. Campbell, 1996; Gunders, 2013; Moore,

2002).

5.5 Glorious Imperfection: The Ironic Jazz Songs of a 50- year-old

190

In 2003, as a result of unsustainable work practice, that is, seven years of 80 hours per week at the composing and recording desk without respite, I collapsed into a state of deep depression, lasting 18 months, during which time I barely wrote.

Having recovered somewhat from those depths of musical despair by 2005, I set about re-invigorating my interaction with composition by buying CD versions of the pivotal, influential recordings of my youth and early career. This eclectic mix of hard rock, jazz, swing, bebop, fusion and funk allowed the pilot-light of my enthusiasm to re-ignite, a lone, guttering candle of hope for what might grow.

Attending self-help seminars and reading philosophical and motivational books between film and television commitments, I formulated the idea that my goal was not to achieve commercial success, but to leave a legacy of music of which I could be proud (as described in Appendix C). That thought allowed me to focus anew my creative energies. I realised how much I missed making music with my dear friend, jazz pianist Michael Bartolomei.

Throughout the late 1970s and 1980s Michael and I had explored together the musics of Winton Kelly, Bill Evans, Miles Davis, Bud Powell, McCoy Tyner, Herbie

Hancock, and Chick Corea. Now, in 2006, I bought an acoustic bass and started jamming informally with him at his home studio, revisiting the jazz standards that had served us so well on hundreds of gigs together. I desperately wanted to have a keepsake of his playing, contextualised against my bass-playing, and so decided to archive our musical relationship with an album of jazz tunes. Michael had been in something of a lull compositionally, so I quickly wrote an album of instrumental tunes – vehicles for our collaborative expression. During this composition process I found myself imagining lyrics embedded within the melodies - 18 years of lyric 191

writing and melodic integration for advertising, film and television had hard-wired my brain to link lyrics spontaneously as I wrote, and so effectively, the album became a ‘music first, lyrics later’ songwriting process.

The end result was not eleven jazz instrumental tunes, as I had originally planned, but eleven lyric-based jazz songs, some romantic (Moreish, Mere Infatuation), some ironic (It Sucks to be Me, Up Yours Buddy, the BMW Blues, Famous for our

Mediocrity), some philosophical (We’re not Machines), some funny (Hormonal with a Handgun), some celebrating jazz (Bird and Dizzy’s World, Scotch and Soda), and one expressing frustration with it (I’ve Suffered for my Art – and now it’s Your

Turn). By this stage, a more recursive songwriting process was evident. Having written the music, the melody, harmony and rhythm, the addition of lyrics required the melody to be re-worked to accommodate my vocal range, breathing, phrasing, scansion, lyric rhythm and meaning.

The album was called Up Yours, Buddy (2006) (see Appendix N) and the musicians involved were myself with Michael Bartolomei (piano), Tim Firth (drums) and Dale

Barlow (Saxophone).

5.5.1 Jazz Place

Like the later rock album Noizy Pocketz, the songs for this project were written at home in the upstairs recording studio, using a MIDI keyboard with Logic© software, and demo’d before recording synchronously at Michael’s home studio. At the time I was also composing music for, and co-directing a children’s animated telemovie called Gumnutz: A Furry Tale; an enjoyable but challenging and highly-

192

constrained process delimited by synchronisation to picture, narrow audience demographic, tight deadlines, budget constraints, and the convoluted time-line of animation production. The Up Yours, Buddy album was by comparison, free of these constraints, and represented a significant shift of motivation from extrinsic back to intrinsic. It was a blessed relief to be writing something without commercial, social, or cultural motivations, for me simply a labour of love to celebrate Michael’s magnificent playing, and to marvel at my good fortune to have been his bassplayer.

5.5.2 Jazz Product

The resultant songs on the Up Yours, Buddy album are arguably well-played, without being at the pinnacle of world-class jazz technically. There was little thought given to commercial considerations such as target markets, demographics, potential audiences, and the like, and no marketing plan conceived or executed.

The songs were recorded as professionally as a budget of $0 in the hands of

‘adepts’ would allow, and the album was made available on web-based distribution site CD Baby. However, with no marketing strategy sales figures were small, which was unsurprising – commercial capital was not the motivation – the conceiving, writing and recording of the songs represented substantial symbolic, social and cultural capital for me. While many buyers commented favourably on the lyrics, and some jazz musicians found the ideas hysterically funny (which was my point - one highly acclaimed composer bought ten copies so he could send them to his friends in the jazz community for Christmas), so to that degree, I was happy with the outcome. Given this was my first ever attempt to sing lead vocals on a recording (at age 50), I did so with some trepidation. My reaction was one of

193

excitement and appreciative laughter when John Shand, jazz reviewer for the

Sydney Morning Herald newspaper, referred to my bass-playing as ‘mighty’ and my singing as ‘modest’. He could have been far less generous, remembering the debilitating review of my lyrics from the Adelaide Advertiser way back in the

1970s, and so I thanked him sincerely for being gentle in his criticism.

5.5.3 Jazz Process

During the track-laying of the recording sessions, not everything was recorded

‘live’. Had I been a more confident vocalist, I might have simply written a lead sheet and allowed the capable musicians on the recording to do their thing while I sang along. That would have been more typical of the authentic jazz style. Under the circumstances, however, it proved kinaesthetically and aurally challenging.

Managing my singing voice was technically something I needed to give 100% of my attention. Playing the double bass in tune is also quite high on the degree-of- difficulty scale. To do both simultaneously, whilst improvising lines on the bass and trying to be ‘loose’ in my vocal delivery, as well as listening intently to Michael and Tim as they interacted, was beyond my capabilities at the time. So we recorded the pieces ‘sans’ vocals. I sang the opening lyric of each section softly into a reference mic during the recordings simply to sign-post the arrangements. All the vocals were then overdubbed at my home where I had time to use multiple takes for pitch and timbre. A few wrong bass notes were replaced (I was well-below my former playing levels from the 1980s, when I played the bass all-day-every-day), and a saxophone part was recorded after the fact because of the lack of separation in Michael’s studio facility.

194

5.5.4 Jazz Person

The working title for this album was Glorious Imperfection. As I recuperated from my stress-related episode in 2003, I found a new theoretical perspective through which to view my playing, singing, composing and songwriting. I had, up until that time, sought ‘perfection’ at every turn; flawless studio playing, perfect intonation on the double bass and, with vocal performances provided by the best Australian and New Zealand session and jazz vocalists, flawless recordings and mixes, and as much as such a thing is possible, flawless songwriting. In an ‘aha’ moment discussing my approach to music with life-coach, author and friend, Rajeev Dewan,

I realised that the way I measured my own musical efforts was far more critical and onerous than the way I measured the work of others. I had an expectation that

‘everyone should love every song I write’. In order to negate such a ridiculous and unachievable pass-mark, I created a notion to underpin my future works. I decided to embrace the Glorious Imperfection of being a flawed human writing and performing music that was not perfect by design, and where the sonic presentation allowed for nuances of performance including non-transparent performance technique. Singing the lead vocals on this project was by far the most difficult challenge. Having produced hundreds of vocal recordings with session vocalists through the 80’s and 90s, my ‘ears are big,’ that is my pitch sense is accurate, and my awareness of nuance, vocal authenticity of timbre, tone and ‘attitude’ are highly developed.

Vocal tone is everything to the singer and everything to the audience. They won’t listen, dance, participate or enjoy your band or songs if they don’t like the singer and the singer’s SOUND. End of story. (C. Harrison, 2013e)

On this jazz project, I was acutely aware that my personal vocal instrument, my voice, lacked the warm flexibility and pitch certainty of a seasoned jazz vocalist. I 195

went to great lengths to explore possibilities of vocal timbre and approach, some more successful than others, and so the results are varied across the album. The fast-paced bebop melody of Bird and Dizzy’s World is a fair representation of the vocalese24 style of Lambert, Hendricks and Ross of the post-bebop late 1950s, but I admit there is a chasm between the vocal outcome achieved on the ballads Moreish and Mere Infatuation and the jazz vocal masters of yesteryear in terms of pitch, timbre, control, interpretation and delivery. That chasm was troubling at the time, but in hindsight, the original outcome of archiving two musician’s lifetime musical connection was realised effectively, and the experience of having to sing the lead vocals gave me the determination to return to songwriting with more conviction, confident that I could provide vocals good enough to communicate my musical ideas, thanks to a willingness to embrace the glorious imperfections in my own voice (perhaps Glorious Imperfection is too flattering when discussing my singing but Intolerably Painful doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so smoothly).

5.5.5 Observations

Creatively, there is something liberating about the notion of Glorious Imperfection’ i.e. the willingness to play and record performances that have minor imperfections which includes nuances of style and delivery that show the humanity of the performer. In hindsight, had I taken that perspective in 1988, I may have continued playing jazz. I love jazz, but not when it becomes an academic exercise. I love jazz specifically when it is melodic, rhythmically ‘swinging’ and listener-directed, rather than atonal, rhythmically ambiguous, and performer-directed.

24 Vocalese: A jazz singing style where, rather than improvising with nonsensical vocal sounds (‘scat’ singing’), the vocalist uses improvised or written lyrics to pre-existing recorded solos, especially the saxophone improvisations of jazz luminaries like Lester Young and Charlie Parker. 196

Being lauded as a good player was wonderful, but inevitably not fulfilling enough to keep me going. It was the decision to leave a legacy of musical works which reignited my creative voice. I realised that in order to keep producing song artefacts, I need a balanced motivation. It cannot, for me, be simply extrinsic. While commercial success is necessary to provide the wherewithal to produce creatively, it does not work (for me, at least) as the primary, overwhelming motivation. The songs of which I am proudest, are those that communicate with others, or express my personal thoughts, feelings or perspective in such a way that others may respond.

5.6 The Mature (and differently targeted) Rock Songs of a 55-year-old

This section looks at the self-titled band album Noizy Pocketz (2012) which included as performers myself, David Plenty (drums), Marty Love (keyboards), Joel

Sena (saxophone), David Regina and Jono Lim (guitars) (see Appendix O).

5.6.1 Hybrid Place

The songs for this album were written in and around Rumpelstiltskin studios, a digital facility built in a second-storey addition to my residential home in 1996 which had fulfilled my dream of owning my own music studio. The lyrics were realized in various inspirational locations conducive to the hypnogogic reverie of slight preoccupation, a reverie that occurs in the dreamlike just-above consciousness state often experienced as a person falls asleep or wakes up, the

‘bed, bus and bath’ of creative lore (Boden, 1991, p. 25). The musical platform for

197

the lyric ideas was entirely envisioned in MIDI and recorded into a DAW25. There were no mattresses on the floor, just ergonomic chairs, Swiss-balls, five monitor displays, four computers dedicated to various tasks, and back-up drives on site and in the ‘cloudosphere’

5.6.2 Hybrid Product

For the Noizy Pocketz album, motivation was largely intrinsic. I wanted to explore the hybridisation of jazz chord theory into a hard rock context in such a way as to make harmonic platforms that were slightly different from the rock norm, but in such a way as to not break with the apparent simplistic traditions of songs so targeted. It was a ‘can it be done?’ type of challenge, with possible extrinsic motivation being that any generalizable theories might be transferable into a writing style for further development. A secondary benefit might be usefulness for demonstrating songwriting techniques in the tertiary songwriting classroom I was engaged with at this point.

To that end, lyrics were designed to explore specific techniques such as mosaic and imperfect rhyme types, harmony was ‘presented’ as simple, but disguised within were some complex chord extensions and relationships, and structurally, some hybrid, unstable designs were employed. For the purpose of informing vocal practice, the approach was taken, despite the risk of potential damage to my vocal chords, to explore ‘screamo’ or harsh rock vocal tones, and gravelly voice production using the ‘false’ or ‘secondary’ vocal folds, especially the notion of vocal

25 DAW: an acronym for Digital Audio Workstation – effectively, an entire recording system in a computer – simply plug in your guitar or microphone and away you go… 198

‘grain’ (Barthes, 1977; Dunsby, 2009). Rather than have any of my gifted vocal students risk damaging their wonderful singing voices and their tender vocal chords, I was prepared to, at 57 years of age, yell, scream, bellow, and roar and fall on the floor laughing on playback of my preposterous vocal attempts, in order to explore the timbral possibilities. The results based on my ‘modest’ vocal talents were surprisingly appropriate for the style, and thankfully, no lasting damage was done. I did however make my voice sore and husky on a daily basis for the two months of vocal recording sessions.

By now, my songwriting process had become highly recursive. I had adopted what

I refer to as a ‘multiple draft’ songwriting model based upon my TV and film experience, and borrowed from the scriptwriter’s practice of presenting six draft scripts, each more refined and detailed than the last. Each song was refined by up to six recorded demos, and at each iteration, minor changes to every aspect of lyric, melody, harmony, rhythm, orchestration, counter-lines, and instrumental parts were considered, experimented with, tested and recorded (given the technology available to me when I began songwriting back in the 1970’s, such testing of ideas would have been impossible to explore). The final product included ten songs, all with drums, electric bass, multiple electric guitars, keyboards, multiple vocal tracks, and two songs featured raunchy saxophone solos. All ten could be described as commercial, hard rock songs with a strong jazz influence and ironic lyrics. Listeners have compared the material to the work of Frank Zappa and the

Mothers of Invention, which was a pleasing but unexpected comparison, having never owned a Frank Zappa record. I suspect that Frank and my commonality of domain knowledge (both having ample jazz sensibilities and access to fine jazz 199

musicians), led to a coincidence of styles and comparable solutions to the musical puzzle, ‘how does one write rock songs and still include the fun and appealing aspects of jazz?’ Perhaps like me, Frank found it troublesome to take either Rock or

Jazz forms seriously. It pleases me to think that I may have shared some fruitful asynchrony with such a luminary.

5.6.3 Hybrid Process

The music was invented primarily at the piano, but given the targeted tough rock styles, each song was musically designed cognisant of the fact that acoustic piano was an unlikely candidate for inclusion in the final recordings. Chords, rhythms and melodies were entered into Logic© software program (no drum loops or

‘performed samples’ were used) at an individual event level, i.e. every note, drum beat, bass pattern and performance nuance including guitar solos with bends, were played from the keyboard. The demo recordings were completed and mixed using tough rock-guitar sounds triggered from the digital keyboard, ‘live’ drum sounds, aggressive bass guitar samples and where keyboards were used, they were over- driven, re-amped and compressed in the style of 70s rock organ or early electric piano. On completion of the individual song demos, they were collated on a CD for review whilst driving in my car, with multiple revisions, tweaks, alterations and additions dictated into my phone.

Once I was satisfied that the demo songs were sounding authentic to the style and provided accurate representations of what type of performances I was looking for, the live musicians variously replaced the MIDI-generated parts at their home studios asynchronously, i.e. in their own time, separate from the time of the

200

original recordings of the demo. This method was employed for purely pragmatic reasons. All the musicians are busy professionals, all have access to digital recording facilities, and scheduling time for them all to be in one studio at the same time proved impossible. The benefit of this method is that the musicians were able to devote ample time to exploring performance possibilities. The cost is that asynchronous recording requires great attention and care to keep the nuances of groove and rhythmic interpretation in sync, to the millisecond. Issues related to file conversion over the internet, anomalies between various DAW programs, sonic differences between audio monitoring systems, synchronisation and latency issues across platforms, all were dealt with using trial and error, meticulous measurement at a micro-second level, direct comparison, qualitative assessment, and drawing heavily on the vast experiential knowledge of the various band members.

As a collaboration, while band members stuck faithfully to the styles suggested in the demo recordings, each contributed a great deal of interpretive, qualitative and expressive nuance to the parts, effectively taking complete responsibility for the performance aspects and sounds of their own individual instruments, based upon explicit and accurate audio representation and clearly written music charts. Unlike the Avalanche album recorded 36 years earlier, all the musicians in this project were provided with four elements; complete lead-sheet arrangements, clear audio recordings of the demo songs, the demo songs minus their individual parts, and the demo recordings of their own suggested parts played in MIDI. These last were isolated so they could hear clearly the material from which to interpret and generate their own appropriately-nuanced individual parts. 201

5.6.4 Hybrid Person

It could be argued that the most significant differences between the songwriter as a 19 year-old and the songwriter as a 55 year-old is the latter’s capacity to manage his mental state. Many years of songwriting challenges, working to deadlines, working within financial, emotional, social and survival constraints, wrestling with writer’s block (see chapter 9.5), and the ephemeral and metaphorical nature of the

‘muse’, have moulded the author into something of an impossibly-determined, highly-focussed, irrepressible craftsman, with multiple strategies and a belief system that facilitates productivity, creativity under duress, solutions within constraint, and a pragmatism consistent with a constructionist ontology. Whereas the song artefacts created in 1976 have a lineage that is relatively obvious as emulations, 36 years on, the hybridisation of this seasoned Pro-C composer is far subtler, more obscure and multi-faceted. For each work there are multiple song influences, a confluence of learned techniques of lyric, melody, harmony, rhythm, texture and style taken from concepts and procedures experienced, studied, evaluated and chosen as being worthy of inclusion. Highlighting a more mature, balanced perspective with far fewer constraints, personal diary entries from 2013 identify the following more useful and productive rules for songwriting process.

These rules are: write songs as they come, I no longer need to force them; write about whatever is fun, regardless of whether it’s clever or not; write anywhere - keep a phone, laptop, notepad, piano, bass, or guitar handy; finish them without fuss– if its 3’40”, it’s probably finished; stop writing at a good point, rather than at a barrier; get plenty of sleep, eat healthy, stay fit; write anytime - at 3am if that’s when the ideas come; and sing all my own stuff - embrace the glorious imperfection of my modest vocal abilities. 202

These rules, taken from my notes, reflect a far more sustainable personal approach to the task including a method of circumvention and insurance against what is described as writer’s block. For some, it is less of an issue. When asked if he had ever experienced it, Rai Thistlethwayte was blunt;

Oh My God… I don’t think I ever have, to be honest, like in that way (…) I mean… you know… if you start calling it a disease… you’re gonna get the disease [laughs] I think what you gotta do is just get a cricket bat and tell it to fuck off… [laughs] (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

5.6.5 Observations

The ‘muse’ can be accessed without pre-conditions. It is available anytime to one who has practiced preparing mentally for the songwriting process. One can also get better at managing one’s mental state and completing songwriting tasks. The likelihood of song completion is correlated to domain knowledge since the more

‘habitus’ acquired, the greater the likelihood of producing useful and novel variations for distribution to the field, and having multiple approaches, techniques, and a broad domain knowledge combined with 24-hour access to a viable recording workspace is certainly advantageous for productivity.

Where personal domain knowledge is comprehensive, songs can be planned in great detail, however having domain-immersed live musicians on hand to add nuance and interpretation is vital to the authenticity of style necessary for acceptance by the field. Both the 1976 and 2012 recordings made extensive use of the experiential knowledge of the participant musicians. In 1976 the performance happened to be synchronous while in 2012 the performance was asynchronous.

Where personal domain knowledge is limited, collaboration with others who

203

possess a complementary skill-set is valuable.

5.6.6 Summary

Un-coloured by a Romanticist view of creativity, and without the filter of trying to protect commercial and cultural capital, this analysis presented an insider perspective of the songwriter at the coal-face of songwriting, Honest and candid reflection illuminated the area from a pragmatic and Rationalist perspective, including not only career highlights but also challenging lowlights.

The practitioner observations presented used the four p’s of creativity, that is, process, product, person and place as a structuring device, and followed historically (over 36 years) the developmental journey through multiple song styles, across 5 albums as I moved towards a situation of being a recognised Pro-C songwriter. This provides useful data and observations for discussion in the next chapter, which presents a summary of issues arising from the comparative analysis.

204

6.0 Summary of Observations

In an endeavour to answer the research question, ‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’ the following qualitative observations contribute an ‘insider perspective’ for subsequent autoethnographic discussion. These general observations are referenced to the same categories employed in the literature review, that is, society and culture, creativity, multiple intelligence theory and songwriting practice. Based on the experiential knowledge gleaned throughout 36 years of songwriting practice as described in the previous chapter this next section will review and contextualise concepts (including authentic performance, song antecedents, productive flow, and forward incrementation) as observations, potential generalisations and theories.

6.1 Sociocultural

6.1.1 Authentic Performance and Voice

From the comparative analysis it is observed that; firstly, synchronous performance by band members at the recording stage and their creative contribution of motifs, musical ‘hooks’ and rhythmic context for the lyrics, can add substantially to a song’s perceived authenticity, appropriateness of style, and aids in validation by the field as worthy of inclusion in the domain or space of works

(Bourdieu, 1986). Secondly, while computer programmed and sequenced music was ‘good enough in the day’, and especially helpful for delivering pseudo- orchestral music to a broadcast-worthy point, it’s been my experience that it lacks the important nuances of performance style. As a result, every live instrument added to the recordings lifted my perception of the song’s value, and every

205

professionally-interpreted vocal raised my perception of the song’s authenticity.

Thirdly, at the earliest songwriting process stage, songwriters should be aware that melodies written without consideration of human voice and lyric constraints can lead to song artefacts that are difficult for the audience to appropriate.

6.1.2 Observable Lineage and Antecedents

In my lengthy experience moving from little-c to Pro-C, I have found that those song artefacts whose lineage and style are clear, are more popular in commercial markets than those that are not. Conversely, those artefacts whose lineage and style are obscure, are more popular in avant-garde and local markets than those whose target market is obvious. Following the research of Lena and Petersen who define four broad song trajectories (2008); avant-garde, local scene, industry and traditional, I have found that all are necessary and valuable in different ways; avant-garde song artefacts inform and test song hypotheses, local scenes confirm or refute those songs as candidates for wider distribution, the industry appropriates and exploits the songs, allowing them to enter the song literature of the contemporary domain, and the traditional advocates preserve the most desirable elements of style represented in the song across the decades.

6.2 Creativity

6.2.1 Productive Flow

The synchronisation of challenge with ability, that is, the ‘flow state’ as described by Csikszentmihalyi and Csikszentmihalyi (1988), led me to a musical environment that was satisfying, enjoyable, sustainable, and commercially successful. However,

I found that while it was possible to write songs and music for up to 16 hours per

206

day it was unsustainable, being both physically and mentally exhaustive over extended periods of months or years. It is clear to me now that effective management of the songwriting agent’s mental state and physical health is of paramount importance.

6.2.2 The Myth of the Pseudo-Neurotic Artist

One does not need to be living poorly to write songs of value. The archetypal pseudo-neurotic, genius-creative, drug-addled, dead-at-27 songwriter is a myth, perpetuated by media, the industry, and to an extent, the songwriters themselves

(Bailin, 1988; Boden, 1991; Howe, 1999; Weisberg, 1993). While still a popular paradigm in some circles, for Pro-C songwriter Rai Thistlethwayte the stereotype is no longer relevant;

CH: What are your thoughts on the archetypal pseudo-neurotic, genius- creative, drug-addled, dead-at-27 songwriter model?

RT: Oh Man! I don’t know if I can answer that…what are my views on it? On the idea and it? If there was, sort of… long gone… there’s probably parts of Haight-Ashbury in San Fran that are living on the old dream of that, but really, it’s not… being shown in the same way… it’s just more like a museum piece… (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

I concur with Thistlethwayte. The myth is highly problematic and for me, applying a rationalist view to creativity rather than that of an inspirationist or romanticist one, is the only functional way to proceed.

6.2.3 How are Pro-C songwriters different?

The answer to that question includes the suggestion that such writers have an expert level of domain immersion beyond that of others, allowing distinctions to be made that others would miss, or fail to recognise as significant and they are able to make exceptional choices based on ‘intuition’ i.e. ‘feelings of warmth’ as to the 207

solutions most likely to produce novel and useful variations within the domain.

They can also apply songwriting techniques generally undocumented in songwriting texts (C. Harrison, 2012d; Middleton, 1990; Moore, 2003; Tagg, 2009).

They may also apply the dogged persistence, determination, focus, application, and other attributes described as attributes of the creative personality (Boden, 1996;

Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi, 1991; Gardner, 1993) as they engage with the domain and field of the songwriting system at the expert level.

6.3 The Systems Model of Creativity

6.3.1 Symbol System

Notation skills, that is, the ability to write chord charts, scores and lead sheets, are not essential to the songwriter but as my experience tells me, they are highly valuable as a means of controlling performance elements and degrees of player interpretation on the live stage and in the studio. The nature and detail of the notated musical charts, lead sheets and scores provide an effective method of controlling the input and contribution of the musicians who collaborate in the recorded or performed realisation of the songs or tunes. Skilful notation both constrains and enables the musicians in their task.

Charts and lead sheets are simply the symbol system of our craft. They are the symbolic representation of a musical work or song, an archiving of the song’s construction, key elements (pun intended) and minutiae that provide enough information for the song’s accurate reproduction in performance (…) A side benefit of writing and reading good charts is that over time you build a mental library of melodic, harmonic and structural devices as the patterns and techniques of particular songwriters become visibly, as well as aurally, recognisable. Unstable structures, rhythmic displacement, melodic acceleration and syncopation become not just sounds, but recognisable shapes on the page, allowing easier memory. (C. Harrison, 2013c)

208

Further, it is found that the specific nomenclature and language of songwriters is geographically and historically inconsistent, sometimes using elements of euro- classical, and jazz theory, and employing various forms of notation drawn from classical, jazz, Nashville26 and Tabs27 approaches. The way musical ideas are transmitted orally also evolves generationally with conversational speech. As a result, it behoves songwriters to establish a common and contemporary argot for discussion, interaction and education.

6.3.2 Distribution and Access to the Audience

For these album projects, access to the audience through distribution channels was the fundamental and most valuable distinction between relatively unsuccessful and highly successful projects. This situation places the spotlight on the necessity for engagement with, and reference to, the field of audiences, intermediaries, experts, connoisseurs, agents who are capable of selecting as appropriate, songs for inclusion in the domain (McIntyre, 2007b, 2008a; Sawyer, 2006).

6.3.3 Habitus

Since ‘the songwriter has made choices based on his/her sense of the game of songwriting, after immersing themselves in the process’ (McIntyre, 2003, p. 286) the likelihood of song completion to professional standard is correlated to domain knowledge. The huge success of INXS, with their hybridised rock/funk, is not surprising given the type of immersion they shared, as described by primary songwriter Andrew Farriss;

26 Nashville notation employs a numeric system to describe chords based on the scale degree of each chord’s root. 27 Tabs notation is a recent development especially suited to guitar-playing, where string and fret are displayed, and nuances of expressive performance can be shown, as in slides, bends and vibrato. 209

There was Motown… all kinds of flavours in the music that we were listening to, plus some of the British acts had taken on board some of their stuff – R&B and more Bluesy kind of stuff – you know, getting into that funk-feel stuff, and the Rolling Stones as well. Those [styles] influenced me as a writer. (Farriss, 2015) The more ‘habitus’ (Bourdieu, 1977) acquired, the greater the likelihood of producing useful and novel variations for distribution to the field (Alexander,

2003; Csikszentmihalyi, 1997), and it is clear that field decisions about ‘value’ in the system are not simply post hoc, that is, better songwriting choices are made based on a posteriori knowledge acquired as part of the songwriter’s adeptus;

Expert musicians have immersed themselves in one (or many) of these song genres to such a degree that virtually ALL the choices they make for tone, touch, inflection, melody, harmony and nuance are carefully filtered (in a matter of milliseconds) based on appropriateness for the context of the song (…) giving them a faultless ‘genre compass’ to guide them away from inappropriate sounds, poor note choices, atypical elements of groove or rhythm, or even playing too loud or soft. (C. Harrison, 2013h)

For me, immersion in the habitus of cartoon music, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV after school in the early sixties, paid unexpected dividends 30 years on.

6.4 Multiple Intelligences

6.4.1 Naturalistic Intelligence

It has been observed that songs appear to ‘survive’ or become ‘extinct’ based on the songwriter’s evaluation of merit. A Darwinesque ‘survival of the species’, appears to be at play based upon whether or not the field is likely to accept the song artefact as a worthy inclusion in the domain. I would argue that the capacity of songwriters to correctly identify song species correlates with Gardner’s eighth naturalistic intelligence (1999) where discriminant pattern recognition leads to the unique distinctions of the inculcated songwriter. An example of such a unique

210

distinction, where a species of song with a high survival potential in the Australian market was observed, is described by INXS songwriter Farriss where, ‘the first really big successful song that started to tell us we were on the right track with that, was Don’t Change’ (2015). After touring North America, however, an important further unique distinction, contrasting the first, was made. The funk stylings of Original Sin, endorsed by producer Nile Rogers, gave them confidence to shift their songwriting toward what was to become identifiably their own rock/funk hybrid style;

We’re going ‘well this is pretty quickly moving away from pub rock’ as we’re sitting and playing with these dudes, you know? (…) That’s where I began to feel our ‘rocket’ if you like, was beginning to get a lot more heat because we were like ‘OK, well in other words you don’t have to follow that pub-rock mentality, you can go anywhere you want, right? (…) What that means is we can go back into that earlier work that we liked to do, that had funk and rock and whatever, and start to really mess around with that shit. When everyone else is still playing pub rock back in Australia we’ll chuck something a little bit different in – and that’s kind of our thinking and that worked great in the USA (Farriss, 2015)

6.5 Songwriting Practice

6.5.1 Forward Incrementation through Emulation

Emulation of the works of other successful songwriters is effective in providing song artefacts that have a high likelihood of acceptance by the field.

…a causal account of the evolution of music must ultimately contain an account of how musicians imitate, and modify, existing music when creating new songs, that is, an account of the mode of inheritance, the production of musical novelty and its constraints (…) The selective forces acting upon new songs are at least partly captured by their rise and fall through the ranks of the charts. (Mauch, MacCallum, Levy, & Leroi, 2014)

Songwriting based upon deep immersion in a specific song style has a tendency to garner industry support, as the field recognises the near-analogous nature of the song, and it embraces the ‘Forward Incrementation’ form of creative propulsion 211

(songs that ‘propel the field’) where a slight change to the domain is made, as proposed by Sternberg, Kaufman and Pretz (2002).

6.5.2 Complexity in Songs

At an individual, meta-cognitive level, writing songs that impress musicians, is not difficult. The greater challenge is to write songs that, without being trite or banal, connect with audiences and are satisfying creatively at a personal, P-creativity level (Boden, 1996). For this researcher, that might suggest being sufficiently sophisticated to provide multi-layered levels of listening complexity. Highly technical song compositions embedded with performance flourishes may get the attention through novelty, of some elements of the audience, especially music students, but may lack the qualities necessary to sustain that interest by adding meaning to the lives of the listeners thus giving the songs perceived value. Given the definition of creativity tending towards terms such as novelty, value or usefulness (Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010; Sawyer, 2006), songwriters should strive for a satisfying balance of substance and style, ‘ear-candy’ and depth, allure and meaningful message, point and perspective.

6.5.3 Capturing the Moment

The advent of personal computers and Digital Audio Workstations has changed the songwriting landscape and highlighted the need for a developed logical- mathematical capacity in order that the conceptual physics and mathematics of sound, pitch, audio, acoustics, and music may be logically addressed and marshalled by the songwriter into a recording. To that end, it is expedient to apply systematic methodology to the post-inspirational process of capturing, in a recording, the ephemeral elements that arrive into consciousness after a 212

hypnogogic reverie (Bastick, 1982). That is, to explore the songwriting possibilities revealed in the dreamlike just-above consciousness state often experienced as a person falls asleep or wakes up, and present the outcome to the world in an appropriate structure and form of contemporary media.

I woke up in the wee small hours28 with a little tune in my head, very appropriate for the section of pictures I had been working on, so I went upstairs and recorded the idea very quickly into Logic, and went back to bed. The next day I had no recollection of waking up, and when I went into my studio about 8am to resume work, saw that Logic was open, and there was a little cue there. Only when I played it back did I recall recording it at 2:30am. I was actually delighted as it was quirky, fresh, and suited the pictures very well. (C. Harrison, 2013f)

6.5.4 An Holistic Approach

It has been a useful observation that an application of a songwriting methodology that embraces the systems model of creativity (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988), maximises those capacities of multiple intelligence as are available (Gardner, 1983), exploits one’s preferred thinking styles (Sternberg, 1994a), and maintains both intrinsic and extrinsic motivations (Amabile, Hill, Hennessey, & Tighe, 1994) is likely to be highly productive.

Based on the various categories of observations identified in the five-album comparative analysis, this last category, songwriting practice, appears worthy of deeper investigation. 6.6 Summary

Chapter 6 was dedicated to collating and synthesising experiential observations

28 In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning, music by David Mann, lyrics by Bob Hilliard, from Frank Sinatra's 1955 album In the Wee Small Hours. 213

from the earlier comparative analysis, and highlighting those findings relevant to the research question ‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’

The unique ‘insider perspective’ of the researcher provided an autoethnographic discussion based on the experiential knowledge gleaned throughout 36 years of songwriting practice, and observations, potential generalisations and theories regarding authentic performance, song antecedents, productive flow, and forward incrementation were offered. From that platform of hitherto unexplored distinctions, the next chapter undertakes an examination of songwriting practice in the context of what we already know through scholarly research.

214

7.0 Songwriting in Practice

The observations delineated in the last chapter require further examination to assess their veracity and validity in order to usefully be considered worthy of academic value. Returning to the earlier literature review, this chapter looks at songwriting as it is practiced and connects it with what we already know through scholarly research. Many of the observations, generalisations, and theories put forth in the last chapter can be explained or at least better understood when viewed through the various lenses provided by earlier scholars. In seeking to validate or refute the experiential perspective presented, this chapter applies the existing knowledge-base of scholars – viewed in categories of creativity (person, process, product and place) - to the discussion and considers the findings from perspectives including; creative personality attributes and idiosyncratic perspective, the five-stage songwriting process, constraints, collaboration, and creative propulsion theory.

7.1 The Four P’s of Creativity

As discussed earlier (in chapter 3.3), the ‘four P’s of creativity’ proposed in the early 60s (Rhodes, 1961, pp. 305–310) have traditionally been described as: process, product, person and place. This quadratic view serves the purposes of songwriting research where the categories of: Person describes the individual(s) or agent(s) who actually create the song materials and elements - the lyric, melody, harmony and structure; Product refers to the song itself in recorded form (in this case); the physical manifestation of the song in whatever format it is produced;

Process reflects songwriting procedures, routines, activities, and necessary steps to

215

move from ideation to completed physical representation; and Place refers to the cultural, geographical, historical and socio-political environment of the songwriter and the song - the who, what, where and when of the song’s origins, influences, antecedents, location and even it’s time of release.

7.2 Person 7.2.1 Creative Personality

Person describes the idiosyncratic background of the individual(s) or agent(s) who amalgamate the source materials and elements of the song artefact, that is, the lyric, melody, harmony and structure. McIntyre places the creative songwriter within the systems model in everyday terms, and highlights antecedent conditions and knowledge that ‘comes from somewhere (the domain) and the evaluation of the field as to the song’s creative worth;

Following the Aristotelian-aligned definition of creativity - most often utilized in one form or another throughout the last sixty to seventy years of study into creativity, particularly in the area of psychology (Stein 1953; Sternberg 1988, 1999; Bailin 1988; Csikszentmihalyi 1988; Weisberg 1993; Gardner 1993; Amabile and Tighe 1993; Boden 1994, 2004) - it can be claimed that creativity is an activity whereby products, processes and ideas are generated from antecedent conditions by the agency of someone, whose knowledge to do so comes from somewhere and the resultant novel variation is seen as a valued addition to the store of human knowledge. (McIntyre, 2006b)

While much has been written about the creative personality (Boden, 1991;

Csikszentmihalyi, 1997; Gardner, 1993; Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010; Kozbelt et al.,

2010; Sawyer, 2006; Sternberg, 1999a; Weisberg, 1993), finding consistent descriptors for creatively archetypical personality has proven elusive; anybody can be ‘a bit’ creative. However, the productive, persistent, actively creative personality does seem to move towards certain characteristics, if a little inconsistently. From my autoethnographic observations it may be that the 216

characteristics of curiosity, dedication, single-mindedness, sense of direction, ferocity when working, diligence and persistence may be characteristic (Howe,

1999, pp. 14, 15). Other characteristics might include the distinction that Feist observed, that artists as creators tend to be more likely to be anxious, impulsive, sensitive, emotional and introspective than creative scientists might be (Feist, in

Sternberg, 1999a, p. 282).

Other theorists note that creators [in this case, songwriters] reflect on their efforts at length, leverage their strengths and avoid their weaknesses, and frame their experiences in a positive fashion (Gardner, 1993, p. xvii; Policastro & Gardner, in

Sternberg, 1999a) and that they possess deep knowledge of a particular domain, and leverage that knowledge to make unique distinctions about what they observe.

Sawyer29 identifies that the capacity to define a ‘good problem’ is another;

…an almost aesthetic ability to recognise a good problem in their domain (…) that’s why creative people tend to be creative in one specific domain: it takes a lot of experience, knowledge and training to be able to identify good problems. (Sawyer, 2006, p. 65).

Identifying a ‘good problem’ might take on a very different meaning from that of the natural scientist. For example, in my own songwriting practice, a ‘good problem’ may be couched in terms like, ‘how can I write a lyric that expresses the idea of ennui, but in relevant, contemporary language?’, or, ‘I’m feeling unconnected, angry, violent, frustrated, disconnected, and un-loved. How can I scream my self-loathing from the rooftops?’

29 See also (Barron & Harrington, 1981; Feist, 1998; Tardif in Gruber & Davis, 1988; Tardif & Sternberg, 1988) 217

7.2.2 Attributes of the Creative Personality

Csikszentmihalyi’s research interviewing highly creative persons (1997, p. 27), identified three types of creative persons, brilliant, insightful, and creative

(discussed in chapter 3.1.1.3). Although he distinguished the term genius as

‘perhaps (…) brilliant and creative at the same time, the designation was rejected by most creative individuals interviewed’ (1997, p. 27). This response from creative individuals is not surprising. It is this autoethnographic researcher’s experience that songwriters are quick to deflect such attributions of brilliance, creativity or genius. Curiously, the Romanticist view is acceptable within songwriting culture and certainly in media representations of it, but the desire to present with humility and as one who recognizes the antecedent nature of authenticity is common in my experience among the successful songwriters I am aware of. Socialisation in the domain has taught them that one should not act as if one has a ‘genius like’ self-perception, as exemplified in the ridicule faced by Kanye

West in 2015 at the Glastonbury Festival in the UK, after describing himself as the

‘greatest living rock star on the planet’ (Staff, 2015).

7.2.3 The Ten Dichotomies

As well as the brilliant/insightful/creative distinctions, Csikszentmihalyi also identified ‘Ten Dimensions of Complexity’ (1997, p. 58) which include conflicting qualities that don’t overlap, suggesting creative persons [songwriters] may be; energetic and extremely focused, but also sleep a lot; smart, but also naïve and in a way immature; playful (even irresponsible), but also highly disciplined at their work; dogged and perseverant; alternating between imagination and fantasy, and a rooted sense of reality; and expressing both extroversion and introversion at the

218

same time. It could be argued that songwriters love their solitude, but still crave the spotlight, as long as it is not for very long. We appear sociable, but are often deep in thought despite our surroundings;

I never met an artist who doesn’t have a reasonably fragile sense of self- belief; even as they have an unbelievable ego and confidence right underneath it all (Finn, 2012)

Continuing the list of dichotomies, we have; simultaneously humble and proud; acutely aware that they stand on the shoulders of those that came before them, aware of the role that luck played in their own achievements, and focused always on current songwriting challenges and future projects.

At the same time (…) these individuals (…) know that in comparison with others that they have accomplished a great deal. And this knowledge provides a sense of security, even pride. (…) this duality is (…) a contrast between ambition and selflessness, or competition and cooperation. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, pp. 68–70)

Songwriters are often able to empathise well with others. For example, this capacity enables male songwriters to express feelings from the point-of-view of females, and vice-versa, and so, to a certain extent may;

…escape rigid gender role stereotyping (…) a psychologically androgynous person in effect doubles his or her repertoire of responses and can interact with the world in terms of a much richer and varied spectrum of opportunities. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 70)

It has been my experience that the songwriters I have engaged with in my career are both traditional and conservative at the same time as acting rebellious and iconoclastic. Additionally, they are able to be passionately immersed as well as objectively dispassionate about their work;

I think it is very important to find a way to be detached from what you write, so that you can’t be so identified with your work that you can’t accept criticism and response… (Davis, in Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 72)30

30 Interviewee Natalie Davis: Historian, Decorated chevalier, l’Ordre des palmes Academiques (France, 1976) 219

Finally, songwriters, including myself, experience enormous waves and troughs of emotion. Given the nature of their profession songwriters are open and sensitive, deeply affected by the suffering and pain of others, but experiencing extremes of enjoyment and exhilaration as well. They may feel slighted and anxious where others don’t which can be a burden and a blessing at time, for without feeling those things, how should we be able to write about them?

While these ten dichotomies can be argued as largely true for songwriters with whom I have been in contact, it should be stated that not all dichotomies are applicable to all songwriters. Furthermore, an extensive examination of these attributes, whilst interesting, is unlikely to provide answers to the pragmatic research question ‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’

7.2.4 Idiosyncratic Perspective

Interview subject and Pro-C songwriter Don Walker, declared that;

I think every songwriter [has a unique perspective] and I think it’s one of those things that you try not to look at directly or think about too much because it should be an instinctive thing…it’s impossible that two people would be songwriters with the same perspective (…) I try not to think about that I just do what I do, knowing that there will be a unique perspective in it - there can be no other. (Walker, 2015)

Every songwriter brings their own ontology to the songwriting table, and as discussed earlier, songwriters do not write songs isolated from the culture. Each songwriting decision is affected and influenced by environment, upbringing and other factors. Said differently, they write music that sounds good to their ears largely because of where they grew up, what music they had access to, what musical instruments, songs, bands, and songwriters they heard growing up, and what music teachers and institutions they could access for tuition. Gardner found 220

his exemplary creators, whose perspectives were a little asynchronous , and whose works were so new, valuable and surprising that they changed their domains, possessed many of the following attributes or commonalities. They were from a locale somewhat removed from the actual centres of power, they were reasonably comfortable, in a material sense and they were from a family that valued learning and achievement. Areas of strength emerged at a relatively young age, they often passed through a period of religiosity and they had already invested a decade of work in the mastery of a various domains. They were near the forefront of the domain and had little in addition to learn from local experts. They ventured toward a city that was seen as a centre of vital activities in his/her domain, they discovered a (…) realm of special interest, one that promised to take the domain into uncharted waters and they all had some kind of documented breakdown

(Gardner, 1993, pp. 334, 340).

These attributes provide a strong resonance for me. Growing up in Adelaide in a comfortable home with musical tuition available I had a supportive and musical family, was rewarded in my childhood for my musicality, dabbling variously in the

Anglican, Scientology, and Buddhist religions. I invested decades in popular music, jazz, film scoring and songwriting, rising to the forefront in some aspects, focusing on emulating the world’s best, rather than local experts. I moved from Adelaide to

Melbourne, then Sydney, then New York by age 20 in pursuit of deeper domain acquisition and socialization, and had a nervous breakdown in 2003 due to stress and overwork. If one attribute does not resonate for me, it is perhaps simply, that I have yet to discover a realm of special interest that promises to take the domain into uncharted waters. 221

In order to answer the question why some people, by age ten or twenty, seem likely to become future ‘mere experts’ in a field while others seem destined to be

‘creative’, Gardner (1999, p. 121) speculates that the following factors are at work.

He suggests an early exposure to others who take chances and do not easily admit failure as well as the opportunity to excel at something when young were important. He also thinks that a creative person must have enough discipline to more or less master a domain in one’s youth and be part of an environment that stretches the young person with reachable goals. Association with peers who experiment and are undaunted by failure is important while late birth or unusual family configuration that encourages or tolerates rebellion is also a factor. What is also important is some anomaly that marginalises the person within a group. For this researcher, most of these elements are well represented. On reflection, and drawing on my notes, various mentors took time in my youth to suggest that I might be capable of expertise in several fields. These included my choirmaster, my hockey coach, my high school English and Physics teachers, and several highly respected music industry persons. Noticeably absent from my environment however, were the last two elements suggested by Gardner. My birth and family configuration were unremarkable, rebellion was not a significant part of my youth, nor did I feel marginalised throughout my career.

7.2.5 Fruitful Asynchrony

Gardner describes the distinction between factors influencing those who become

‘creative’ beyond mere ‘experts’, as fruitful asynchrony, that is, ‘a lack of fit, an unusual pattern, or an irregularity within the creative triangle’ (1993, p. 39). On

222

reflection, my circumstances provided ample opportunity for Pro-C creativity, but lacked a few elements that might have pushed me toward the type of creative propulsions (songs that ‘propel the field’) thought to be required for Big-C

(domain-changing) creativity (see chapter 8.7). As Gardner explains ‘what seems defining in the creative individual is the capacity to exploit, or profit from, an apparent misfit or lack of smooth connections within the triangle of creativity

(Gardner, 1993, p. 353).

The ‘triangle of creativity’ he is referring to is the individual, domain and field of

Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model of creativity, discussed earlier. Applied to this research, asynchrony is where a songwriter is in some way out-of-step with the songwriting culture of the day. They may be ‘before her time’, or two decades too late, too ‘crazy’ for a conservative world, or too conservative for a ‘crazy’ world.

They may be too sophisticated, or not sophisticated enough. That asynchrony becomes fruitful when it leads to the type of song that profoundly influences the songwriting landscape. Being different is often a disadvantage, but occasionally such influential songs appear precisely when the audience, industry, media and culture are ready for them. More often, the songwriter works at her craft, creating multiple artefacts, improving, modifying and re-designing songs stylistically to fit the culture, and at some point they ‘get it right’ with one or more of those multiple artefacts. Valuable to the songwriter is the naturalistic capacity to identify a species of song with a point of difference, and this ‘suspicion of potential to be fruitfully asynchronous’ is described by Naylor under interview (and discussed further in Chapter 8);

223

CH: Have you made conscious decisions at any stage to be bold or brave, even though you know it’s ‘wrong’ or may draw raised eyebrows from certain quarters?

TN: I have, only on a couple of occasions where I felt this is a really cool idea, to me – other people might hate it, but I think it’s really cool (…) some sort of strange dissonance that you think, that’s going to annoy so many people but I love it, and I’m going to leave it. (Naylor, 2015)

7.2.6 Degrees of Creative Magnitude

7.2.6.1 P and H Creativity

Margaret Boden argues that ‘someone who is P-creative has a (more or less sustained) capacity to produce creative ideas (…) and H-creative is someone who has come up with one or more H- creative ideas’ (1991, p. 43). Following this formulation, discussed earlier, if a songwriter were to create a song that seemed useful and novel from his/her own perspective, then it is P-creative. If the experts, audiences and critics of the field also consider that the work is useful and new to everyone historically, as in no-one has ever written a song quite like it before, then it may be considered H-creative. Significantly, songwriters are not either ‘P- creative’ or ‘H-creative’. We write songs ‘P-creatively’, and allow ‘history to decide’ whether we were ‘H-creative’, and our works exist on a continuum (Boden, 1991, p. 77).

Continuum

P-Creativity H-Creativity

Private Novelty Public Novelty

New to the person Productivity New in History

Decided by Creator Decided by Field

224

Figure 7 - P and H Creativity How then do we distinguish further, between the little song creativities of a child or novice, often clearly derived from another simple song, but creative, none-the- less, the developing song creativities of an amateur or semi-professional, often derivative as well, but definitely showing a growing tool-box of skills and ideas, and the substantial song creativities of a professional committing a lifetime to working in songwriting?

7.3 Process 7.3.1 The five-stage Songwriting Process

My method of writing is that I will get a pang, a gnawing away at me, and I’ll know that something’s happening (…) I might go for ten minutes or for two hours. (Brian Cadd, in Kruger, 2005, p. 114)

Having examined multiple process models in Chapter 3; from Helmholtz (1891), through Wallas (1926), Hutchison (1941), Bastick (1982) and a host of contributors since (Bailin, 1988; Csikszentmihalyi, 1997; Cropley, in Kaufman &

Beghetto, 2009; D. & A. Cropley, in Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010; McIntyre, 2008b;

Sawyer, 2006); the model most relevant to songwriting begins to emerge. Wallas was not far off the mark with his four-stage model; preparation, incubation, illumination, and verification. In order to reach an even more useful and representative version for songwriters, and observing Sawyer’s ‘Stages of Creative

Process’ model (2006, p. 138), we can apply a five-stage model; Preparation,

Incubation, Insight, Elaboration, and Validation.

7.3.2 Preparation

Preparation for songwriters implies information gathering, and problem finding,

225

construction, identification and definition. This would include such things as developing the necessary songwriting ‘feel for the game’ through studying and acquiring the knowledge of songs, analyzing songs as a form of immersion, and listening in order to gather related information. Songwriters will also decide at this stage what is the next song ‘problem’ to be solved and engage in identifying and defining through naturalistic skills, what elements are required in the song. In short they will begin obtaining the necessary habitus to write songs. The successful development of individual style, idiosyncratic nuances pertaining to genre, and expertise require a varied stock of general and specific knowledge of song including, but not limited to, lyric, melodic, harmonic and structural devices as well as rhythmic, textural and layering devices, genre-specific orchestration methods and a familiarity and expertise with recording devices. Hayes’ ten-year-rule (1989, pp. 135–145) for songwriters may include formative years as a child absorbing the popular music to which the child is exposed via the radio, the listening practices of their parents, and tuition through schools and privately.

Pro-C songwriter Tony Naylor describes such preparation. He makes a point to listen both emotionally and analytically, and specifically looks for ’what they did that was different’;

CH: What is the most important thing for songwriters to notice when studying the songs of others?

TN: First and foremost is the emotional content; how it affects you, just on a subconscious level, I think, where you hear the song and you’re not analysing it, you’re not worried about what the chords are, you’re just taking in the overall feeling (…) on first listen to a song that’s how I would do it – I try not to analyse.

CH: Are you trying to not analyse it up until a point where you are required 226

to analyse it?

TN: (laughs) Yeah, up until the money chord, you know, where you go ‘Wow, what was that?’

CH: Like a chord you don’t recognise?

TN: Or one that takes me by surprise; I’m trying not to do that, but then when that happens, I’m zeroing in on ‘Hmmm, what did they do there that’s different?’ and ‘Why?’, and ‘How did that relate to the lyric – did they consciously put that there to emphasise that lyric, or was it an accident?’ The next step would be to say, ‘OK, I understand what that is, are there parallels in another song that maybe does the same thing, and did they take that idea from this?’ (…) Quite often you might hear ten new songs in a row and you go ‘Yeah yeah…. Yeah yeah…. I like the emotion in that, but there’s nothing there that’s standout…’, and then one will come along that’ll just have some quirk that takes it in a different direction and really hooks you and ‘Ah, OK…’ McCartney always used to call it the ‘money chord’, because they always wanted that unexpected shift, because that’s what would make their song stand out against the others. (Naylor, 2015)

This search for what makes a song ‘stand out’ reflects a deep immersion in the domain, one that enables the unique distinctions of an expert, beyond that of a novice songwriter. Professional analysis of thousands of songs allows the inculcated musician (Bourdieu, 1983a) to recognize a naturalistic variation to the song species (Gardner, 2006) that has the Darwinian potential to survive (J.

Bennett, 2010a) in the changing song culture. For Pro-C writer, accessing a conducive mental state for the songwriting process to occur is seen as a predisposition to be open to ideas or source material for song development;

You’ve (…) got to be walking around with this butterfly net catching these ideas because they present themselves to you all the time; it’s just how do you listen and how do you watch and how do you observe. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

7.3.3 Incubation

The incubation period includes taking some time away from a problem, to allow lyric, melodic and harmonic ideas to be ruminated upon in the just-below

227

conscious state described by Bastick as ‘hypnogogic reverie’, that is, the ‘bed, bus and bath’ of Boden’s conception (1991, p. 25). This provides an opportunity to draw from a stock of candidate song themes, grooves, chord progressions, genres or other intriguing stimuli, generate an awareness of a song possibility which emerges from the knowledge obtained. It allows a songwriter to experiment, ponder, explore strategies, play, take time off and investigate options. In making comparisons Pro-C songwriter Naylor asserted in interview that at;

…other times I’ll have a song idea that I might mull over for weeks, just a chorus line hook and (…) at 4a.m. you’re wide awake going ‘If I rhymed that with that… and I changed the chord there… would that work or not…?’ you’ve just gotta keep making yourself come back to it. But sometimes when you do that you get yourself into a corner and it doesn’t go anywhere so a lot of those, I’ll just leave them simmering, and then at some stage I might be in the shower one morning and the light goes on I’m (laughs) out there and I’m recording it and it all falls out. (Naylor, 2015)

As a young songwriter in the 1970s and 80’s, my band schedules allowed time for song ideas to ‘percolate.’ We had approximately six months between record albums and many hours spent on the road in cars, trucks, planes and airport lounges to fiddle with lyric ideas, chord progressions and riffs, and a sound check almost every day to throw ideas around the band for their input. When we came home there was usually access to studios to do quick sketch live recordings to two- track tape due to our session-work connections in the industry, so after settling back into my home I would relax, walk around the block to collect my thoughts, and sit down to put the previous few weeks’ ideas into a song or two;

Most of my productive sessions have been after having been for a walk or doing something totally unrelated to music. You come back refreshed and with new enthusiasm. (C. Harrison, 1983)

A recognition of this positive influence on creativity through incubation is reflected in the recent research into divergent thinking, emotion and incubation of Hao, Liu,

228

Ku, Hu and Runco (2015), who found that ‘positive emotion in the incubation interval was associated with higher originality (…) [and] an incubation interval (…) helped people be more original in solving instances problems than when continuously working’ (Hao et al., 2015, p. 291).

7.3.3.1 When Incubation is Denied

As I became more embedded in the recording industry, got married, took on a mortgage, and tried to raise my financial capital, time for incubation diminished dramatically. From 1988 until 2006 - a period of 18 years – I composed music and wrote songs entirely on commission, i.e. people hired me to write scores and songs for television projects, films, advertising jingles, soundtracks, theme songs, and albums, testimony to having moved from little-c to Pro-C creativity as decided by the field, or a clear indication that my songwriting was deemed to have moved from ‘fair’, to consistently ‘good’. Each project therefore was a collaboration of sorts with creative teams, directors, producers and other project leaders. Most commissions were subject to strict deadlines; airtimes, studio bookings, clients travelling overseas and other time constraints, and as a result, there was often little time for creative incubation. During that time many creative possibilities were left unexplored. Any fascinating ideas that might be time-consuming and inevitably unproductive were culled immediately. Submitting to a form of

‘satisficing’, that is, being acceptably satisfying and sufficing (H. A. Simon, 1956), my awareness at the time was often that my working ideas would do the job required, but that with more time, especially for incubation and experimentation, some more novel solutions and song artefacts might have been forthcoming. In creative propulsion terms, it was all about forward incrementation. What was

229

sought by clients was ‘reliable synchrony’, for their investment, rather than

‘fruitful asynchrony’ that might intrigue the songwriter and result in ‘riskier’ song artefacts more divergently conceived.

The circumstances described above are by no means common. Most songwriters are not working under such difficult time constraints and are able to incubate ideas for weeks, months or even longer. For Connors, the waxing and waning of ideas from day to day was unpredictable;

What is it about the heightened awareness, the juices that flow, all that sort of thing, that cause one day to be a really productive songwriting day and another to not be? (…) Cos I can get up some days and stare at that piece of paper, play the piano, play the guitar, and at lunchtime I still have got nothing. The next day, a silly little inconsequential line will pop into my head. (Connors, 2015)

While Connors may have a useful idea at the next day’s songwriting session

(perhaps, I would posit, as a result of one day’s incubation), the solution to a particular songwriting problem may take months or even years. In a seminar held in Sydney, Thistlethwayte (2010) describes a 14 year incubation on a song that he began as a 17 year old and finished when he was 31. Don Walker has a similar story;

I’ve got a song that I’m close to finishing now that when I look back through the earliest lyric ideas it was like 1999 – 16 years ago. It’s gone through various changes and evolutions since then. (Walker, 2015)

One method I discovered to allow at least a little incubation time was to divide my working day into multiple 3-hour blocks, changing focus recursively between lyrics, melody, harmony and rhythm; in a twelve-hour day, I might work on lyrics from 8am until 11am, but no more until the next day;

230

To keep delivering songs to studio deadlines, gig pressure, broadcast network air-dates and life, I now use every method imaginable that I can lay my hands on (…) First, I create a Logic song that has all the likely candidates for sounds/instruments etc. for songwriting. Then I clear my desk, eliminate any distractions in my studio, get sounds up on my keyboard, bass and guitar if necessary. Usually I attack either lyrics, melody, harmony or groove first, with the others to follow (…) If I start with a music groove or chord progression, I’ll really work that area until I need a break (…) as the ideas in one domain (lyrics, melody, harmony, groove) begin to ebb a little, I shift to the next element. So once I have 18 or so lyric lines written, then I start investigating possible grooves, chords, melodies - if I have established a groove first, then lyrics may be next. (C. Harrison, 2013b)

7.3.3.2 A Network of Enterprises

The nett result might be that after a week or two I have multiple songs written and sketch demos done, and each song has the benefit of several days of incubation before resuming work recursively to take each song to its second draft stage. This multiple project approach is a technique I developed out of necessity to cope with advertising particularly, where at any given time I might be developing song ideas for 3 or four products simultaneously. As described by Simonton (2014), there is a benefit to creatively engaging in a ‘network of enterprises’ (Gruber, 1989) where he suggests that rather than working, in this case, on one song narrowly until exhaustion, it may prove more fruitful for the creative songwriter to engage in writing multiple songs, to work on multiple projects, simultaneously. By moving from project to project, ample incubation time is given to each songwriting challenge and creative impulse;

Good ideas will be mixed up with bad ideas, and some trains of thought will lead nowhere creative. Edison was able to create so many first-rate inventions largely because he was able to conceive so many ideas that had no merit whatsoever (…) Roughly expressed in terms of divergent thinking, cognitive flexibility likely enhances both originality and fluency. (Simonton, 2014)

231

7.3.4 Insight

Insight occurs when a solution or idea suddenly makes itself known and is manifest as the ‘aha’ or ‘eureka’ moment or a succession of smaller contributory aha moments, that propel the song idea forward. Vital to this moment for songwriters is access to some method or documenting such discoveries, through midi or audio recording, lyric note-taking, musical notation capacity, or dictation device. In the case of masterful blind pianist and arranger Julian Lee, his scores were dictated to a close friend, not a device. Sawyer (2006, pp. 405–409) posits that when insights occur, they tend to be small advances based on combinations of prior experiences and learning, which occur following long periods of immersion and hard work, and that significant creativity requires many of these insights. For prolific songwriter Neil Finn, once having established himself in his physical writing space, and in search or expectation of the ‘flow’ state’, he enters a particular frame of mind, ‘head-space’ or calmness of mind perspective;

I just set about trying to get myself in a dreamy state with collections of notes and rhythms and chords until I actually feel something (…) I’ll just start with consonants that rub in a nice way and vowels that vibrate in a good way and a word will pop out and that’ll seem to have resonance and a phrase will appear and suddenly I’m feeling some emotional weight (Finn, 2012)

The popular music media, still clinging to the Romantic genius view of creativity, would most likely interpret Finn’s account as representing spontaneous genius insight, however from a Rationalist perspective it is argued that the collection of notes, rhythms and chords identified as providing stimulus material, point to an incubation period; feelings of ‘universality’ reflect feelings of warmth (Nickerson, in

Sternberg, 1999a, p. 396) when analogous associations or insights occur; the act of

‘sound-making’, ‘consonant-rubbing’, and ‘vowel-vibrating’ suggest an evaluation

232

of likely lyric candidates; words ‘popping out’ imply the recovery of divergent lyric possibilities from just-below consciousness; and the feeling of some emergent

‘emotional weight’ would indicate a suspicion that the lyric candidates might be analogically linked to some pithy, meaningful lyric focus. Finn’s evocative and sensory description is echoed by interview subject and Pro-C songwriter Don

Walker, if a little more pragmatically;

…it’s not from like the great spirit or anything (chuckles) or the serpent… what I like to say is ‘I made it up’. The truth is that a lot of it comes from intuitive leaps that feel like it came from somewhere else because it doesn’t come through a process of rational thought. So I can definitely make the statement ‘Oh it came from somewhere else’, and it doesn’t feel too far wrong (…) it can feel like it was gifted. (Walker, 2015)

7.3.4.1 Hypnogogic Reverie

When referring to hypnogogic reverie, ‘the seemingly chaotic associations of images and ideas that occur during relaxed, near sleep-like states’ (1982, p. 341),

Bastick describes the state just below consciousness as preconscious31. ‘There are many observations of creativity associated with hypnogogic reverie, also there are anecdotes of many insights occurring in this state’ (Bastick, 1982, p. 31). The phenomena is commonly reported among songwriters, including songwriting educator John Braheny; ‘You’re lying in bed, half asleep in that twilight zone where ideas just seem to pop into your head (…) a great concept, exciting lines, you see it all’ (Braheny, 2006, p. 19).

This idea resonates with me and has been consistently practiced in my professional and personal experience over the past two decades. Often, sometimes

31 Preconscious is used to refer to material, which, though at the moment it may be unconscious, is available, and ready to become conscious. (Drever & Wallerstein, 1975) 233

two or three times weekly, in the hours between 2am and 5:30am, I become aware that I have been wrestling with a challenge for many minutes, and a solution is imminent. I begin to become more awake as the insight evolves slowly, then I try to find the critical language that concisely describes the insight. Once arrived at, I burst from the bed and move quickly upstairs to my studio to record the idea, lyric, thought, pattern recognition or concept in either words or music. The following blog was written for songwriting students bemused by the arrival of ideas at inconvenient times through the night. By understanding the phenomena, it can be gainfully utilised as a useful tool for capturing the ephemeral ideas that flit by the threshold of consciousness like Thistlethwayte’s butterflies;

Sensei Blog #013 – Composing in my Sleep

From roughly 2000 to 2006 I was immersed in composing music, underscore, themes, songs and motifs for animation – TV shows and movies. An odd thing happened one night. I woke up with a little tune in my head, very appropriate for the section of pictures I had been working on, so I went upstairs and recorded the idea very quickly into Logic, and went back to bed. The next day I had no recollection of waking up, and when I went into my studio about 8am to resume work, saw that Logic was open, and there was a little cue there. A few weeks later I was again struggling to concentrate after a long day of writing and recording, and at 11pm decided to go to bed, annoyed that I hadn’t quite solved the next musical problem; what to write for the next 60 seconds or so. Around 4am, drifting in and out of that half-aware state of almost wakefulness, I noticed that I had a tune developing in my semi-consciousness. I schlepped up the stairs, sketched it quickly into Logic, and returned to bed. Again, in the morning, there was my solution to the previous night’s musical challenge. Since then I have successfully written lyrics, chord progressions and melodies ‘in my sleep’ as a regular strategy. I go to bed with a plan to solve the puzzle in my sleep. I’ve been able to practice it – deliberately staying in that half-conscious state, until the idea is clear, then snapping out of it enough to walk upstairs and write it down. (C. Harrison, 2013f)

This tendency to take one’s dreams and hunches seriously and to see patterns where others see meaningless confusion is important. Being able to engage in discriminant pattern recognition, that is, recognising, identifying and responding 234

to important stimuli from the songwriting domain (see chapter 8.7), is clearly one of the most important traits that separates creative individuals from otherwise equally competent peers. McIntyre highlights Bastick’s notion of intuition defined as ‘a form of non-linear parallel processing of global multi-categorised information’

(1982, p. 215), which is not linked to metaphysics or the para-normal, but a way of thinking that may be common to all human cognitive practice (McIntyre, 2003, p.

131) and that may also be linked to hypnogogic reverie.

Based on practitioner experience, I can report three mini-stages in my hypnogogic reverie. The first of these is an intuitive hunch or warm feeling of expectation that some relationship or idea is imminent. This is followed by ten or twenty seconds of confusion, panic, adrenaline-rush and struggle as the remotely-analogous ideas collide, and finally, a sense of relief. This latter is not an ‘aha’ moment per se, as is often described, but an ‘aaahhh’ moment of relaxation and slight euphoria at the revealing of a small but exciting insight.

In layman’s terms, the trick is not merely to have ideas in the night (the phenomena itself is relatively common), but to have the discipline and motivation to consistently rise, clarify and document the ideas as they form, that is, to ‘catch the butterflies’ and archive them. If songwriters ‘dip down’ into hypnogogic reverie they may get some wonderful ideas (thinking divergently), but if they cannot consistently ‘rise up’ into a fully conscious, rational state with those ideas (thinking more convergently), they will be unable to apply those thoughts usefully and describe them concisely in readiness for persuading the field of the ideas. Success in using hypnogogic reverie as a songwriting tool is not then simply that one has 235

interesting thoughts at 3a.m., but rather based on establishing a disciplined routine of capturing, describing and utilising those thoughts on a consistent basis through a confluence of convergent and divergent thinking.

Although some songwriting creative ideas come through hypnogogic reverie, those ideas may represent only a small but valued aspect of song generation. While these

‘aha’ moments are necessary, they are not sufficient, and the hypnogogic reverie state is useful only in the incubation and insight phases of the creative process. In order to manage the rest of the songwriting process, focus, persistence, expertise and procedural knowledge is vital to the preparation, evaluation and validation stages. During the next stage of songwriting process, there is a great deal of theorizing, observation, pattern recognition, idea generation, imagination, cross- fertilisation, synthesis, and hybridization of those candidate stimulus materials into one or more promising song artefacts.

7.3.5 Elaboration

Elaboration is the process stage where the individual tests the idea or applies the solution. The song ‘germ’ needs to be fleshed out into a clear musical representation, that is, a professional sounding song ‘demo’, with authenticity of style, production quality, performance, and clarity of meaning. According to

Csikszentmihalyi, after an insight occurs ‘the slow and often routine work of elaboration begins’ (1997, p. 105), and he highlights four main conditions important to the elaboration process; 1) pay attention to the developing work; 2) pay attention to one’s goals and feelings; 3) keep in touch with the domain knowledge, and; 4) listen to colleagues in the field (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 105).

236

In the act of writing a song, all four refer to the notion of expanding, developing and making clear the song’s message, communication, production and performance in a recording. For songwriter Neil Finn, in order to make a great piece of work, one does not need to be in an inspired state the entire time, but certainly it helps to begin the creative process, before recursively engaging in the

‘tedium’, ‘honing’ and other ‘repetitive work’ where endurance is the key;

There are practical challenges to overcome in order to present it to other people (…) there’s an element of bluff and a constant background of tedium in a lot of the best work – the constant honing and repetitive work can seem anything but expressive and inspiring but it gets you to a point where the work should appear effortless and guileless and that’s the craft of it - a very valuable part of the process. In that respect, talent is not enough, I think, it seems obvious that for an artist that endurance is one of the biggest assets you can have (Finn, 2012)

7.3.6 Validation

The validation period provides an opportunity to write, rehearse, record and release a candidate, completed song which is ‘good’ enough to be played to an audience. This stage of the songwriting process is where the creative person attempts to market and sell the idea to an audience, to have the song product

‘validated by the field’ by hopefully receiving positive (or negative) feedback from them. As Don Walker, nationally recognised songwriter and interview subject for this research, contended;

… in the generation of bands that I was coming up with it was extremely competitive - we were friends, but we were extremely competitive with each other and our attitude to each other could range from hidden respect through to open contempt. Night after night we were playing the same places, every band had a huge self-belief and every band was trying to be the one at the end of the week that everybody was talking about, in that particular club or that particular town; knowing that the other guys were pretty good and they’re coming through all the same places – and you want to be the king. (Walker, 2015)

For beginning songwriters in this current period, early validation might come in 237

the form of YouTube ‘hits’, Facebook ‘likes’, and later, as they develop a following, through radio airplay, audience applause, CD sales, downloads, industry reviews, comments, blogs, or twitter comments. The validation stage of the creative process is vital to the success of a song artefact - incorporating the distributors of

Alexanders cultural model (2003, p. 62), and the field of Csikszentmihalyi’s system’s model of creativity (1997). Validation is the vital process component that generates the necessary feedback, stimulates the domain, and allows the next wave of songs to find their way in the culture as creative propulsions (songs that ‘propel the field’) (Sternberg et al., 2001).

Validation occurs when the field accepts or rejects the idea. Reflecting the scalability of the system (and that the creative agent does not operate in isolation), wide distribution and ample access to audience must be considered. Put simply, a great song needs a great distribution network and the full weight of the field in order to influence the culture or change the domain. In order to achieve the desired outcome, that is acceptance into the song domain and culture, the songwriter needs to develop, nurture, listen to and collaborate with field experts, intermediaries and audiences. He or she must evaluate, test, self-criticise, observe outcomes, try alternatives, distil, select the best ideas, judge outcomes, reflect critically, and verify a promising song solution from among the candidate possibilities. Bearing in mind the target outcome, the experienced songwriter must strive to create an artefact with a high probability of being accepted by the field as worthy, novel and useful. Pro–C songwriter Naylor asserts that;

I would definitely compare, I don’t think I would drag out a record and compare that – sometimes I might from a stylistic point of view – where are the drums and bass sitting, but not so much in the writing, but in the back of 238

my mind I’d be thinking, ‘Well this is a bit like an Eagles ballad, so how would that stack up against an Eagles ballad in reality? Is it somewhere in the ballpark there?’ The other thing that I tend to do when I get to that stage is to walk away from it for days or even weeks and then come back and hear it totally with fresh ears. If there’s a problem, I’ll then find it straight away whereas before I’m too immersed in it (…) and it’s also that old thing of ‘When’s the painting finished?’ (Naylor, 2015)

Asking whether a new song is in some way novel, useful, or surprising (i.e. creative) often will reflect the songwriter’s own evaluation of worth. Importantly however, anticipating the reaction of the field, based on deep immersion in the genre, becomes a vital filter when evaluating song outcomes. Walker recognises the difficulty in objectively evaluating one’s own creative works;

By and large, the songs that I love most and that mean the most to me have found the smallest audience. (Don Walker (Cold Chisel), in Kruger, 2005, p. 268)

To that end, songwriters constantly apply naturalistic intelligence capacities by evaluating the lyric, melody, harmony, rhythm, and style of their songs as they write them, for relevance, communication, and appropriateness. For many, validation is the most difficult aspect of the songwriting process. If one accepts the oft-cited notion that songwriters tend to be somewhat introverted (see attributes of the creative personality, earlier), then it is unsurprising that they also are less inclined to be gregarious, networking well and often, and naturally self-promoting.

If the notion is true, then it behoves the songwriter to at least network to the extent of creating a small band of champions to promote their work on their behalf.

7.3.7 Best Practice

7.3.7.1 Productivity Theory

Keith Sawyer writes that;

We can all conjure up the image of a solitary creator, working alone for years in isolation, growing increasingly eccentric, until he finally comes out of the lab or studio to reveal the masterpiece that will change the world. But 239

this doesn’t happen very often; it’s more of a myth than reality (Sawyer, 2006, p. 131)

Based on the evidence Sawyer appears to be right. Following the quantitative research of Huber (1998), and Simonton (1988a, 1988b), the inventors and creators whose work was judged to be truly significant over time were the ones with the highest overall lifetime output, be they inventors (Huber 1998) or creators (Simonton 1988). In terms of Big-C creativity, the implication for Pro-C songwriters is that the goal is not to produce a singular masterpiece. Rather, it is to produce a body of songwriting works from which the field may potentially select one or more masterpieces.

A recurrent observation when working, eating, collaborating, and sharing hotel accommodation with songwriters, is that they carry with them multiple incomplete song fragments, in the form of lyric, title, chord, melody, and conceptual ideas. In the seventies these ideas were contained in notepads, books, and cassette tapes.

Currently the archiving device is a phone or tablet with recorder, dictation device, notepad, and even Digital Audio Workstation (DAW) contained within an ‘app’ and operated from a laptop. The reality for the Pro-C songwriter is that at any given time, one might possibly have twenty song fragments or ‘germs’, from which, over the coming months, ten will become completed song sketches, in recorded demo form. From those songs, two will stand out as candidates for further development, and possibly be released to audiences.

Experienced Pro-C songwriters actively and comfortably work within this ‘20-into

10-into 2’ model, understanding and appreciating the opportunity to realise songs

240

as recorded artefacts, and through a process of self-evaluation and culling, presenting only their ‘best’ works to the field. Sawyer describes such a creative process as the productivity theory. He argues that ‘the best way to have a good idea is to have a lot of ideas, and then just get rid of the bad ones’ (2006, p. 131). The following extract from The Songwriting Labyrinth reflects such productivity- related practices from the workplace in the form of advice for songwriters (C.

Harrison, 2015);

1. Write lots of songs – be highly productive. Work on the idea that at any given time you have an album for sale, one in production, 10 songs yet to be recorded, and 20 more fragments sitting in a folder for future development. 2. Keep a ‘Song-germs’ folder– little ideas, phrases or chord progressions that you can use as stimulus material when you have time to be a songwriter. 3. Keep a WIPs folder (Works in Progress). As the songs start to take shape, move the ideas into it. 4. Write about everyday things; ordinary people doing extraordinary things 5. Write from a variety of viewpoints, not always just from the first person. 6. Produce as many variations as possible. Experiment with styles, chords, lyric approaches. 7. Be bold, dangerous, take some songwriting risks. 8. If you have a second interest beyond songwriting, say making model trains, then write some songs about making model trains! (Maybe nobody else has ever done that….) (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 194)

7.3.7.2 Time Management

Beyond the expected scope of his 1993 study of seven exemplar creators (1993, p.

42) Howard Gardner discovered two emerging themes. The first of these was that each of the exemplary creators studied had in some way sacrificed a ‘rounded personal existence’, engaging in a ‘Faustian Bargain’ of sorts through either self- imposed isolation from others (examples here include Einstein, Graham),

241

undertaking an ascetic existence (for example Freud, Eliot, Gandhi), outrageous exploitation of others (Picasso is the candidate here), or constant combative relationships (see Stravinsky). The second of Gardner’s themes involved the role of support persons at the time of discovery, that is, a person or persons who could provide affective and cognitive support, who could understand the nature of the breakthrough;

The time of a creative breakthrough is highly charged, both affectively and cognitively. Support is needed at this time, more so than in any other time in life since early infancy (Gardner, 1993, p. 356.357)

As Boden states, creative persons need the time and space to devote unusual amounts of energy to pursue their creative ideas; ‘People who live a normal life (…) prompted by other people’s priorities (employers, spouses, babies, parents, friends) cannot devote themselves whole-heartedly to the creative quest’ (Boden,

1991, p. 274). In this regard, Gardner highlights a ‘pattern of confidants’ for the exemplary creators he studied, highlighting the significant support provided by

Fliess for Freud, Braque for Picasso, Horst for Graham, Pound and Vivien Eliot for

Eliot, Roerich and Ramuz for Stravinsky, Besso for Einstein, and Anasyra Sarabhai for Gandhi. This reliance on confidants immediately resonates with this researcher’s experience as without the unconditional support of my wife who manages much of the day-to-day chores that are necessary for our home and family to function and deals with the phone calls, children’s needs, meal management and home caring, I do not think I could have worked the 16-hour days I did for the highly productive extended periods littered throughout my professional career. Having the support of such a selfless person to manage and deflect outside distractions has been immensely beneficial to my creative output.

242

The support of a loved one or close colleague, in itself, however, is not sufficient.

Whilst they may provide distraction-management, and affective and/or cognitive support facilitating creative activity, the creative work must still be effectively time-managed by the creative person. Experiential observation in the creative songwriting domain provided a workable template for ongoing high productivity based on organization, simplification, scheduling, multitasking, fatigue- management, and focus. Based on those observations, the following generalities are suggested as useful practices for the working songwriter (extract from The

Songwriting Labyrinth);

 Organisation: archive all potential song ideas, however trivial. Keep diaries,

notebooks, keywords, phrases and musical notations that may be useful,

and create backup copies.

 Simplify: Keep life beyond creativity as simple and time-efficient as

possible; dress simply, eat quickly, and even relax efficiently

 Schedule: diarise and allocate creative time, incubation where necessary,

productive but non-creative time, rest, relaxation, exercise, and incubation

periods.

 Multitask: while the files are backing up – take out the rubbish, collect the

mail, make coffee, run up and down the stairs for exercise, and take a

bathroom break.

 Fatigue management: Creativity requires concentration, focus and higher

order thinking and metacognition, so planning the working day so that the

most creative aspects occur when one is most alert – like early mornings

after rising from sleep. As the day wears on, processes like production,

243

mixing, sound selection and performance may be better addressed – areas

that may require less concentration.

 Focus: Distractions like social media and business emails can be

quarantined away from the songwriting space by assigning those activities

to a different computer, location or time of day. (C. Harrison, 2015, p.

192,193)

Such ‘best-practices’ establish an organizational base-line, but do not address the intense and steady focus, dedication-to-task, and diligence necessary to sustain high productivity levels. Decades of long working days, weeks and months have tested and found useful a personal, 90-120-minute pattern of intense focus. First aware of my own cyclical levels of concentration working 80-hour weeks on series television, I discovered only recently that some academic research (Loehr, Loehr, &

Schwartz, 2005, p. 31; 2007) into such short cyclical rhythms exists.

7.3.7.3 Ultradian rhythms

Ultradian rhythms are cycles that repeat more frequently than circadian rhythms, usually once a day, or infridian rhythms, usually greater than once a day, typically repeating over 90-120 minutes. Other ultradian rhythms include eye blinks (24 eye blinks per minute in humans), respiration, heartbeat and sleep patterns.

Originally ultradian rhythms were linked to sleep cycles, and discussed in that context by Hobson and Pace-Schott (2002), however Schwartz found that short,

90-120 minute cycles of alertness also operate in our waking lives32;

A version of the same 90- to 120-minute cycles – ultradian rhythms

32 It should be noted that claims of a 90-minute ultradian sleep cycle, originally posited by Kleitman in the 1950s, have not been proven scientifically as having veracity during times of wakefulness; Loehr, Loehr and Schwartz’s claims here support my personal experience, based on the past two decades of practice in the field and warrant further investigation beyond this research. 244

(ultra dies, ‘many times a day’)-operates in our waking lives. These ultradian rhythms help to account for the ebb and flow of our energy throughout the day. Physiological measures such as heart rate, hormonal levels, muscle tension and brain-wave activity all increase during the first part of the cycle- and so does alertness. After an hour or so, these measures start to decline. Somewhere between 90 and 120 minutes, the body begins to crave a period of rest and recovery. Signals include a desire to yawn and stretch, hunger pangs, increased tension, difficulty concentrating, an inclination to procrastinate or fantasize, and a higher incidence of mistakes. (Loehr et al., 2005, p. 31; 2007)

From an auto-ethnographic perspective, an ultradian approach, loosely divided into 90 minute blocks enables sustainable, highly productive creativity over weeks and even months. I respond to my ultradian rhythms. If I need a nap, I will usually wake up in an hour and 15 minutes, refreshed. My days are divided into between 4 and 9 work-blocks, so I won’t attempt to write lyrics all day - I break it up to add variety, to allow some incubation time, and to rest one part of my brain while I engage a different part moving through logical-mathematical, linguistic, musical- aural, bodily-kinesthetic, spatial, interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalistic intelligences. The following extract reflects a work practice based on quite specific time constraints developed over many years to accommodate onerous composing deadlines for the television and movie industries. It is highly productive and effective for a short period, but proved exhausting and unsustainable over time. It is presented here simply to demonstrate the extent to which time can be utilised, with careful scheduling and cognitive resource management;

Day One: Get to Draft #1

o Block 1: Lyrics o Breakfast/ Internet o Block 2: Lyrics (with placeholders) o Block 3: Harmony – DAW set-up template, sketch chords o Lunch/Emails 245

o Block 4: Harmony - sketch chords o Block 5: Harmony (with placeholders) o Snack/ Phone calls o Block 6: Melody (engaging my musical brain) o Block 7: Lyric / Melody integration o Dinner/Family o Block 8: Rhythm, Sketch groove o Block 9: Rough demo of key ideas (See Placeholders)

Day Two: Revisit with fresh ideas, take to Draft #2

Day Three: Move on to next song! Do NOT continue. Allow some incubation time, listen to your sketch in a few days as if it’s somebody else’s song idea, and come back to it when you have some clear ideas for Draft #3. (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 292)

7.3.8 Constraints as Enablers

Margaret Boden asserts that ‘constraints map out a territory of structural possibilities which can then be explored and perhaps transformed to give another one’ (1991, p. 95). In this regard it is observable that certain factors conspire to limit the creative person in his/her endeavours. However, constraints on creativity may, in fact, function as enablers, providing boundaries within which creativity can occur;

Constraints allow us to control the multitude of possibilities that thought and language offer. There are so many ideas that we might have, and so many possible ways of expressing them, that we have to impose constraint to avoid thinking and writing gibberish. Constraint is not a barrier to creative thinking, but the context within which creativity can occur. (Sharples, 1999, p. 41)

In a series of tertiary songwriting tutorials conducted by myself, it was interesting to observe students’ initial resistance and resentment when asked to compose short song snippets within specific constraints at the beginning of the year. The common feeling was that such specificity would severely hamper their creativity.

At the end of the year the same students were given the task of writing a song with

246

no constraints, boundaries or ‘walls’ within which to create. They protested vociferously that it was too hard a task, and pleaded for stricter boundaries for the project. There was a collective sigh of relief when they were instructed to create their own constraints based on personal taste, and all moved forward with the task. Music educator Joe Bennett put it succinctly; ‘paradoxical as it may appear, then, a curriculum that aims to nurture creativity must embrace constraint’

(Bennett, in Burnard & Haddon, 2014).

As well as enabling, constraints can be negative mechanisms as well. A narrow- minded, single ideology within a domain might place societal or peer pressure to avoid stylistic deviations for a songwriter. As Kaufman and Sternberg argue,

‘where the majority rules, creativity may actually be squelched’ (2010, p. 476). A wonderfully creative songwriter working in a country style may have their creativity squelched at a music college that favours jazz styles, or vice versa. A composer of Broadway-style songs living in a steel-town may have difficulty gaining radio support for his/her works. There are many ways a songwriter could be asynchronous or out-of-step with the songwriting culture of the day. She may be before her time, or two decades too late, too crazy for a conservative world, or too conservative for a crazy world, too sophisticated, or not sophisticated enough.

Simply being asynchronous is not sufficient. It needs to be a ‘fruitful’ asynchrony, a type that the culture is willing to embrace at that time. It is little wonder creative people have a history of moving cities and attempting to find a level of asynchrony that serves them and their creative process (Gardner, 1993, p. 39). For Big-C songwriter Andrew Farriss of INXS, growing up in Perth, Western Australia, provided such a level of asynchrony; 247

I would say there are factors in my life that contributed to the way I create; (…) coming from Perth, as a kid growing up in the sixties, Perth was (and I think it still is) the most isolated city geographically in the world. For example, the radio station we used to listen to as kids (…) 6PR, would play every format of music and every style of music that they could absorb and that people would allow them to play on commercial radio (…) when we took the music overseas, the United States has very segregated radio formats, they would say ‘How come you guys’ music always sounds like it’s a combination of different musical styles?’ (…) it’s because we grew up thinking everybody thought like that on radio stations. (Farriss, 2015)

Kaufman and Sternberg (2010, p. 479) identify five common creative constraints.

These include: one’s willingness and ability to redefine existing problems in new terms; one’s willingness to be critical of one’s own creative work; one’s willingness to overcome the obstacles that typically block creative work; the entrenchment that accompanies developing expertise; and motivational – the opportunity to be doing what one wants to do. For songwriters, based on tutorial responses of over

500 tertiary songwriting students over 5 years, these five constraints might manifest as misguided generalities as described in The Songwriting Labyrinth;

1. ‘I’m not famous or rich yet, so my songs must be bad’. No, your songs may be awesome – perhaps you just haven’t had access to the field (audiences) yet.

2. ‘I love my song as it is, I don’t want to change a word of it’. That’s fine, but if you want to get better at communicating with audiences, you may need to evolve a little as a songwriter and allow yourself the freedom to develop your songs, based on observation and measured self-evaluation.

3. ‘I can’t write this song because…. [Insert excuse/reason/justification].’ Whatever is stopping you writing the song gets its power to constrain you by your complicity. Step around the obstacle, climb over it, smash through it, sneak up on it, or strangle it.

4. ‘My last song was a moderate hit, so I must continue writing songs like that’. Why was it a hit? Do you really know? Most songwriters have no real idea why the field selected a particular song as worthy (novel and useful) for acceptance. If they guess right (…) their next song will also be a hit. What usually happens, sadly, is that songwriters are unaware of the field and domain within which they operate, and consequently guess incorrectly.

248

5. ‘My first album was so much fun, it was successful, critically acclaimed and I made some money. Now I’m broke, so I have to write another one to survive, and it MUST be a hit’. It is entirely possible that the first album was a hit partly because it was motivated by fun. If the follow-up album is written under a constraint of achieving hit status for urgent financial reasons, then the fun may very well be missing. (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 149)

7.3.8.1 Writing to a Brief

Braheny (2006) describes four songwriter types. He lists these as: deadline writers

(who respond well to deadlines and treat them as enablers); total focus writers

(who allow no distractions nor diversions); scattered writers (who can work on multiple projects at a time); and project writers (who enjoy working within a production framework, like TV and film). Personal experience in all four songwriting methods provides the following observations. Deadline songwriting for example for TV, an upcoming album, or specialist project, like advertising, requires expert songwriting craft resulting from intense domain immersion, and is facilitated by good performance skills or expert bodily-kinesthetic abilities. The deadline and fee create a powerful extrinsic motivator in this scenario. Total focus songwriting, as described by Braheny, implies some time freedom and allows far more recursive evaluation and the opportunity for extensive revision, editing, and testing of alternate possibilities. This situation tends to be the preferred method of the intrinsically-motivated writer of highly personal, emotional songs. Scattered songwriting, on the other hand, can be problematic when the scattering is a result of distraction, lack of focus, difficulty with motivation, or frustration, but a scattered approach can be effective however when dealing with multiple projects, if the songwriter has the capacity to change focus and prioritise their time. Project songwriting, allows one to follow the flow state from the project beginning to its

249

end and maximise productivity without other songwriting distractions, for example, a 26-episode television series. Major projects like this lasting 9 months to a year require collaboration with a team of script-writers, directors and producers, and with that collaboration comes some quite clear and immovable creative constraints. The songwriter can use those to delimit the possibilities and focus attention on the required creative outcome. A deadline is also implied, but usually the songwriter’s time-frame for completion allows for several drafts, with the feedback/evaluation loop including the director or other interested parties. In such a project, there is often ample time for satisfying intrinsic and artistic motivational needs, as well as, sometimes but not always, substantial financial reward or extrinsic motivation.

Having said that, I am not convinced that Braheny’s four songwriter types makes any useful or pragmatic distinction. My experience has been that songwriters take every opportunity available to them within reason and write for the vehicles available to them. Many songwriters I am aware of wrote for their band line-ups, or alternatively for a movie project, or for another artist. I prefer that in each case the songwriters themselves remained the same. What changed was merely the type of brief. For example, Naylor suggests that;

If there’s a brief, I find that much, much easier, I guess because of the advertising experience, because you’re given the parameters, and it’s not like something from the heart (…) If it’s a heart song maybe it’s close to me experience-wise, emotionally or whatever so I’ll work at that and try and get it to come out, but (…) I find that harder, because; a) I haven’t got a road map, and; b) I sort of feel that I would be judged personally – people say ‘You really experience that? What’s that all about?’… ‘Oh! I haven’t told you about that! (Laughs) (Naylor, 2015)

For this researcher, by far the majority of the songwriting projects undertaken 250

over the past 25 years have been commissioned works, where others (directors, script-writers, etc.) delimited the creative boundaries. So when writing personal or what can be referred to as ‘art’ songs’, where there appears to be an absence of such external constraint, I have applied my own brief. In those instances, even arbitrary constraints or parameters by which to delimit the creative work have been useful and effective. Naylor expresses a similar practice;

… even when I’m not briefed, if I was just to write a song for the sake of writing a song, I’m writing that to my own brief – I’m thinking right, ‘how will I write this? Is this going to be a ballad in an American style, or a Beatles style?’. Like I’m trying to get a song on this album, and I know that the style of this album is very clear-cut, and I know the singer’s voice so I know the type of melody that will suit and the instrumental style for the arrangement so I’ve still gotta make it a stand-out song but it’s gotta fit into those general parameters. (Naylor, 2015)

7.3.9 Collaboration

...songwriters and the process of songwriting itself do not exist in a vacuum. People are socialized as songwriters; they learn their craft from others. They also learn the norms, values, argot, ideology, etc., that are conveyed in any occupational socialization process. And the very process of songwriting is deeply rooted within social and cultural systems (Etzkorn, 1963), such that songwriting is inescapably tied to the reactions and evaluations of others (Merriam, 1964: 165; Blacking, 1981:10). (Groce, 2008)

The creative isolation of the songwriter is now less common than in the 18th and

19th centuries, due in part to the shift during the late 20th century toward a global economy and worldwide access to knowledge via the internet and the media. As recently as the 1960s, there was often a three-month delay in Australia for the latest song offerings from the UK. Airline crews would buy hit records in London, fly to Sydney or Melbourne, and bring them to the radio stations and record companies (Cockington, 2001). By contrast, songwriters in the 21st century can hear new songs within minutes of release via the internet, social media and streaming services. As a result, songwriters no longer need to be in the same room

251

together to work on songs collaboratively. As such internet access makes international collaboration commonplace.

Joe Bennett (2010a) provides an informative snapshot of current collaborative songwriting process and the relationships involved, relative to Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model. Of particular interest is his observation that ‘six (non-linear and interacting) processes are at play in a co-writing environment’. These he lists as; stimulus, approval, adaptation, negotiation, veto, and consensus processes. He suggests, (and I agree) that one writer provides stimulus material, the other approves, adapts or vetos the material, leading to consensus.

7.3.9.1 Collaborative Models

Even more illuminating is Bennett’s identification of seven useful and substantial models of songwriting collaboration; Nashville, Factory, Svengali, Demarcation,

Jamming, Top-Line, and Asynchronicity (J. Bennett, 2010a). The Nashville model is where two writers work in a room together with guitars (or a piano) and a note pad. The Factory model is where teams of songwriters working on staff and write for artists. Examples here include Tin Pan Alley, The Brill Building, and Motown.

The Svengali model typically involves an experienced songwriter who guides a less experienced artist/songwriter. The Demarcation model exist where, typically, one person does the lyrics, and the other does the music. Examples of this model are the partnerships of Burt Bacharach and Hal David, Elton John and Bernie Taupin, and Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart. The Jamming model usually takes place - in the studio or rehearsal room where a band develops song ideas collectively based on stimulus material usually provided by one band member. Top-line writing

252

usually occurs when one person provides lyric and melody ideas to be sung over a backing track provided by a music producer. The Top-Line approach is effectively a contemporary variation on Demarcation, where a music producer provides the track, a top-liner provides the melody and lyrics, and a group of producers and the artist select the elements that they want. The final model is one of Asynchronicity where the collaborators work separately on a song, not together, and not necessarily simultaneously. Roles can be mixed, files shared online, and edits and modifications sent back and forth (J. Bennett, 2010a). This last method is not related to the ‘asynchrony in Big-C creatives’ discussed earlier (Gardner, 1993a, p.

39); here, asynchrony describes a fragmented form of demarcation, where co- writers work separately without assigning roles (Joe Bennett, 2010, p. 158)

Regarding the Jamming model, Sawyer describes a typical rock band songwriting process, common in the recording studio, whereby one band member provides stimulus material, and an improvisational, collaborative songwriting process ensues (2006, Chapter 18). A secondary benefit of collaborating on songs is the simple fact that ‘the more collaborators on a song, the more people there are networking to get the song recorded’ (Braheny, 2006, p. 134). In line with this idea the various producers on a contemporary dance production may add their own cultural capital (Bourdieu, 1983a) to the recording, even if they had no writing input per se.

While Bennett’s collaborative models are valuable and insightful, it should be stated that his research focus is on mainstream commercial hits as exemplified by the UK Top 40 and Billboard charts, and it could be argued that the profound, 253

influential Big-C creativity of ‘album’ bands such as Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin,

Nirvana and others tends to be downplayed by such a Top 40 data collection constraint, which may skew the results away from one collaborative style towards another. For tertiary songwriting students, based on tutorial discussions held over the past 5 years, I have found motivation is often more intrinsic than pursuing commercial hits. The student’s quest for ‘P’ or (personal) creativity is a high priority. Most are well on their way to their 10,00033 hours of immersion, and many have a keenly developed sense of style and authenticity. For some, interest in the commonalities of commercial songwriting are useful more from a point of what to avoid, rather than what to adhere to. This may reflect two related things. The first is a common student preference for avant-garde and scene-based characteristics, rather than the industry-based, or traditionalist characteristics as identified by Lena & Peterson (2008, p. 72). The second may be a driver in the first, that is, an uncritical acceptance of the Romantic doxa (Bourdieu 1996) attached to the field of popular music. Top 40 skews and student learnings notwithstanding, the nature of this researcher’s songwriting collaborations sit comfortably within the Bennett model. Although my 40-year songwriting portfolio reflects predominantly collaborations not with other songwriters, but with other industry figures like directors, producers, performers and recording personnel, it still includes multiple instances of all seven collaborative styles.

33 ‘…around 3,000 hours of concentrated training and practice is required in order for a highly motivated young person to reach the standard of performance at a musical instrument such as the pianoforte that would be expected in a good amateur player. Achieving professional standards of expertise requires considerably longer, around 10,000 hours.’ (Howe, 1999, p. 198) 254

7.3.9.2 Problems with collaboration

It has been my experience that relevant to any successful song collaboration is the need for participants to be compatible. Collaboration is especially valuable and at its most potent when both (or all) parties have enough similarity of knowledge to provide a flow of idea communication, combined with enough idiosyncratic differences to provide a wide variety of ideas, and a compatible skill set which covers the elements of lyric, melody, harmony, rhythm and style. John Braheny compares the relationship between collaborators as a marriage, and states that stylistic compatibility is one of the elements to look for when choosing a songwriting partner (2006, pp. 134–135). An example of a highly productive collaborative partnership with different, but compatible skill-sets, is that of

Michael Hutchence and Andrew Farriss of INXS, as described in a personal interview;

For me and with INXS and the work that I did with Michael, a lot of people probably don’t realise that Michael never played a musical instrument. And so a lot of our collaboration I found really intriguing because neither of us felt particularly threatened when we were working together, you see, because we were coming from very different angles. Michael was really more of a poet, and a guy who was very socially engaged; he was fascinated with whatever the current issues were at the time, fashion, time and place, the look, the feel, good and bad, of things around him and us, or whatever – and whilst I did write lyrics, I wrote more personal, sort-of traditional style lyrics – I learned a lot from him, and he never played an instrument so I think he learned a lot from me (…) Why the collaboration (…) worked so well was because we were not competing – we were both really skilled in one area – and really that went through our whole career writing together, even from when we were teenagers through to the very end. (Farriss, 2015)

This autoethnographic research suggests then, that in order for consensus to occur facilitating a successful song product outcome, a balance of personal and professional trust, mutual inculcation in the domain, an appreciation for the nuances of sub-genre and style, and a mixed skill-set between the collaborators is

255

likely to be helpful.

Even with such a degree of compatibility songwriters, especially inexperienced ones, can still be guarded when it comes to the prospect of collaborating on songs.

The factors I have identified in my many collaborations affecting this reluctance to collaborate have included: shyness of personality or introversion; fear of ideas being deemed unworthy; the perception that rather than multiple possible solutions, there is only one ‘correct and worthy’ solution to the song challenge; the possibility of ideas being stolen, misappropriated or invalidated; the notion that ideas are limited in number, and therefore precious and not to be wasted; or a view that one should not compromise, for fear of diluting the strength or authenticity of the ideas. This last view draws its strength from the notion that ‘my immersion in the style is deeper/more accurate than yours’.

7.3.9.3 The Expert Perspective

Many of these constraints are less prevalent with confident, professional Pro-C creative songwriters, however at the Pro-C level, issues such as professional jealousy, royalty splits, authorship, and accreditation come into play. Creativity can suffer as a result of such guardedness, as well as another factor identified by

Kozbelt, Beghetto and Runco; ‘individuals with high levels of expertise will be less flexible about alternatives, at least those that challenge their own views’ (in

Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010, p. 30). This guardedness may be well-founded, however. For a masterful songwriter like Randy Newman, with proven, unique ability and capacity for distinctions that few others would recognise, collaboration may be unnecessary or counter-productive;

256

But there are dangers with collaboration. At least from my experience, it can water down and lose a sense of uniqueness (…) sometimes the art has to have a little bit of a rough edge in there, in a charismatic sort of sense (…) sometimes it’s not logical what makes greatness. (Newman, in Braheny, 1988, p. 132)

Newman’s comment is insightful, suggesting an expert view that with certain songwriting decisions, important decisions, he trusts his own intuition which has resulted from a deep immersion in the domain and a thorough inculcation of an expert songwriter’s habitus, rather than that of his collaborator. The ability to make effective choices quickly in a creative way during the songwriting process is markedly different in the expert compared with the novice or student since an extensive familiarity with song antecedents allows the expert to proceed without further research or immersion, whereas the novice needs time to assimilate the patterns they are hearing. Furthermore, the expert songwriter examines the song at every stage of development and uses his/her expert knowledge to organise ideas into meaningful ‘chunks’ (de Groot, Gobet, & Jongman, 1996, pp. 222–233), finding familiar patterns, retrieving possible ‘moves’ that have been successful in analogous situations, and analysing them for potential application in the new song.

7.3.9.4 The Distribution of Power

Highlighting the ever-present awareness among songwriters and band members of the field and its influence and capacity to choose worthy additions to songwriting culture, McIntyre describes the audience, who ‘actively engage in the creative construction of meaning’, and function as the ‘elephant in the room’ at every recording session’ (2008b). Not only do the field (in absentia) exert their power over decision-making in the recording studio, McIntyre also highlights the distribution of power in the studio based on Bourdieu’s notions of social,

257

economic, cultural and symbolic capital;

In this case a record producer, engineer, musician or A& R person who possesses the social, cultural or economic competence to operate within the studio environs will have greater leverage than those who don’t. It appears to be a fact of studio life. One could go a step further and claim that the reason a producer, engineer or session musician is hired or financed by record companies in the first place is for their possession of all of the forms of capital outlined by Bourdieu. (McIntyre, 2008b)

For this researcher, this power distribution is significant – the choices made

(regarding key aspects of the recorded song artefact as made by the various contributors) profoundly influence the chances of the song being deemed worthy by the field, and being embraced by the audience. Success or failure based on attributions of fair, good or great creativity, depend at this stage on astute decisions made by power-brokers in the studio, who (hopefully) have the habitus and discriminant pattern recognition (naturalistic intelligence) to selects options and make good choices. This power distribution is exemplified in the following personal experience documented in my studio notes.

By 1983, New Zealand band Split Enz had achieved substantial local notoriety, and were recording more material for an upcoming album. This researcher, operating as a session bassist in Sydney, participated in a recording session held at Studio

301, in Castlereagh Street Sydney, on Sept 7th 1983 and experienced first-hand a shift of motivation and power among band members in the studio. Hired for a

‘secret’ recording, ‘Project T’, on arrival at the studio I recognized the ‘T’ as being

Split Enz lead vocalist Tim Finn who had recently enjoyed chart success as a solo artist with the song Fraction Too Much Friction (Appendix E). This track had been recorded in New York with session luminaries including Richard Tee on piano.

Hugh Padgham, who had achieved fame as the producer of internationally 258

successful band The Police, was the producer on this session and Neil Finn was also present. On arrival, despite Hugh, Neil and Tim’s endeavours to make me feel relaxed, I could detect that the studio atmosphere was brittle and awkward, perhaps reflecting the tension amongst Split Enz band members created by Tim’s solo success and the stuttering commercial success to that point of the aptly- named Split Enz album Conflicting Emotions. It transpired that Project ‘T’ was not in fact a Tim Finn solo project as first thought, but a Split Enz band track (Message to My Girl) written by Neil. Also sitting in the studio control room listening in silence was, as far as I am aware, the regular bass-player Nigel Griggs. Awkwardly,

I was asked to record a new bass part replacing Grigg’s own bass part recorded earlier.

Normally, session musicians can engage in quite open and ego-less conversation with producers and artists with regard to evaluation of note choices, groove, subtle features of timing, and musical contributions. In this delicate studio situation, however, the comments regarding my playing from all parties were positive, but not too enthusiastic, for fear of offending Nigel. Hoping to somehow dispel some of the tension and remind the Split Enz members that they had already established a great sound and that Griggs was a part of that dynamic, I validated the part played by Griggs and suggested they, that is Padgham and the Finns, hybridise what I had played and give Griggs the opportunity to match it for the recording. The single was released several months later and it would appear on listening that they used my bass-part, as there were certain quirky bass patterns that I recognised. My performance however remains uncredited - the practice of not declaring a session musician’s contribution was quite commonplace at the time, and it never 259

concerned me, having occurred multiple times in my session musician career.

Evident that evening was a shift of power-distribution, as well as a shift from internal to external motivation. In the bands formative years, intrinsic pleasure was partly derived from the unity of purpose – to conquer the world - ‘the enemy without’. As so often happens with bands having achieved substantial success, once that major battle has been apparently won, the external motivators are represented by different rewards, and in order to achieve them, some aspect of the process, and with it the distribution of power, must be changed. The new perspective may become; ‘the band members who got us to this point are no longer good enough to take us to the next level’, of commercial success, style, complexity, or nuance. The focus of dissatisfaction may become interpersonal. The band members with whom so much of the battle has been fought, become ‘the enemy within’. This instability and tension experienced was empirically supportive of

Ceulemans’ third element of the internal organization of a band, that is, the negative correlation between instability of band members and commercial success

(2009) involved in the creative process.

7.4 Product 7.4.1 Song vs. Track

As referred to earlier in chapter 1.1.1, Zak distinguished between the song, arrangement, and track. For him, a ’song’ refers to the musical ideas, representable on a lead sheet as words, melody, chords and structure, the ‘arrangement’ refers to the instrumentation, orchestration, individual parts, rhythmic groove, style and texture, and the ‘track’ refers to the recording itself as a sonic manifestation of the 260

song and the digital information used to make it audible and as a storage medium, all components that are the purview of the twenty-first century Pro-C songwriter

(2001, pp. 24, 46). For the purposes of discussion, this threefold view of product is nominally appropriate as another useful fiction, separating as it does the three interrelated elements and highlighting that the ‘song’ implies the sold artefact in whatever format it exists commercially. However, in a copyright sense, arrangement is not generally assigned a value as intellectual property. The remaining two elements that are commercially valuable since they adhere, like copyright itself, to nineteenth and twentieth century conceptions, can be simply considered as follows; tracks are owned by the Artist and their Record Company; and songs seen here in their traditional sheet music oriented sense, are owned by the Songwriter and their Publisher. For the purposes of this immediate discussion, we will temporarily focus only on the songs in their traditional conception, the songwriters and their collaborators or co-writers, and their publishing representatives since each conception, rightly or wrongly, has some bearing on what is conceived of as the creative product under question.

7.4.1.1 Copyright

In Britain, the USA, and many other countries, copyright law is not, for those dealing with it on a daily basis, an ideological or ‘moral’ issue, but an economic and political matter. It is a pragmatic solution to the collection and distribution of the income streams generated by original song creation. The term ‘original’ has a specific meaning for legal purposes. As described by Frith, ‘under copyright law

‘original’ does not mean ‘unique’’, but merely that a work is the independent effort of its producer, that is, it has not been copied’ (Frith, 1988, p. 64)

261

From this perspective a song, seen here in the traditional sense, and the copyright associated with it, is divided under the law into two elements; lyrics and music, with royalty percentages divided equally between the two usually 50/50 unless specified otherwise by the writer. For the latter part of the twentieth century, this model was most common. Once the publishing company had taken their percentage cut for sheet music manufacture, promotion and distribution (the publisher’s share) typically from 12.5% to the more common 50%, the remaining royalties were divided according to the individual songwriting split. A solo singer/songwriter may receive 100% of the writer’s share, and a collaborative team like Hal David (lyrics) and Burt Bacharach (music) might simply split their share 50/50. Problems arose in the 1960s with the advent of bands performing collaborative songs using the Jamming (Chapter 7.3) form of collaboration defined by Bennett. Often one member would provide the music stimulus material, another would write most of the words, but the remaining members might also contribute significant musical and lyric elements such as a lyric hook, title or vocal chant, a distinctive chord placement, a significant riff or counter-melody, or some other contributory and valuable musical device that might substantially add either to the song itself, or the record in its saleable form.

7.4.1.2 Royalty Splits

While the songwriting creative agent operates in an ‘arena of social contestation’

(McIntyre, 2013b, p. 90), competing to create the next ‘worthy’ song, the division or allocation of the resultant royalties, derived from broadcast or sale of song artefacts and collected by the various collection agencies worldwide, can become

262

an arena of commercial contestation. It is not uncommon for disagreements to occur over how the creative efforts of collaborators are compensated, and how the royalties should be split;

There’s a big contribution there, some of it being recognised and some not (…) [the] Rolling Stones is a classic example with Jumpin’ Jack Flash – that was Bill Wyman’s lick (…) not a cent. And those contributions (…) it could be a ‘feel’ thing or little suggestions of where the melody might go, little changes, or even a lyric change, that don’t get recognised either (…) So if you wrote the melody line of the song – there’s the melody line of the vocal, but there’s the melody line of the instrumental section. (Naylor, 2015)

Animosity, dissatisfaction, angst and even law-suits followed, based on band member perceptions that their contributions to the songs and records had not been financially acknowledged. Problematic in each of these cases is the avoidance, in the Copyright Act under which most countries manage royalty distribution, of a clear definition of what the ‘music’ component resulting in 50% of the writer’s share, includes. It could be melodic, or harmonic and rhythmic, that is, part of what Zak calls the arrangement, or it could be sonic, that is part of the track. McIntyre summarises the process of coming to agreement about royalty splits in band situations as follows;

…some groups of musicians tacitly acknowledge the inequities (…) and attempt to redress them by either uniformly registering all songs in all band members names (the early Doors and Deep Purple are prominent examples) or assigning certain percentages of the songwriting income to all band members (McIntyre, 2003, p. 245)

In the case of the 1976 Avalanche album (discussed earlier in chapter 4.2), the royalty split was as follows; 12.5% to the publisher, 65% to the main songwriter, and 7.5% to each of the three other members;

The reality is that there are (…) various ways to bring a song into being and ‘the split’, the decision as to who gets what, is dependent (…) [on] a consideration of band longevity, the employment of a business ethic seemingly peculiar to the music world, and (…) the financial and legal considerations that drive the music industry. In this case the way creativity 263

is remunerated (…) recognises a multiplicity of realistic situations and necessarily down-to-earth considerations in determining ‘the split’ of this collaborative creative output. (McIntyre & Morey, 2011)

In those early years composing and recording songs as a band member, and reliant on the other band member’s performance, creative input and support, my own royalties were allocated with such a ‘split’ of royalties, made with a handshake.

When I received a large cheque for illegal use of property from Warner Bros legal department over the sampling of Overnight Sensation in the mid-1980s (see chapter 5.2.4), the payment was split among the band members according to the handshake agreement we made back in 1976. Since then, much of my creative output has been realised without band member input, although my royalties were sometimes shared with publishing companies and film and television production houses. When, in the mid-2000s, it became common practice for television production companies to demand 50% of all future royalties at the same time as reducing substantially the music production fees, I decided to stop writing music for television altogether.

Currently in the highly collaborative world of heavily ‘produced’ dance/pop hits, those included in the royalty split can include topliners, music composers, session musicians, producers, editors, mixers and ‘executive’ producers who merely add their name to the project. There might be as many as a dozen or more people with creative input sharing the royalty stream, as in the case of the recent hit Uptown

Funk;

At first, just the song's original writers - Ronson, Mars, Phillip Martin Lawrence, and Jeffrey Bhasker - were getting paid. But early on, the four reached out to Trinidad James (known legally as Nicholas Williams) and producer Devon Gallaspy to offer them credit for the song All Gold Everything, lyrics from which Uptown Funk recycles. That move left the original four writers with a 21.26 percent share of the royalties, and Trinidad and Gallaspy splitting a 15 percent share. Then, along came the Gap Band, who recently settled with 264

Ronson & Co. for borrowing from their 1979 funk song Oops, Up Side Your Head. The original songwriters agreed to share credit with the Gap Band's members - Charlie, Ronnie, and the late Robert Wilson, as well as keyboardist Rudolph Taylor and producer Lonnie Simmons - for a share of 17 percent. With those names now added to the song, they have to once again split the difference, with the original four writers' shares dipping down to 17 percent. (Trinidad and Gallaspy's shares remain unchanged.) (Lockett, 2015)

Based on the close relationship between the creative individual and the field, which also includes potential songwriting collaborators) the relationship with the other musicians should, in most cases, be valued higher than the individual song. In the rarefied and highly interdependent world of the professional songwriter, the musicians who contribute to a particular song may become life-long friends, collaborators and touring buddies. For example;

I was asked to mediate for a quite promising band of 17-year-olds who had a main songwriter who absolutely refused to share any of his royalties; the result was that the band broke up, and any opportunity they had to perform or promote those songs was lost. If you care at all for the longevity of your band, then work out the split between band members as soon as the song is finished, being generous to include everyone who contributed. The band members who share in the royalty stream will feel more committed, more invested in the band’s success, and more reliable that way. If you really don’t care about the band’s longevity, then at least pay them the normal session fee! If you can’t afford to pay them, then give them a split. (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 237)

Every year, advertisers pay broadcasters, via radio, TV, movie producers, websites, and social media, to advertise their products to their viewers and listeners. The broadcasters and narrowcasters, in turn, pay collection agencies substantial licence fees for the right to publically air the music embedded in those programs and performed over the airwaves. This royalty stream is how many songwriters are able to put food on the table, put their kids through school, and hopefully, pay off their mortgage over a lifetime. A few upon whom opportunity has shone can make substantial sums under the right circumstances.

265

7.4.1.3 A Brief History of Copyright

In ‘Music Publishing to MP3’ (1999), Reebee Garofalo gives cultural context to popular Western songwriting in the twentieth century from an industry and copyright perspective. While not addressing authorship issues per se, she provides a useful overview of how technological and economic influences have shaped songwriters and their products, and identifies three organizational phases of the industry. These include the move from the dominance of music publishing houses, to record companies, and more recently, to transnational entertainment corporations.

The music publishing industry began after Gutenberg’s (1450) invention of movable type secularised music literature, moving it from ‘the hands of the church into those of the entrepreneur’ (Sanjek, 1988, p. 37). Copyright law began with the

Statute of Anne in Britain in 1710, and ‘Britain enacted its first International

Copyright Act in 1938 and extended its provisions to include music in 1842’

(Garofalo, 1999, pp. 320, 321). By the 1890s, sheet music sales of up to five million copies of a single song stimulated a convergence of publishing houses into an area of New York in the USA that became known as Tin Pan Alley, ‘after the tinny output of the upright pianos’ (Garofalo, 1999, pp. 320, 321).

From the 1700s until the early decades of the twentieth century, sheet music publishing was the main storage medium for music composers and songwriters and it was from this technology that a persistent and now traditional conception of what a song is was derived. The advent and growth of recording methods and technology from the wax cylinder (Edison’s 1877 ‘talking machine’, Glass’s 1899 266

‘dictating machine’) to the gramophone of Berliner (1888) and shellac-covered

78rpm and 45rpm records and on through to magnetic tape, CD, mp3 and other digital media, has meant printed scores and sheet music are no longer the preferred storage medium, especially for popular song (Garofalo, 1999, p. 325;

Tagg, 2013). Similarly, the way the public could access popular song had changed, through developments in radio prior to and during World War 1, then television during and after World War 2 and then personal transistor radios in the 1950s. In

1934, after the drastic decline in record sales and their increasing use as entertainment on the radio, the owner of the copyright in a record was deemed to be the manufacturer (Frith, 1988, p. 58), signalling a shifting of copyright emphasis from the sale of sheet music to the performance of recordings. Eighty years later delivery methods have changed further. As well as CDs, records, tape and digital files, many now use mobile phones, laptops and the internet to stream personal playlists into their everyday lives. The commercial influence of industry and technological developments are not all one-way. Songwriting influences and is influenced by the music industry. As we have seen, there is a confluence at work here in the system – a flow between individuals, domain and field. Highlighting this permanent shift away from sheet music to the recorded artefact as ‘text’, McIntyre argues that ‘the audience interaction came predominantly to be with the final recording of a fixed performance’ (2003, p. 117).

7.4.1.4 A Shift of Emphasis

The following chart gives a visual representation of a gradual shift away from a simple words/music copyright binary, to a more complex songwriting construction model. It emphasises the failure of copyright law to define what

267

constitutes the ‘music’ component, to acknowledge or respond to the de-emphasis of lyric, melodic and harmonic considerations, to acknowledge the separation of melody from the chords specifically since the advent of guitar-based songwriting in the 1960s, and to respond to the greater emphasis on rhythm and production considerations evolving since the 1950s until now.

Row A (1750…) refers to traditional folk song, still relevant in folk and country genres especially.

Row B (1890…) represents the Tin Pan Alley model, through to the Brill Building in the 1960s, and today in Nashville and elsewhere where songs are custom written for particular artists.

Row C (1930…) identifies the evolution of archiving systems from sheet music into physical recordings (wax cylinders and acetate records) by the 1950s

Row D (1960…) is where artists began performing their own songs (Dylan, Beatles), bands became the favoured vehicle for getting songs realised on recordings, and audiences began to measure ‘authenticity’ based upon songwriting and performance talents. Despite sometimes making major music contributions to the song, the band members and their riff, hook, improvisational and rhythmic ideas were often unrewarded, falling as they do outside the protection of international copyright law.

Row E (1980…) represents a shift for the songwriter to computers that enabled songwriters to dispense with the cumbersome ‘band’ paradigm, and to regain some creative control (by recording their own demos in home studios, and transferring the data to the major recording studio). Studio production became highly valued, as home demos often lacked the qualities the commercial market required. As a result of taking the ‘band’ out of the creative songwriting process, some performance skill, improvisation, and diversity of ideas was (it could be argued) was lost, unless the now-completely-autonomous songwriter could sing, play, improvise and write songs. In fact, most of the celebrity songwriter-artists of the time could sing and play proficiently, as well as write songs.

Row F (2000…) represents the digital age where downloads, the internet, and social media, has brought with it a complete market saturation of would-be songwriters with GarageBand©, a MacBook©, and the ability to upload ‘a little song I was working on last night’. Whilst rhythm is still largely ignored by copyright law, producers often share the royalty stream and are included as ‘proxy songwriters’ for copyright purposes.

Songwriting History: (Shaded areas represent copyright protection)

268

Time Creative Archive Creative Elements Period Agent System Individual, or A. 1750 - Lyricist & Words Music Score Composer Lyricist & Sheet B. 1890 - Words Music Composer Music Lyricist & C. 1930 - Words Music Record Composer Songwriter- D. 1960 - Words Melody Harmony Rhythm Tape Performer Songwriter & Compact E. 1980 - ‘Record’ Words Melody Harmony Rhythm Disc Producer Songwriter F. 2000 - and ‘Music’ Words Mel. Har. Production Rhythm Digital Producer(s)

Figure 8 - Songwriting and Copyright History

Each row in the diagram represents a shift in the copyright paradigm, however it is important to note that each row in the diagram continues to be used today. In indie, acoustic, folk and country genres especially, singer-songwriters continue to create the entire song themselves. In hip-hop, dance, EDM and electronica, where rhythm, texture, arrangement and studio production are paramount, teams of producers and other collaborators dilute the royalty split dramatically.

7.4.1.5 Song Plagiarism

My first large royalty cheque in the 1980s was not directly from my early songwriting artefacts, but rather as a result of an out-of-court settlement with a major international record company and Hollywood film studio who released a rap song entirely based on a sample of one of my first ever song recordings (Overnight

Sensation) from the Avalanche album discussed earlier. The ‘rip-off’ earned in punitive damages 40 times what the original recording generated in royalties. The financial windfall alerted me at an early stage of my career to the value of copyright, royalties, both publishing and mechanical, and to the precarious nature of plagiarism.

269

As a result of worldwide access via the internet and the media, songwriters in the

21st century can access and respond to what is released immediately, greatly facilitating the forward incrementation process, but also making more possible instances of direct plagiarism ‘…and with the instant availability of work in one’s own genre, the prospect of borrowing or even stealing works of others is prevalent’ (Gardner, 1993, p. xix). Plagiarism and appropriation of intellectual property have become powerful, negative influences on the viability of songwriters in the new millennium, and an understanding of what constitutes plagiarism is necessary in order to add this complexity to an understanding of the way the songwriting system operates. Frith highlights the necessity for ‘access’ in proving plagiarism has occurred. From this perspective the perpetrator must have been capable of having heard or otherwise had access to the original in order to have copied it;

To prove plagiarism, it is not enough to show that two songs are just the same; you have to prove that the person who ‘stole’ your song had heard it before they wrote their own. Otherwise, the fact that two pieces of pop music are identical simply reflects the fact that all pop composers are constrained by the same limited formulas (Frith, 1990, p. 94)

Musicologist, and copyright plagiarism expert Joe Bennett clarifies a common misconception regarding what is ‘deemed’ plagiarism;

How much of someone else’s song can actually be copied? The answer, frustratingly, is ‘none at all’. Contrary to popular myth, there’s no maximum number of notes you can copy ‘legally’. If your song sounds recognisably like part of another song, and the other side can demonstrate in court that copying has occurred, you could end up owing someone a lot of money, or even lose ownership of your own work (J. Bennett, 2012b)

The notion of plagiarism in songwriting is a relatively recent development since the music publishing industry became viable in the 1890s. For example, Bach

270

borrowed extensively from his own earlier works, and in a time when it was not considered plagiarism, borrowed heavily from others;

Over 225 of Bach’s nonvocal works contain borrowings from his earlier works, and more than 80 contain borrowings from other composers (…) the cantatas also depend heavily on Lutheran hymns, and over 200 of them contain a hymn melody as the basis for a chorale (Carrell, 1967) in (Weisberg, 1993, p. 230)

These days, when writing for artists and producers on-demand, it is often the practice to expect the songwriter to part with a substantial percentage of their royalties. As Terry Britten34, an internationally successful Australian songwriter, asserts;

I did have another song in the running for Thriller, a little demo I did with Sue Shifrin, but they asked for all the publishing (…) I said ‘I can’t give it to you because it’s not mine’. ‘Oh well, we ain’t doing the song’ (Terry Britten, in Kruger, 2005, p. 89)

7.4.2 What makes a Good Song?

Acknowledging then that songwriting success is highly dependent upon field elements, access to the audience, relevance, perceived novelty, usefulness, originality or non-obviousness, let’s return for the moment to those elements of a

‘good song’ directly under the control of the songwriter. For now, we will set aside issues of access, distribution, and field verification, and highlight the factors that contribute to the creation of a ‘good’ song, bearing in mind that, based on wildly disparate idiosyncratic preferences of style, every successful songwriter will have a different perspective of what elements should be included as highly significant to songwriting success. Naylor provides a typical perspective, that of the commercial

34 Terry Britten: composer of What’s Love got to Do with It and We don’t need another Hero, (with Graham Lyle) for Tina Turner, as well as Just Good Friends for Michael Jackson, and songs for Lenny Kravitz and Bonnie Rait. 271

songwriter in the rock/blues/pop genre;

It has to have the elements, it has to have something memorable, be it a lyric hook or a melodic hook it probably has to have a strong rhythmic element (…) one person’s good song might not be another person’s good song; there’s songs that I like that I know other people absolutely hate, and vice versa. I’ve never been able to get, say Nick Cave, and I know so many people who absolutely love him – I’ve heard a couple of things he’s done where I can say I’ve heard elements that I like, but I can’t understand why people treat him as god-like – there’s obviously something there – it’s not so much that I’m missing something, there’s something there that he’s grabbing them with that I haven’t got. And that’s why it’s so hard to say ‘what is a good song. (Naylor, 2015)

What would be useful to seek would be some generalities to enable comparative analysis. Songwriter Pete Townsend of ‘The Who’ had a clear vision of the prerequisites of a successful rock song;

First the rhythm. You have to be able to dance to it, drive to it, or smooch to it. (…) state your case in the first few bars (…) capture their attention, (…) keep them interested, (…) thank them, (…) close your argument (…) walk away into the distance. (Townshend, in Flanagan, 2010, p. 187)

So how do we judge the worth of a song; what are the attributes of a ‘good’ one?

One might include some highly disparate and conflicting attributes, for example; harmonic complexity, simplicity, lyric sophistication, lyric ambiguity, meaningfulness of story, abstraction of meaning, attitude in performance, popularity as measured by sales, relevance to a small group of initiates, royalties generated worldwide, awards won, or sexiness of the video clip.

Scholars have long recognised and highlighted the divide between the analysis of serious music and popular forms. While Theodor Adorno lamented the formulaic nature of popular song (Adorno & Simpson, 1941; Adorno, in Paddison, 1982;

Adorno, 1988), others, like Etzkorn, highlighted its social nature and hypothesised that differences in musical preference may be functionally related to the learned

272

acquisition of taste preferences and musical meaning (1963). Etzkorn’s early observation anticipated the later sociological work of Bourdieu (1983a, 1986,

1993) where concepts like domain immersion, habitus, and cultural capital are explored and Becker with his emphasis on sociocultural support personnel (1974a,

1982), as well as the systems model of creativity of Csikszentmihalyi where field, domain and creative agent are brought together confluently (1997; Getzels &

Csikszentmihalyi, 1976). In this research, the focus is on popular song in the broad sense and with a previously identified and acknowledged contemporary Western,

English language bias.

If we were to hypothetically look at a Top 40 chart in a given week and suggest that those 40 songs were ‘successful’, and the other, possibly, 40,000 songs written at the same time by amateurs, semi-professionals and professionals worldwide are thereby, ‘not successful’, we might conclude that a given song has in the order of a

0.1% chance of success. Amongst those 40,000 ‘less successful’ songs, it is posited that some were likely to be very good, and arguably even more ‘worthy, valuable or aesthetic’ than those that made it to the top of the charts. It is suggested here that a substantial number may have been arguably better, however the audience never heard them for some reason. It may be that the songwriter was not represented, the song not recorded well, promoted, distributed, or was of a style not ‘trending’ at that moment in time. For those songs, access to the potential audience was denied. INXS songwriter Andrew Farriss highlights the importance of establishing a distribution platform from which to disseminate songs in a timely fashion;

If you’re that fast and you have the platform of the field to get it released 273

that quickly, which very few people have the opportunity(…) because they don’t have the audience, they don’t have the attention paid to their work (Farriss, 2015).

In Farriss’s view, not everyone that has such a distribution platform uses it fruitfully, ‘you get great platforms given to people to say great things and they’re like, “Well I don’t know what the fuck to say because I’ve got nothing to talk about”

– and you can tell’ (2015).

A ‘good song’, then is important, but not enough, for ‘success’. Access to the audience via the various gatekeepers, intermediaries, critics, industry power- brokers, media distribution outlets, in short Sawyer’s ‘nested audience’, must be in place. In certain notable instances, however, the audience can ‘reverse the flow’ and gain access to the songs themselves.

7.4.2.1 The Audience Selects

Keith Sawyer describes an illuminating example of the audience dictating to a record company what they deemed novel and valuable; contradicting the notion that normally a songwriter, artist, or record company would decide which tracks to release on a CD. In 2002 A Cellar Full of Motown CD set was released with 40 songs.

All the songs were recorded in Motown’s heyday in Detroit in the 1960’s, but not released by Berry Gordy, the producer, in order to avoid over-saturating the market. The selection process that was used to pick which 40 songs from the large number of unreleased songs from the era was simple; the cult favourites of the

English Northern Soul scene were the prime candidates, as the record company recognized the existence of a ready-made, enthusiastic market, and the selection process ‘was truly a distributed, social, collective process’ (Sawyer, 2006, p. 340).

Sawyer further points out that the audience has a big role to play in the 274

programming, and inevitably, the composition of country songs;

…songs are no longer about drinking and fast women – topics for men – but they’re instead songs about sassy women, telling off their no-good men. The explanation for this shift starts not with the musicians, but with the major advertisers (Sawyer, 2006, p. 343)

The process is as follows. Young adult females influence 90% of all the buying decisions in the household, so contemporary country radio targets young adult females. That demographic wants family-friendly, upbeat, optimistic songs so songwriters shift their songs to suit that shift in consumer taste.

Barbara Smith suggests that when we judge a work [in this case, a song], we are estimating how well that song will serve its particular functions for a particular audience who listen under particular conditions as in popular talent shows on television (B. H. Smith, 1988, p. 13). In so doing, audiences make cultural judgements and assess differences, with an arguably similar methodology to an art critic assessing a painting. Audiences use assessment criteria based on their own understanding of how to measure the work, and then proceed to confirm or refute the work’s ability to satisfy such criteria. Simon Frith goes on to identify three contexts in which musical (song) judgements are made. Among musicians, there is an evaluation of craft and a sense of difference in the song. Among producers, the criteria include whether commercial value is created in the song, and among consumers, value comes in the form of identification and usefulness for dancing, shopping, and working;

There is inevitably a tension between musicians’ and consumers’ value terms and procedures which, from the musicians’ point of view, leads almost invariably to both a contempt for their ‘popular’ audience and a sense that popular music making is a matter of compromise. (Frith, 1991, p. 106)

275

It is evident that in each context the attribution of value to the audience is subjective. We, as a diverse audience, enjoy all of these contradictory attributes and more. The act of purchasing a death metal album is a very different cultural experience for a male metal fan in his twenties than the act of downloading a dance track is to a 12-year-old girl who wants to engage in some dancing and singing along in her bedroom. For the student of contemporary songwriting, it is however common to seek some appropriate balance of art and commerce, respecting what has come before, but exploring what may potentially become the resonant music of the next decade or two in popular music. Underpinning the quest for musical authenticity of style, technical excellence, and innovation, is the fundamental need to feed oneself and provide shelter. To that end, each small commercial songwriting success may provide several days a week freed from the constraint of working in the archetypal coffee-shop or bar in order to pay the rent, or propel one to financial security for life, if ‘the stars’ metaphorically align’. (The ‘stars’ in this case include song, artist, industry, intermediaries, and audiences).35 In terms of scalability, it falls back to a choice, made by the creative agent, as to which musical sub-genre, he/she wishes to contribute to or attempt to influence. In a personal conversation on the subject of new releases, band names, and song styles with

Trackdown studio executive Geoff Watson, his perspective was very straightforward and clear, ‘how many do they want to sell – fifty, fifty thousand or five hundred thousand?’ suggesting it is entirely the creator’s choice as to how large the potential influence of the songs will be. The songwriter makes those choices and targets that narrow or wide scale in their songwriting decisions, and

35 For further reading, see Social Context of Songwriting in the US (Etzkorn 1963), and Creative Legacy of the Brill Building – (Inglis 2003) 276

the decision to target of a particular stylistic song genre and its audience requires the careful selection of an appropriate vocal style.

7.4.2.2 Vocal Style

In order to sell a song to a particular audience, vocal delivery is highly important. It may make the difference between a song being accepted by the field or not. In

Western contemporary song culture, the act of singing is seen as a privileged form of talking, reserved for special moments, big occasions, and best served only by those with the appropriately worthy vocal attributes (Tagg, 2012, p. 365). The audience, seeking authenticity, is highly cognisant of which archetypical voice is speaking on behalf of the songwriter; rock god, sensitive lover36, romantic hero, fun-loving chilled-out person, anxious teenager, angst-ridden young adult, troubled wife/girlfriend, angry young guy, riot gurl, or punk iconoclast. Each singer’s voice is evaluated by the field as either representative or not of the subgenre implied by the musical song elements. For example, in Image, Music, Text,

Roland Barthes describes his liking for the classical voice of Panzera, but disliking for that of Fischer-Dieskau, in terms of vocal ‘grain’ based on voice production

(Barthes, 1977, pp. 181–183). A deeply emotive, sobbing male voice with the apparent roughness of a life well-lived would seem appropriate for a song about hardship; a light tenor male with a youthful, undamaged tone might appear believable for a romantic R&B ballad; and a mature but confident female voice may be appropriate for a song about a disastrous marriage breakdown involving long- term infidelity. For Andrew Farris of INXS, the ability for singer Michael Hutchence

36 The young adult male singing softly in falsetto with minimal diaphragm support (and sometimes faltering), presents a non-threatening, vulnerable romantic persona: appealing to the target demographic – young females. 277

to write and perform song lyrics with the archetypical characteristics profoundly influenced the band’s success;

Michael’s genius, with his vocal and the way he delivered that, he wrote that lyric and the way he delivered that vocal on the recording when I listen to it, it’s so clever because he leaves enough for the listener to absorb the meaning of the lyric (…) That’s where it won a lot of empathy with the public, them liking that song, is that there’s enough space in the delivery of the timing of the lyric and the emotive nature of the song lyric that really grabs people’s attention. (Farriss, 2015)

For song recordings, vocal style and tone should (where possible) reflect the expectations of the genre, or at the very least, not be interpreted as inappropriate for the genre. Curiously however, accuracies of pitch and technical excellence are not always a requirement. It is anomalous that, according to the sub-cultural rules of contemporary song, we give special leave to our chosen singer-songwriters; they do not need, necessarily, to be good singers.

In the canzone d’autore [singer-songwriter], things that might be considered as mistakes of intonation, delivery and bad pronunciation in other genres are accepted as characteristics of individual personality, which is of prime importance in this genre. (Fabbri, 1982, p. 67)

This highly-specific interdependence of vocal persona and lyric content points to one of the fundamental purposes of musical genre creation; the exclusion of outsiders. Important as it is to identify the target demographic of a song, that is, those who might appropriate the song as worthy of inclusion into their favoured playlist, it is also valuable to identify those who are likely to reject the song as not enjoyable, favoured or likely to be added. To that end, every sub-genre seeks spokespersons to faithfully represent their nuanced culture; singers whose technique, timbre and attitude match the followers of the style.

Bob Dylan was the first recording artist who showed me it was OK to purposefully perform with a rough singing voice (Cantor, 2006)

278

7.4.2.3 Penumbras of Pitch

Singing teachers may talk of ‘white tone’, implying a lack of colour, lacking vibrato or other element that has the effect of ‘warming’ the vocal tone. With no vibrato whatsoever, pitch accuracy becomes absolutely critical. Even across genres, subtle pitch inflection plays a part in the ‘authentic voice’ of the expert singer and thus critiques of the song. In some genres, it is appropriate or even desirable, to inflect the pitch at a barely perceptible level (one or two ‘cents’, or hundredths of a semitone). It is not suggested that expert singers are ‘pitchy’, that is they locate the sung notes away from the pitch centre - far from it. They have, through detailed immersion in a particular genre, recognised very subtle nuances of pitch peculiar to certain styles and allocated to specific scale degrees. Based on that deeply nuanced experience, they are able to emulate the style with authenticity.

Having recorded hundreds of songs with some of the best Australian and New

Zealand session singers available over four decades, this researcher observed the following broadly generalised tendencies. Country singers may interpret a few cents over absolute pitch at times, giving the song lyric a bright feeling. Blues and

R&B singers tend to sing a little darker, a cent or two below absolute pitch. When singing ‘blue notes’, especially the 3rd scale degree, early blues singers like Billie

Holliday often swept upwards across absolute pitch, as if to start in melancholy and sweep upward in tragic hopefulness (Obviously, this comment is my subjective interpretation – I read hopefulness into the pitch upsweep). In recent decades, male rock singers, in an attempt be as dark as is possible, flatten major thirds even beyond the minor third a semitone below, at times singing a pitch several cents below that minor third degree - effectively singing a dark ‘blue’ note somewhere 279

between the 2nd and the b3rd.

This observation is not a suggestion that such singers have poor intonation, it is in fact the opposite hypothesis. Deep immersion has imbued the highly-stylised singer to micro-tonally pitch certain notes in subtle ways appropriate to the genre.

This is necessary if the song is to ‘sell’, not just financially but in terms of being authentically emotional for its type. A parallel can be drawn with regional nuances of spoken language; a northern US resident may utter the word ‘police’, where the second syllable is stressed and slightly higher in pitch, whereas a resident of the US southern states may pronounce the word ‘police’, where the first syllable is stressed and pitch-raised. The expertise of the jazz, blues or rock singer simply allows the necessary vocal control to inflect pitch penumbras successfully in ways that a novice cannot, and in ways that pitch-correction devices do not allow. This knowledge is crucial for songwriters to possess as it allows them to realise their vision for the recorded songs they produce.

7.4.3 What makes a Good Track?

7.4.3.1 Two Goals of Recording

We can approach song recording and mixing from either of two goals. The first, is to faithfully capture a live song performance. The second, is to create a definitive recorded work usually without the constraints of whether it can or cannot be reproduced in a live performance. Regarding the first outcome,

Richard Mohr, musical director of RCA Victor’s Red Seal label (1966), stated;

The ideal for a phonograph record is the concert hall illusion (…) what you can do is record a work so you think you’re in a concert hall when you listen to it at home. Mohr in (Middleton, 1990, p. 283)

At some point, I suspect toward the end of the 1980s, recording and mixing of 280

popular song became so accurate with analogue tape advances and Dolby noise reduction, followed by digital recording and processing, that for the purposes of the wider public, fidelity was good enough for most playback experiences. We effectively had achieved Mohr’s concert-hall experience. As the Beatles had found earlier in the late 1960s, eliminating the need to reproduce live what had been created in the studio recording was creatively liberating. In fact, the game had become the polar opposite. No longer did we try to capture on record the live performance. The challenge became to reproduce ‘live on stage’ the sophisticated production that had now been created in the studio. For example, on their 1984 Australian tour, rather than try to replicate the operatic vocal section of Bohemian Rhapsody live, Queen simply left the stage for a costume change whilst a video played, and returned for the rock shuffle section. Gradually the technology available to live performers bridged the gap. Now it is possible to synchronise live performance using click tracks for the drummer, employing digital samples, textures and computer-generated multitrack backing. However, the question of authenticity challenges such contrivances for some genres. For pop, dance, and EDM it is not considered an issue, but for blues, acoustic, folk, and certain sub-genres of rock it is considered insincere and a definite breach of audience expectations.

7.4.4 Propulsion Theory

Sternberg, Kaufman and Pretz suggest a ‘Propulsion Theory of Creativity’, where a creative agent can make creative contribution by propelling a field from one point to another (2002). The term propulsions describe various creative works or

281

products that propel fields and these include books, paintings, designs, scientific discoveries, inventions, and for this research, songs. If each song is considered as a little creative propulsion, then Propulsion Theory becomes illuminating, describing three types of new song paradigms; those that accept or extend the paradigm, those that reject or replace the current paradigm, and those that integrate or synthesise song styles.

Songs may be based on the idea that we like some other songs, and wish to accept or extend those song ideas. For example, Michael Jackson has extended R & B stylings in his mid-period work and, as Paul McCartney revealed, ‘in my mind Hey

Jude is a nick from the Drifters. It doesn’t sound like them or anything, but I know that the verse, with those two chords repeating over and over, came when I was fooling around playing Save the Last Dance for Me on the guitar’ (McCartney, in

Gelly & Sykes, 1976, p. 47).

Songs may also be based on the idea that we dislike some other songs, and wish to reject or replace those song ideas (indie, alternate, punk, and grunge). For example, the internationally successful band INXS sought to combine funk with rock styles. As songwriter and interview subject Naylor asserted;

For example, you’ve got the Beatles, and then you’ve got a Beatles clone, and then someone clones the clone and it keeps leap-frogging, and then someone will break the mould completely we’ll start again. A bit like the LA sound being so slick and then the Sex Pistols coming in and a whole lot of punk bands, and then out of the punk bands a band like Police (…) just by yourself you’d say ‘That’s not a punk band, it’s a really clever, unique sound’, but it was cloned originally from the punk movement. (Naylor, 2015)

Based on these three paradigms (accept, reject, or integrate), Sternberg, Kaufman

282

and Pretz argue for eight types of creative products, or as they put it, ‘propulsions within a conceptual space’, with the most common being the third; Forward

Incrementation. I would consider that this type of incremental creativity is exemplified in Joe Bennett’s Factory models (see Collaboration, chapter 7.3.9) exemplified by Tin Pan Alley, The Brill Building, and Motown. Because there is no guaranteed formula for success in the market-place, songwriters, who are trying to pay off a mortgage or survive economically, anxiously follow the trends of recent hits in the hope that, by not deviating too far from what has just shown itself to be popular, they can replicate such success. Crossfire songwriter Jim Kelly states; ‘I might hear something and think, ’Gee I like that tune, I must write something in that vein’’ (J. Kelly, 1985). The desire among songwriters to incrementally propel their songs forward in an appropriate style without, in McCartney’s terms, ‘nicking’ key elements, is described by songwriter Neil Finn as follows;

The really dangerous thing is when you find something that you love and you happen to be rehearsing that song with somebody in your band and as they leave the room they start whistling the song that it reminds them of (…) and you realise that it’s actually [laughter] you just spent a whole bloody day on the thing – that’s a desolate feeling. (Finn, 2012)

Put simply, to be inspired by an antecedent song is culturally acceptable, even desirable, to come close is professionally uncomfortable, and to be perceived as having copied is culturally disastrous.

7.4.4.1 Eight Songwriting Propulsions

You love a song and you play it, and (…) absentmindedly you discover a new little note that you want to add to it. Or you have a line of your own that you try in the same tempo or in the same meter. And out of the song that you know grows a new song of your own. (Donovan, in Zollo, 2003, p. 190)

In the context of songwriting, based on Sternberg, Kaufman and Pretz’s three paradigms, the eight propulsions are listed ; 283

Accept/Extend

Replication: Songwriters use this when they replicate another particularly successful existing song and attempt to ‘show that the field is in the right place’ or that they like this song artefact as an example of creative thought. An example would be the Beatles’ Back in the USSR mimicking the style of the Beach Boys.

Redefinition: Songwriters may, in this instance, take a song genre or example and create a song artefact quite similar, but with subtle but important differences,

‘leading back to where the field is, but as viewed in a different way’. For example,

Play that Funky Music White Boy (Wild Cherry), examines African-American funk music from the point of view of white musicians and singers.

Forward Incrementation: In this scenario a song exemplifying a worthy forward- moving direction is supported by a songwriter attempting to propel forward the new style with another song artefact with similar forward momentum of style.

Examples abound on the charts of this relatively safe, and incremental type of propulsion.

Advance Forward Incrementation: The songwriter attempts to propel the field beyond where others are ready for it to go. The forward direction is the same, but the motion is accelerated. The songs of Frank Zappa, for example, attempted to move rock music in a comedic/jazz-fusion direction, and perhaps succeeded to influence songwriters, musicians and experts in the field. The style was not however, adopted broadly with the non-initiated public.

Reject/Replace

Redirection: A song effort that diverges from the current direction of the field towards some new style or direction. YouTube presents an ever-changing cauldron of experimentation with new styles, sub-genres expressed both beautifully and 284

extremely poorly. The number of ‘hits’ achieved, while not providing any worthwhile income to the songwriter, does provide an indicator of how many viewers have watched, listened and perhaps absorbed and approved elements of the new style suggested.

Reconstruction/Redirection: Creating a song artefact that reconstructs some past creative idea, but takes a different direction. Neo-Funk and Neo-Soul are examples.

Reinitiation: An attempt to create songs from a new beginning, suggesting the field pursue a completely new direction as if from a different starting point.

Michael Buble’s re-presenting the smooth big-band styling of Frank Sinatra, Mel

Torme, and Cole Porter is not simply an homage; it has gained traction with an entirely new audience, that is fans of the original music style as well as imitators who deem the music fresh and different to the fare on offer.

Integrate

Synthesis: A song effort combining the directions of two or more previously travelled directions. As a Pro-C creator immersed in song for most of my lifetime, I find it nearly impossible to hear a song without recognising its ‘lineage’. Familiar lyric ideas, melodic motifs, chord progressions, orchestrations, arrangements and recording devices collide in endless permutations, and each can be reverse- engineered, as I have done on many occasions, to identify likely influences.

From this research perspective, it could be argued that Replication, Forward

Incrementation, and Synthesis represent the ‘lion’s share’ of songwriting propulsions within the commercial song industry and knowledge of this is crucial in evaluating one’s own songs. 285

7.4.4.2 The Songwriter Selects

Briefly returning to the evaluation stage of the songwriting process, the songwriter focuses attention on the likelihood of their song-in-progress being accepted by the field. This situation provokes intrapersonal, metacognitive questions like; ‘Will the target audience respond positively to this song?’, ‘Are there in existence successful songs to which my song is comparable stylistically?’, ‘Have I captured the nuances of style that present the work as authentic’, and, ‘Is my song somehow novel and likely to be useful?’ Some songwriters may prefer a ‘forward incrementation’ approach (Sternberg et al., 2001, p. 461) aligning with Bennett (2014, p. 24), who describes an evolutionary or post-Darwinian process in songwriting involving variation, selection, mutation and reproduction based on habitus.

Creativity through forward incrementation is probably the kind that is most easily recognized and appreciated as creativity. Because it extends existing notions, it is seen as creative. Because it does not threaten the assumptions of such notions, it is not rejected as useless or even harmful. (Sternberg et al., 2001, p. 461)

In order to avoid confrontation or the need to defend a creative output, a Pro-C creator might even deliberately avoid the more radical ‘propulsions within a conceptual space’. In attempting a song project where acceptance by the field is a priority, these questions are likely to direct the songwriter toward accepting, extending or integrating propulsions, rather than those that reject or replace.

Alternately, if the songwriter’s preferred questions tend to be; ‘is my song shifting overtly from its antecedents’, or ‘have I broken some rules to show my individuality’, or, ‘I want my songs to sound really original, have I achieved that?’

…then the song artefacts are likely to present as rejections or replacements of the current paradigm. Interview subject and Pro-C songwriter Don Walker, stating

286

some dissatisfaction with the commercial music ‘pipeline’ (see earlier under Field

Verification), does not resile from giving the listener a jolt;

I try and make myself laugh, because I think humour is a big part of what we do (…) if you come up with a lyric that bangs a nail in, you know, or hits a big bell; that just nails something that you want to say but does it in four words in a little loop rather than an essay, privately I wonder where the hell that came from, but then I think, ‘Gee I like the fact that I did that’, and I think that’ll give them a bit of a kick up the arse when they hear that. (Walker, 2015)

Songwriter Rai Thistlethwayte describes a form of replication that includes an incubation period. For him an inspiring song is heard, and after a period of incubation and appropriation, the songwriter’s own creative expression is stimulated to respond. The initial inspiring recording, or ‘parent song’, has become a part of his domain, and after a little time, it is directed by his own idiosyncratic perspective into a new creative output to be presented to the field;

CH: Do you get that sensation like, ‘I want to write one like that?’

RT: You have various waves of that… it probably doesn’t happen right then and there… you’re more in a bit of awe, if there’s something that’s really great that you love, but then later on you do get inspired by it, to have a conversation with it by doing a response… and the response is your creation. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

Tony Naylor describes a more specific, immediate application of replication and incrementation;

CH: How have you identified successful song techniques through recognition of patterns?

TN: It’s like hearing a wonderful chord change or a pattern in a song and saying ‘I wonder, if I played that same pattern and tried to construct a different melody over it…’ that’s probably the start of the process, and then maybe I’ll change one of those chords and the melody will change even further, maybe I’ll reverse the pattern and see what happens, playing with those ideas, but still trying to keep the same vibe as what the original one is. (Naylor, 2015)

Borrowing tools from evolutionary biology, as commonly applied by linguists and 287

archeologists, (Mauch et al., 2014) provides a wealth of quantitative data and argues for a form of modification-by-descent. This is a post-Darwinian view that acknowledges vivid sociological accounts of contemporary song evolution and market-based economic studies, and accounts for cultural and organismic variety.

Mauch et al’s (2014) quantitative study tracks 17,000 Billboard Hot 100 recordings for audio-based properties, and measures multiple descriptors including tonal, timbral, harmonic, topical, and genre-based descriptors.

Notwithstanding the limited focus of measuring only USA Billboard Top 100 songs37 which ignores iconic album bands and influential avant-garde styles, their results are revealing as they describe the ‘lingering death’ of Jazz and Blues, the rise of HipHop and Rap, and the spread of new technology influencing Dance, Disco and New Age (Mauch, MacCallum, Levy, & Leroi, 2015, p. 3). Regarding these genre- shifts, they assert; ‘These styles rise and fall (…) in response to the changing tastes of songwriters, musicians and producers, who are in turn influenced by the audience’ (Mauch et al., 2015, p. 5). Their research findings can be seen to synthesise several models relevant to this research and reveal the interdependent nature of the systems model of creativity (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988). They confirm the various creative impulses proposed by propulsion theory (Sternberg et al.,

2002) and highlight a Darwinian perspective of song ‘survival and/or extinction that embraces the ‘natural selection’ of the field (J. Bennett, 2010a).

For those rare individuals who make accurate and consistent distinctions as to what the field wants and needs, such as Lennon and McCartney, Carole King,

37 As (Mauch et al) state, ‘The Hot 100 is certainly a biased subset’ 288

Freddie Mercury, Paul Simon, Neil Finn, ACDC, INXS, Nirvana and many others, a long and fruitful career beckons. For those who remain entrenched in misguided distinctions as to which song traits are or were significant and which were not, audience rejection potentially awaits. Don Walker emphasises the importance of paying attention to what audiences respond to, and warns that the penalty for failure to do so is the risk of being ‘filtered into oblivion’ by the industry gatekeepers;

Industry is a quick way of either filtering us into oblivion, where we belong, or teaching us to pay attention. People actually do like songs that are not much over three minutes long, people do like songs where they can understand a clear story, and it’s presented in a way that’s musically seductive. (Walker, 2015)

Significantly, Mauch et al find ‘little sign of diversity cycles within the 50-year timeframe of our study’. Rather, they suggest that chart diversity is ‘a function of historically unique events; the rise and fall of particular ways of making music’

(Mauch et al., 2015, p. 5) and point to three statistically identifiable revolutions that occurred in the USA. These are the ‘British Invasion38’ of 1964, the advent of

New Wave, Disco and Hard Rock at the expense of Soft Rock and Country in 1983, and the largest revolution in 1991 reflecting the growth of Rap-related genres

(2015, pp. 7–9).

I would add that one can connect technological advances to this historical view; the advent of multitrack recording from the early 1960s; widespread adoption of personal computers and home demo recordings made with small multitrack

38 Mauch et al question whether the 1964 events should rightfully be called the ‘British Invasion’, suggesting other factors contributed and that the evolutionary trajectory was established before 1964. 289

cassette devices in the early 1980’s, and digital recording and the ready availability of ‘sampling’ devices from the late 1980’s and 1990’s. As a working songwriter through all these periods, my tools progressed with the technology. For computing, the tools progressed from Commodore© 64, through Atari© ST, Microsoft© PC, and then Macintosh©. For demo recordings, songs were initially recorded straight to mono cassette, then on 4-track cassette, 8-track MIDI, 24-track MIDI with audio,

128 track digital recording, eventually to unlimited tracking using audio, MIDI, and vast sound libraries in the 2000s. The profound technology shift changed the process, and the track, but for the most part, the traditional song elements of lyric, melody, harmony and rhythm remain relatively constant.

7.4.4.3 Avant-garde, Indie, and Mainstream

Based on the type of songs that have been deemed worthy by the field for inclusion in the domain, it would appear that there is an uneven, precarious balance evident between established industry bands and their highly successful song products

(mass-based) on the one hand and the radical, different, experimental, more obscure, and challenging song styles of up-and-coming bands and artists (field- based). As each new style gains traction and wider acceptance, new sub-genres, hybrid and alternative styles provide the necessary contrast and ‘challenge’ to the accepted paradigms.

The eight song propulsions listed earlier therefore have a place in the model suggested by Lena & Peterson , who analysed 60 musical genres in 20th century

USA, and categorised them within four genre groups; avant-garde, scene-based, industry-based, and traditionalist (2008). The most common trajectory for these

290

genres, by far, was from left to right on the diagram (see table 3 below) beginning with a small group of avant-garde musicians who, often displaying asynchrony with the music of the time, set out in a quest to find music that is different. As a new asynchronous style emerges, it may dissolve without affect, or may be adopted by a localised ‘scene’, gaining traction. If the new genre continues to grow and develop a following, the music industry institutions may become involved, generating widespread awareness of the genre. In Performing Rites: On the Value of

Popular Music, Frith describes the process as;

[a] long-established truism of post-war popular music history that small, local, independent entrepreneurs pick up on new markets first (…) the majors only come in when new money-making possibilities are confirmed – the pattern from rock ‘n’ roll to rave. (Frith, 1996, p. 299)

Finally, as popular interest fades, and the audience moves on to the ‘next big thing’, even this new genre settles back into a smaller market share. Given the passing of time, often 5 years or more, dedicated fans appreciate the qualities that first drew them to the sub-cultural style, and it moves into the genre group of traditionalist, wherein the music is reproduced faithfully, and all its characteristics are carefully preserved and honoured in such events as blues, folk and jazz festivals, tribute bands and new, younger bands revisiting the genre with a sense of faithfulness to the style.

Table 4 - Features of Music Genres (Lena & Peterson, 2008)

Avant-Garde Scene-Based Industry-based Traditional Organisational Creative Clubs, Local Scene Corporate Form Circle Associations Produce revenue Create New Create Preserve Genre Ideal and intellectual Music Community heritage property Codification of Low: Hyper: great Medium High performance Experimental concern about

291

conventions deviation Against Boundary Against rival Against deviants established Market-driven Work music within music Emblematic Stereotypic and Dress Eccentric Mass-marketed of genre muted

This diagram identifies some relevant aspects of band culture. Firstly, bands often begin as a creative circle exploring avant-garde song ideas, develop a local following, and become frustrated when they see their music corporatised as the industry leverages the new style for profit. As Brake argues, echoing the doxa of the time, ‘the death-knell of a style in youth culture is its appropriation by younger age groups (…) or its mass production by chain stores’ (Brake, 1980, p. 72).

From this perspective new, young, avant-garde bands are more likely to experiment, and less likely to want to codify their songs. With no cultural capital as yet, they have nothing to lose by being radically different. Not so for the established bands, who have built up symbolic, financial and cultural capital within the industry39. As avant-garde songwriters rage against the machine, scene-based songwriters rage against their rivals in a form of tribalism. The industry songwriter attempts to rage against poverty, and traditionalist songwriters rage against deviation from their chosen-as-most-worthy preferred style of song. Where covers bands strive to replicate (propulsion #1) accurately the styles, textures and performance qualities of successful songs across genres, tribute bands who have become highly socialised in a particular musical style and comprehensively acquired its habitus, go further; towards preserving the heritage and traditions of a

39 A recent article (Forde, 2015) describes a trend away from recording new album material for major bands; it is prohibitively expensive, royalty returns have diminished dramatically, and album sales are now seen as loss-leaders – merely a way of promoting the next upcoming tour. 292

particular style, taking great care to faithfully and meticulously appropriate the identifiable sonic and often visual attributes of a successful band across its entire repertoire.

Last night I rehearsed with an excellent band of seasoned veterans of the studio and live scene. (…) All the singers and musicians had learned their parts, and painstakingly attended to details of sound, nuance, groove, and style. It was a revelation to me, in that the entire repertoire of tunes swung, bounced, rocked and rolled with the kind of joyous, liberated energy of the original [1950s] songs. I never dreamed that this music could be so much fun when played by people who ‘get’ it. (C. Harrison, 2012b)

If they please the audience with their authenticity, i.e. the audience feels the style has been accurately and respectfully replicated, then the band will be financially rewarded.

7.4.5 Product Summary

The capacity to simply put words to music is no longer a highly valued commodity and appears to be available to anyone with a personal computer and a set of headphones (a gross over-simplification of the songwriting craft, however, from the theoretical perspective of this researcher). In the last century, record companies employed ‘Artist & Repertoire’ staff to seek out new, trending songs and artists for their roster. Those days are gone, it would seem. Record companies have long been overwhelmed by eager songwriters seeking to have their songs heard by influential industry types. In a 1977 personal telephone conversation with this researcher, Becky Shargo, (Head of Artists & Repertoire at Epic Records) described receiving over 300 demo cassettes per week. Her solution was to employ a ‘gatekeeper’ to listen to the first 20 seconds of track one of each cassette, and ‘bin it’ if it didn’t grab her attention by then. Shargo lamented that she couldn’t afford to employ someone to listen to songs 40 hours a week, nor would she expect any

293

music lover to endure such a task.

Now Facebook and YouTube act as one filter; above 500,000 likes or plays, and the industry will raise an eyebrow. The live scene is another filter of sorts however, from my experience, it is no longer a place that industry luminaries venture after dark looking for bands who can play. Following Lena and Peterson’s band trajectory model, if a band or artist is gaining traction, the venue will book return dates, the booking agent will make money, and if the audience becomes significant, then the agent will have some leverage to get the artist a support tour or a spot at a festival to broaden the reach of the songwriter-artist. Effectively, the major players in the industry rely on the artist/songwriters themselves to move from anonymity to at least a position of emergence within the local scene before becoming involved. In the songwriting realm, the early stages of distribution, promotion and generating a fan-base are now the responsibility of the creative agent. The ‘Artist and Repertoire’ department is now largely obsolete and in terms of the System’s

Model of Creativity’s third element, the field, engagement across its full breadth is now most often the responsibility of the creative agent. These changing conditions are reflected in a new emphasis on the creative conditions and place under which songs are realised.

7.5 Place

Having looked at creative personality, process and product, the remaining aspect of the ‘Four Ps of creativity’ to examine is place, that is, the cultural, geographical, historical and socio-political environment of the songwriter and the song. Song

294

culture can be considered to include the ‘who, what where and when’ of the song’s origins, influences, antecedents, location, and time of release, and the interdependency on all these factors for the songwriter and the song within the creative system. Since the creative act of any individual does not occur in isolation the prevailing conditions act to facilitate or hinder the songwriting process, and powerfully influence the final recorded artefact;

The Romantic idealisation of the solitary genius is so solidly lodged in our minds that to state the opposite - that even the greatest genius will not accomplish anything without the support of society and culture - borders on blasphemy. (…) No matter how gifted a person is, he or she has no chance to achieve anything creative unless the right conditions are provided (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 94)

Highlighting the type of forward incrementation that occurs based on any given song’s antecedents, Tony Naylor describes the profound influence of 1960’s radio programming in southern Australia on his songwriting, creative influences, and music culture;

… in my first bands, when I first started to try and write songs it was to write songs that would suit the band and suit the style of music we were playing – some of those were modelled on our heroes at the time like the Stones (…) and the bluesy things; the first couple of bands were definitely bluesy bands. That also worked in how we’d analyse the Stones and the say, ‘well that’s actually a Muddy Waters song, let’s go and get a Muddy Waters album’ (…) and ‘On this song Muddy Water’s says something about Howlin’ Wolf…we better go and buy that one as well’, and… ‘Oh, all these guitar licks from Keith Richard are coming from a guy called Chuck Berry, maybe we better get a whole lot of Chuck Berry records. (Naylor, 2015)

Naylor was, following Bourdieu, immersing himself in the songwriting domain, and acquiring the habitus necessary to write songs through self-directed, informal research;

… we wanted to find out, and then that extended later when we found out that Eric Clapton’s licks were BB King and before that, (…) Robert Johnson… and we’d be absolutely shocked to hear these primitive recordings in the late 20s early 30s, and how Clapton had taken the core elements of those songs and made something new and wonderful out of it. So it wasn’t just 295

listening to the source, it was listening to what happened between there and…and we could do the same thing (…) that’s certainly the influence of my early songwriting, and trying to make it suit the band – (…) we weren’t gonna get a whole lot of brass and stuff like that that wasn’t achievable in the band – we were looking at bands that were similar, and there again, a lot of the popular bands at the time, say like the Kinks and Manfred Mann, they had their original pop songs as the singles but the albums were all blues, traditional blues songs, and so we were getting it from there as well. So we wouldn’t do the popular ones, we’d do the obscure ones, the album cuts, and then we’d try to model songs of our own on those – that’s what was going on with bands like the Masters Apprentices. (Naylor, 2015)

Neil Finn talks in terms of ritual when describing his songwriting process, that is, the active preparation of prevailing conditions of space and time to make possible the creative practice;

What I’m interested in is the idea that ritual can be applied to creative endeavour in order to maximise the possibilities for resonance and reward, and also to give respect to the experience; you don’t want to approach it in a frivolous manner (…) you have to create space and time and a consistent work pattern to get past the initial blockages that inevitably occur and then hit the moment. (Finn, 2012)

Finn’s Big-C creative perspective may be interpreted as highlighting a deep immersion and respect for creating a space in which intrapersonal, metacognitive presence is facilitated. This can be contrasted with the significantly more pragmatic, Pro-C practice perspective of Naylor (2015) and this researcher, as a

Pro-C songwriter himself, where significant functional constraints of commissioned songwriting including deadlines, the creative ‘brief’, financial considerations are paramount and where functional rather than reflective lyric content is required.

However, common to both is a highly-valued and ritualised songwriting methodology, where work pattern consistency, and the creation of a facilitative space and adequate time, is seen as a necessity.

7.5.1 Space Management

The creative space from which this researcher operates, that is, where I have

296

chosen to work in terms of location and within the music culture, can be viewed geographically and socially. As a teenager in the 1970s I moved interstate from

Adelaide in South Australia to immerse myself in the fertile rock scene of

Melbourne, Victoria. Then in 1980 I re-settled into the jazz-rich environment of

Sydney NSW, also the epicenter of advertising, film and television production in

Australia, and over time, surpassing Melbourne with record album production.

Within that Sydney space, I have always resided within easy access of recording studios in and around the CBD, and yet far enough away to provide a relatively quiet daily ambience for music creation.

In the 1990’s, within the four walls of my home, I created a ‘creative fortress’. This was a fully equipped recording, composing and songwriting studio, and practice space. The soundproofing was designed not to keep the sound I created in, but to keep outside ambient noise out by eliminating the low-frequency interference of distant trains, trucks, aircraft and other suburban noise artefacts. Studio monitoring was near-field (the speakers were close and at moderate volume, rather than at a distance and very loud), and operated at low levels in order to minimize the onset of aural-fatigue experienced in the high-decibel recording practices of the 70s and 80s. During my film and television writing decade from

1996 until 2006, I spent 60-80 hours per week in that workspace. I generally did not answer the phone, socialize, or allow myself to be readily available to my growing children. When I reached an ultradian low-point creatively, I would go downstairs to catch some valuable time with my family, eat meals, or manage everyday issues.

297

Since 2006, I have modified the workspace, effectively creating three workstations in the one studio control room, as I divide my time between roles as a songwriter, researcher and educator. One workstation, facing north, is my ‘songwriter’ space, including a MacBook© computer, 88-note weighted keyboard, large external computer screen, monitor speakers and peripherals. Another faces east and is my

‘researcher’ space, including a pc, two large monitors (one landscape, one portrait for text) research books, audio playback, printer and other peripherals. Finally, my south-facing ‘educator’ space includes a separate pc, monitor and peripherals. The simple practice of facing a different direction, operating on different computer platforms, even sitting in different chairs and at different heights, has been found to be effective in aiding focus, concentration and distraction-avoidance. The mere act of changing seats and facing a particular way acts as a creative trigger towards thinking in that particular domain.

7.5.2 Luck Management

Certain aspects of ‘place’ are significant to the success or otherwise of a particular song artefact. Clearly, with the systems model in play, external filtering through the field is paramount to gaining access to the appropriate audience for any particular song, and successful songwriters are often quick to admit the role that ‘luck’ plays in their emergence as successful artists. Thirsty Merc songwriter and singer Rai

Thistlethwayte makes the connection between having well-conceived songs and the luck factor, specifically identifying the work done by the intermediaries in his immediate surroundings;

CH: Which elements do you think led to your songs being embraced by the Australian public?

RT: Honesty…relatability… and lyrical geography that had a bit of an

298

anchor…and feeling of identity, and being in Australia, you know, and growing up, having a relevance there… because it’s the types of things and the way I was discussing it, the way I was putting it… but then a complete, whole bunch of lucky, strange, fortunate things that I had no control over, to be honest.

CH: Luck played a big part?

RT: Or just having a tenacity… the people helping to promote it and business people who are good at what they do as well… taking a good product and running with it. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

Whilst it could be said that whether or not a song is successful is something of a

‘lottery’ in certain respects, it is a lottery for which tickets are limited and may only be purchased by persons with songwriting knowledge, skills and capabilities. Luck itself is not completely beyond the control of the creative person. Following

Pasteur’s notion that ‘chance favours the prepared mind’ (from his lecture at the

University of Lille in 1854), it can be said that effectively, one ‘makes one’s own luck’ by managing preparation, proximity and opportunity. One can buy multiple tickets in the songwriting lottery, that is, write lots of songs, in different styles, and for different markets, be in the right place (location) for as much time as you can be, and lastly, network, produce and distribute one’s song ideas to the field and its intermediaries. Not all good songs, despite having a good message and strong production, have the benefit of field support. Naylor adds a relevant perspective on the factors influencing the success or otherwise of a particularly worthy song, and highlights management and timing of release in the marketplace as factors;

As a session player I’ve played on some absolutely fantastic songs that never saw the light of day (…) there is so much great music out there that will only be heard by a minimal audience (…) if there were ten songwriters of equal calibre, it’s not just luck that one would go to the higher level, it’s the management thing and (…) also the ability of that songwriter or artist to sell the product (…) the other nine are wonderful songs but they don’t have that little edge (…) where there’s luck in the timing (…) some of them might be old hat, some of them might be….early (Naylor, 2015)

299

The interdependent and complex nature of the songwriting system reinforces the notion, therefore, that writing a good quality song is the ‘easy bit’. Having the song distributed, assessed by the field as valuable, novel and original, and admitted to the songwriting domain as a worthy contribution is much more complex, inescapably requiring immersion not simply in the domain and symbol system, but in the songwriting society, network, and field.

The three elements mentioned a few paragraphs ago; preparation, proximity, and opportunity are all necessary for commercial or cultural songwriting success and all three can be controlled or precipitated by the creative agent. This may occur by practicing and improving songwriting craft, networking and placing oneself in a position to access opportunity, and by recognizing and acting when opportunity appears. Proximity (or lack of it) may be constraining opportunity, as described below;

As a seventeen-year-old, I felt that my home town, Adelaide, was not in close enough proximity to the best rock musicians, record companies and record studios to further my career, so I hitch-hiked the 800kms to Melbourne, auditioned with a few bands, and immediately settled into the live and studio scene there. When I wanted to immerse myself in jazz, three years later, I moved to Sydney, where the jazz scene was vibrant and jazz knowledge was available through the Sydney Conservatorium. (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 252)

Having addressed the proximity issue, opportunity may present itself, but be denied by industry or other factors;

In Los Angeles in 1977 I played bass in the studio with the Gum-Leaf Mafia – a loose collective of ex-patriot Australians who were recording demos for various labels – we had a little band; Brian Cadd on piano, Billy Thorpe on electric guitar, Steve Kipner on acoustic guitar, Doug Lavery on drums, and myself on bass. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to play on the actual albums because I didn’t have a Green Card (work permit) and I wasn’t a member of the local musicians’ union. So I moved back to Sydney (…) I was prepared and had the proximity, but the opportunity was lost. (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 300

252)

Or, proximity and opportunity may be presented simultaneously, only to discover that preparation is inadequate;

By age 21 I was living in Sydney on the couch of jazz pianist Michael Bartolomei, playing a little double bass and doing a few sessions. I was a Chick Corea nut – I loved his band and his optimistic, exhilarating music – all chops and agility, cool Latin rhythms, convoluted bebop and crazy serpentine melodic lines. One night in Kings Cross at 3am (in the Bourbon and Beefsteak bar) I took a phone call; Woodstock folk singer Melanie Saffka needed a bassplayer for her Australian and New Zealand tour. Several plane flights and 9 hours later I was learning her repertoire by the motel pool in Darwin. Her masterful U.S. pianist was Emile Pandolfi, and I roomed with him for the tour. We talked day and night about life, relationships and music, and he was instrumental (pun intended) in my getting invited to come to New York for some further gigs and recording with Melanie. (Note: I made myself available by letting him know how desperately I wanted to travel to the States). Preparation, Proximity and Opportunity came together for me.

(…) A month after arriving in LA, Emile organised a jam session in his lounge room. In the early evening a truck with some gear arrived and a couple of guys started bringing in a drum kit, amps, and a Fender Rhodes. The truck had Return to Forever written on the side, and the guys were Rory Kaplan (gtr) – Chick Corea’s equipment guy, and David Bretz (drums) - Chick’s Tour Manager. Ron Moss, Chick’s personal manager also turned up to play trombone, and half an hour later Chick Corea himself turned up to play the Fender Rhodes (…) We played for a couple of dizzying hours, then Chick, the band, and the truck disappeared into the balmy California night. I stood on the lawn staring at the stars for some time contemplating what had just happened (see Appendix G, Saturday 22nd October, 1977).

That was the most amazing jam ever. (Now I look back on it I’m guessing it was actually an informal audition for Chick’s band, set up by my good friend Emile. I was nowhere near good enough at the time – but what an incredible night for a kid from Adelaide!) Proximity and Opportunity came together for me, but I was under-prepared. (C. Harrison, 2013i)

One could say that luck can be planned, for Csikszentmihalyi contends that ‘it is possible to single out seven major elements in the social milieu that help make creative contributions possible’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, pp. 330–331). These factors he lists as; training, expectations, resources, recognition, hope, opportunity and reward and they may be maximized to a large extent by addressing proximity 301

and preparation. If, fortuitously, the door of opportunity swings open, one is in a position to embrace it;

In the end, as journalist Julie McIntyre states, it may simply be that ‘geniuses are just people who’ve had good opportunities ‘(McIntyre i/v,1998) and presumably taken them (McIntyre, 2003, p. 61)

Having now viewed songwriting practice in Chapter Seven through the lens of the four ‘P’s person, process, product, place, Chapter Eight will look at songwriter metacognition, thinking styles, and the confluence of a variety of intrapersonal thought processes.

7.6 Summary

The endeavour to address the movement along the creative magnitude continuum from little-c, through Pro-C to Big -C (from fair, to good, to great) has to this point presented a collection of career observations and distinctions which have been referenced to the available scholarly literature and their validity tested or contextualised. This chapter attended to songwriting practice viewed through the lenses of person, process, product and place, with special consideration given to notions of creative personality (idiosyncratic perspectives), magnitude (P and H creativity, as well as the little-c to Big-C continuum), insight (including hypnogogic reverie), collaboration (including power distribution), and the song products themselves (copyright, value judgement, and propulsions). Having presented some distinctions and established where the observations are placed within the existing knowledge, the next section will revisit the coal-face of songwriting – by looking squarely at the face of the coal-miner and attempting to describe what his/her experience is like, and what is useful to them. 302

8.0 Thinking like a Songwriter

The four P’s have provided us with a useful means of categorising songwriting in practice, and some observable, external (objective) constraints have been identified, described and made accessible. However, some less obvious, internal

(subjective) constraints deserve special attention in order to reliably move further along the creative magnitude continuum toward significant Pro-C or Big-C song- making. Following on from the identification of useful and relevant observations

(chapter 6) and their validity measured against the existing literature (chapter 7), this section returns to the songwriting creative agent, that is, the individual or individuals responsible for generating the stimulus materials for song creation.

Having better understood existing practices based upon experiential observation, and validated or refuted theories through reference to the literature, we can now revisit metacognitive notions of thinking styles, flow states, mental self- government, motivation, focus, and divergent thinking, with a view to illuminating strategies useful to the songwriter in their creative practice.

8.1 Flow States

Happiness is not something that happens. It does not depend on outside events, but on how we interpret them, [and] is a condition that must be prepared for, cultivated, and defended privately by each person (…) the best moments in our lives (…) occur when a person’s body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile. Optimal Experience is thus something we make happen (Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi, 1991, pp. 2, 3)

‘Peak experience’ or in Csikszentmihalyi’s parlance, ‘flow’ becomes a much

sought-after state (Gardner, 1993, p. 25) for the creative songwriter. Discussion

of such states and the uncertainty as to their origins is commonplace among

303

songwriters. We talk of ‘the muse’ (as in mus-ician), as being in a flow state

similar to that experienced by athletes who use the term ‘in the zone’, where the

activity is so engaging that nothing else matters. Whilst not discounting

metaphysical possibilities, Thistlethwayte takes a more pragmatic, biological

view of what occurs;

I have, obviously experienced the flow state, but whenever you think of the word flow it just makes you think that you’re on some sort of new wave of some type of thinking that’s beyond humanity or something… but it’s just not (…) sometimes… there’s like a human electricity (…) it’s probably chemical as well…brain chemistry [laughs], you know, glands releasing the right stuff, probably. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

The subject of a great deal of research by psychologists (Csikszentmihalyi &

Csikszentmihalyi, 1988, 1991; Gardner, 1993), such a flow state can be exhilarating;

Individuals who regularly engage in creative activities often report that they seek these states; the prospect of such ‘periods of flow’ can be so intense that individuals will exert considerable practice and effort, and even tolerate physical or psychological pain, in pursuit thereof. (Gardner, 1993, p. 25)

Having experienced, often accidently, a pleasurable, effective and exciting flow state in live performance, songwriting process, on the sporting field or in some other endeavour, the creative person will often attempt to recreate that flow state, only to find it somewhat difficult to reproduce at will. Athletes might struggle to get ‘in the zone’, jazz musicians look for ‘inspired improvisations’, and songwriters and composers search for ‘the muse’, only to find anxiety or boredom. In the following diagram Csikszentmihalyi has identified the significance of balancing challenges with skills and both the negative consequences of mismatching those factors, and the positive ‘flow’ available when there is a challenge/skills balance;

Balancing Challenges and Skill to stay in the Flow Channel

304

Figure 9 – Challenge/Skills Balance (Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi 1988)

If the challenge is too much for the available skills, anxiety will result. If the challenge presented is well below the available skills, then boredom will set in.

When the challenge is such that, with effort, application and good execution, the available skills are enough to meet the challenge, then a flow state is possible. It then follows that as skills improve, one needs to look for greater challenges. This researcher has regularly experienced such states playing hockey, improvising jazz, writing songs and racing karts. The emotional prize in such circumstances seems to not repress the fatigue, pain, hunger, and mental pressure of the moment, but eliminate it altogether as a consideration. In these moments, the process becomes effortless, painless, timeless and light. One is simultaneously engaged totally, where every available attention unit is occupied, and liberated, where nothing seems impossible. A possible candidate capacity for the ability to consistently reach a flow state is intense focus; the ability to ‘reduce mental activity in every information channel but the one involved’ (Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi,

305

1991, p. 87). As my long-suffering wife will attest, my focus is so exclusive that calling me for dinner is a waste of time – she calls me on the phone to break my concentration when I’m working.

Jackson and Csikszentmihalyi (1999, p. 16) emphasise the mental factor in finding flow by the capitalization of the letter M when he identifies nine flow

‘FundaMentals’. In an extract from The Songwriting Labyrinth, these nine are described here from a songwriting perspective;

1. Challenge-skills balance: means achieving a balance between the difficulty of the songwriting challenge being addressed, and the perceived skills possessed by the creator. If the songwriter only knows five chords on the guitar or piano, trying to compose a sophisticated jazz-style piece would create anxiety through an imbalance of challenge to skills. Conversely, someone with a sophisticated understanding of harmony is unlikely to feel a flow state if writing a punk rock song that only requires three power chords – they would find it boring.

2. Action-awareness merging: when the songwriter is in a flow state the ideas come quickly, barriers fall effortlessly, and there is no thought of food, drink, rest, heat or cold. One tends not to think about process at all, one just writes.

3. Clear goals: the songwriter is highly driven towards a particular songwriting outcome – to capture a mood, convey meaning, successfully apply a groove or stylist nuance, and create a clear audience response. Goal clarity enables sharp focus.

4. Unambiguous feedback: when the live audience is cheering one’s song, or it is being downloaded, ‘liked’ and talked about, the songwriter feels driven to maintain the momentum, build upon the communication, leverage the connection with the listener, and replicate the feeling quickly and often.

5. Concentration: successful songwriters display intense focus and discipline when it comes to their creative work – they are prolific, and very determined to stay in the flow state when they sense they are in it. This requires intense concentration and an ability to avert distracting influences until the job is done.

6. Sense of control: whilst songwriting requires constant, recurring evaluation during the various stages of song development, writers need to let go of the need for control of every detail in order to keep going. Stopping 306

to find the perfect snare sound for a drum track (a production choice) during the creative phase can halt momentum, break flow, and destroy the ‘effortlessness’ of the moment.

7. Loss of self-consciousness: focussing on the skill but not its evaluation - letting go of ego, recognising one’s role as a songwriter, to record a guide vocal as a reference so as to not lose the idea despite being shy about one’s singing voice.

8. Transformation of time: when writing in a flow state, hours can pass in what seems like a few moments40.

9. Autotelic experience: experiencing intrinsic reward and pleasure – it is actually great fun just participating in the activity of songwriting itself. Some of the songs I have written never got released but gave me great joy and satisfaction just in the composing – not every song is going to generate royalties! (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 154,155)

Jackson and Csikszentmihalyi take the model of flow state further, creating a quadrant to include individuals in circumstances where levels of skills and challenges are so low as to deny a flow state and instead precipitate anxiety, apathy or boredom;

40 I wrote a complete song lyric while watching a hockey match. It seemed like the starting whistle and the end siren were about 5 minutes apart, because I didn’t lose concentration at all in the 80 minutes it actually took (C. Harrison, 2012a) 307

Figure 10 - Model of the Flow State (Jackson & Csikszentmihalyi, 1999, p. 37)

Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi (1991) provide a five-step process for maintaining a flow state; Step One - set an overall goal, and as many sub-goals as are realistically feasible; Step Two - find ways of measuring progress in terms of goals chosen; Step Three - keep concentrating on what one is doing, and keep making finer and finer distinctions in the challenges involved in the activity; Step

Four - develop the skills necessary to interact with the opportunities available; and

Step Five - keep raising the stakes if the activity becomes boring. The last step reflects the notion that expert songwriters continually raise the bar, setting themselves new songwriting challenges as they grow, whereas less expert songwriters tend to attempt to recreate what was successful in their previous songs, growth and development being less significant than shoring up their

308

cultural, social, and financial capital (see also Chapter 7.3 Propulsion Theory).

8.1.1 Degrees of Flow State

A final distinction is offered regarding the depth of intensity of the flow state experienced between low intensity, general flow, where the activity is easy and pleasurable (toward the bottom left of the diagram), and high intensity, extreme flow, where ‘amazing’ things occur (toward the top right corner of the diagram above). When the necessary skills are easily acquired and challenges relatively simple, the flow experience is comparatively mild; however, when skills are highly developed, hard won, and expertly executed in order to match difficult and confronting challenges, the flow experience can be deep, profound, and even life- transforming. When fans admire an elite athlete in the ‘zone’, it is a recognition of not simply being in a flow state, but in a rare, highly intense, and (to the fans) an inaccessible skills/challenge scenario. For the songwriter, such immediate feedback and admiration is unlikely given the lengthy production process involved in writing a song and producing the commercial artefact. Such intense flow experiences are more likely to be private, personal moments experienced in the seclusion of a hotel room, home recording studio, or even in the shower - once again, Boden’s ‘bed, bus, and bath’ (1991, p. 25).

8.2 Intuition in Practice

Acutely aware of the ‘emotional freight’ of the term ‘intuition’ and its subsequent avoidance by some psychologists, Tony Bastick, who defines intuition as a form of nonlinear parallel processing of global multi-categorised information (1982, p.

215), establishes a Gestaltist, rather than a Behaviourist view of it. He argues that 309

this is not to be confused with mysticism, but is in fact an observable phenomenon, stating;

Intuition is a product of accepted psycho-physiological process of thought and behaviour that occur under particular conditions of personality, environment, and experience these conditions are not mystical; rather they are conditions with which we are all familiar. (Bastick, 1982, p. xxiii)

Described sometimes in terms such as a ‘hunch’, or ‘feelings of warmth’, for this research it reflects one songwriter’s ability to make a good choice where another may not. It is not suggested that intuition is magical, mystical, or requires some exclusive talent. Rather it is simply a process of making choices based upon tacit knowledge, long-forgotten experience and immersion in the domain. At some time in the past one observes, and identifies as worthy, a particular element. It may be some sound, lyric imagery, melodic device, guitar bend, or style of singing and subconsciously ‘files it away’. A decade later, working on a new song-in- development that suggests analogous opportunity, one ‘intuitively’ incorporates that element based apparently, on a ‘hunch’. It is not however, genius, divine providence, or some other serendipitous happenstance. It is merely a good choice based upon a posteriori knowledge from past experiences, filed away just below consciousness and possibly accessed through more divergent, remote-analogical thinking. If the use of the element comes easily, and from the conscious mind, one recognises the analogy and deems the choice unsurprising. It is only when the element ‘sneaks in’ from just-below consciousness through divergent, remote- analogical thinking that the songwriter is surprised, and likely to attribute the terms intuition, hunch, feeling, vibe to it or consider it arising out of the ether or from the deity of their choice.

310

This non-mystical view of intuition may explain why Neil Finn chose a Csus2 chord to open Don’t Dream It’s Over, why McCartney wrote Yesterday with a seven bar structure, and why Gotye had Kimbra sing the third verse and bridge of Somebody I

Used to Know. These are significant choices, done ‘spontaneously’, but based upon a wealth of prior experience and evaluation through long inculcation in the domain and an assured sense of habitus.

8.3 Thinking Styles

Apart from Bastick’s understanding of intuition, Robert Sternberg’s ‘Thinking

Styles’ (1999b) presents a useful addition to the work of Gardner and to the application of multiple intelligence theory (discussed in Chapter 9) in the songwriting realm. Describing his thinking skills ideas in Thinking Styles, as ‘how we prefer to use the abilities we have’ (Sternberg, 1999b, p. x), he makes the following distinction or relationship with multiple intelligences;

Constructs of social, practical and emotional intelligence, or multiple intelligences, expand our notions of what people can do – but the contrast of style expands our notion of what people prefer to do – how they capitalize on the abilities they have [italics in original] (Sternberg, 1999b, p. x)

The distinction between intellectual capacities (MI theory) and preferences

(Thinking Styles) is a valuable one. As this research looks to answer the question

‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’ one may have the capacity for songwriting, but one’s preferences may lead one away from making the necessary distinctions and informed choices that would please the audience and satisfy the field, facilitating such a progression. Sternberg’s (1999b, p. 8) highlighting of the distinction between creativity and wisdom would have a wise

311

songwriter being someone who has obtained a great deal of songwriting wisdom.

Given the earlier definition of Big-C creativity in terms of domain-change or paradigm-shift, it follows that wisdom is necessary but not sufficient. The wise, scholarly songwriter may produce excellent song artefacts in terms of commercial potential and peer acclaim that nevertheless lack the type of propulsion (Sternberg et al., 2001) that the larger nested audience (Sawyer, 2006, p. 218) might, over time, consider to have changed the domain or paradigm-shifted it. It may be that the inertia of ten years of immersion (Gardner, 1993, pp. 79, 345) necessary in order to become a wise, scholarly songwriter may inhibit the ability to view the songwriting process with the necessary flexibility to create song artefacts that report Advance Forward Incrementation, Reinitiation, Synthesis or other potentially domain-shifting propulsions.

Conversely, such immersion may actually provide the necessary habitus to make the unique distinctions that expertise provides, resulting in the late-career shift from Pro-C to Big-C creativity. Either way, the wise songwriter must still engage the field, gain access to audiences, and work with the support personnel and industry and, of course, be wise enough to know that. For songwriters, the songwriting toolkit itself is easily learned, taught and applied. Far more difficult and necessary is obtaining the necessary habitus to work successfully with the field, the nested audience, and the distributors (Alexander, 2003; Becker, 1982;

Wolff, 1981) that allow access to that field. Then even with a completely rounded adeptus for songwriting, that is, being wise, expert, masterly and well- connected, the songwriter may have for one reason or another simply not been interested. 312

Speaking personally, I have learned a great deal about songwriting in my career, and arguably have the adeptus, but have no particular desire to write and produce popular song artefacts. I have a ‘shopping list’ of further research that is likely to provide far more mental stimulation, personal growth and contribution and I have already created a legacy of musical works of which I am proud, so my hope is to make a small contribution to music knowledge.

8.3.1 The Theory of Mental Self-Government

The forms of government we have in the world are not coincidental. Rather, they are external reflections of what goes on in people’s minds. (Sternberg, 1999b, p. 19)

Sternberg’s theory of mental self-government also posits a useful triadic construct for thinking and working as songwriter, based upon executive, legislative and judicial functions. Put simply, legislative thinking refers to the creative songwriter deciding for themselves what the next song will be, and how they will do it.

Executive thinking is where the same songwriter follows the rules of songwriting, applying procedures to solve the problems or challenges the song provides.

Judicial thinking is the aspect of songwriting where each song product or part thereof, is analysed, critiqued and evaluated. A diagrammatic representation of this triadic function applied to songwriting could be projected as follows;

313

Legislative: (Creating) 'How could my next song be better?'

Executive: Judicial: (Following (Evaluating) Procedures) 'Is the song good 'How will I enough?' construct the song'

Figure 11 - A Songwriter’s Application of Theory of Mental Self-Government (Sternberg, 1999b, p. 19)

In terms of interaction of function, the qualitative evaluation ‘is the song good enough’ of the judiciary informs the legislature as to how to modify, improve or adjust the subsequent songwriting product. The songwriter may possess all three functions themselves, or as a result of collaboration with other songwriting contributors, or as a result of self-evaluation based on industry experience of field and audience responses to prior song artefacts, through immersion. If we were to consider, for example, the songwriter Neil Finn as an exemplar, ‘Big-C Creator’, we could suggest that he makes astute songwriting decisions (judicial) based on a deep immersion in the domain, demonstrates strong production (executive) skills and is highly productive41 and has a good ‘compass’ for what will be accepted as worthy (evaluation). Consistent record sales across four decades provides empirical evidence substantiating the claim that his decisions, production and evaluations are with a few exceptions, uncannily accurate, although the lyric

41 See Gardner (1993a, pp. 343–345) for further discussion of productivity in highly creative people. 314

content of Chocolate Cake received a clear ‘thumbs-down’ from the US public and media on its release in 1991. According to interviewer Bill Deyoung;

The surreal dance song Chocolate Cake, a tongue-in-cheek attack on Americans and their obsession with excess and celebrity, took pot-shots at everyone from Tammy Faye Baker to Andrew Lloyd Webber (‘May his trousers fall down as he bows to the queen and the crown’). The joke wore thin quickly. (…) ‘Chocolate Cake, in hindsight, may well have undone us’ Neil Finn said. (Deyoung, 2015)

Not every songwriter prefers all three functions. Some love the songwriting activity itself, but struggle to self-evaluate, some love the initial stages of creative expression, but struggle to execute a recording that represents adequately their musical idea, and some are so self-critical that their songs are rejected before they have had a chance to evolve through recursive development. Gregorc’s concrete/abstract dichotomy (Gregorc, 1979, 1984a, 1984b, 1985) is relevant here where, as Sternberg cites, ‘concrete people prefer dealing with the physical expression of information, abstract people with more metaphorical expression’

(Sternberg, 1999b, p. 144). However, as he later states;

…people cannot be as easily pigeon-holed as psychologists would (…) like. Most people, at least, are more flexible than psychological theories give them credit for (Sternberg, 1999b, p. 145)

Using Lennon and McCartney as an example, Clydesdale (2006), suggests that collaboration with supportive co-writers can provide the matching skill or preference-set to dramatically enhance quality and productivity. Over time the

Beatles’ individual talents and skills improved to the point where in their latter recordings they were able to work more independently (e.g. the writing of

McCartney’s Yesterday) and without so much input from George Martin, their classically-trained and recording-adept producer (Clydesdale, 2006; Martin &

Pearson, 1994).

315

8.4 Intrinsic and extrinsic motivation

Intrinsic motivation is defined as the doing of an activity for its inherent satisfactions rather than for some separable consequence. When intrinsically motivated a person is moved to act for the fun or challenge entailed rather than because of external prods, pressures, or rewards. (Ryan & Deci, 2000)

From this research perspective, intrinsic motivation to write songs is driven by internal enjoyment or interest in the process, task or activity itself since the creative person is often looking for challenge, fun, and satisfaction;

You’ve got files and files and files of demos that never go anywhere, but you had fun doing them. (…) It’s ticking the box that says, ‘Yeah, I’m on the right track here – I can actually do this’, because someone’s saying (it’s not just me thinking ‘I think this is pretty good’), if someone else says ‘wow, that’s fantastic’, that’s a really good feeling. (Naylor, 2015)

Underpinning Naylor’s intrinsic motivation however, is clearly a desire for the reward of cultural and social capital, recognition by someone, itself a form of extrinsic motivation. Extrinsic motivation to write songs is by contrast driven by external desires, pleasures or rewards, or the avoidance of punishment or pain.

The creative person is, for example, looking for recognition, grades, status, competition, acknowledgement, money, or adulation from fans. For Ryan and Deci,

‘extrinsic motivation is (…) [when] an activity is done in order to attain some separable outcome’ (Ryan & Deci, 2000)

Having written songs for some years without public feedback, Don Walker, a major songwriter with iconic Australian band Cold Chisel, describes his reaction to his songs being embraced by the Australian public as ‘unexpected’, and for those formative years, places his motivation as both intrinsic and extrinsic; ‘just for my own enjoyment and for what the band I was in needed’ (Walker, 2015).

316

For a Pro-C career songwriter, the taking of risks may appear more difficult when family and financial elements pose real constraints; whilst the act of delving deep into innovative metaphor, sophisticated and novel harmony, or exploratory melodic devices may be wonderfully novel and possibly useful, that approach may not pay the mortgage. Echoing Gardner’s fruitful asynchrony notion of an asynchronous perspective that challenges the current paradigms, such financial and familial pressure may push a nervous songwriter towards a more synchronous, and therefore, less creative, approach. Songwriting choices begin to be made based upon pragmatic, commercial factors, where perhaps a more conservative lyric, a simpler chord progression, and a more obvious song topic may be less novel, but more commercially viable. Also at play is the point made by

Csíkszentmihályi that attention needs to be available in order for creativity to occur, and if that resource is limited severely by simple survival pressures, a decline in creativity is likely (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 8). Simple survival factors spurred INXS in their early Australian tours to alter their song creativities, away from funk and R&B styles towards a more commercially accepted direct rhythmic style;

When the pub rock thing really kicked in, people usually wanted to hear straight eighths and just slamming punk up-and-down music (…) it had less to do with us being clever or being ‘career orientated’ with writing music – it was to do with we were just fucking hungry. We were starving and we needed to eat, pay the rent. (Farriss, 2015)

Neil Finn states as his higher motivation a sense of universality, a usefulness in adding to the cultural domain and jokingly adds an overtly extrinsic motivator

(symbolic capital);

If you are ever going to be of any worth to the universe, then it’s only through doing generous and good work that that is possible. The idea that 317

good work is inherently good for the universe in a way is the best possible motivation for making excellent work that aspires to occasional transcendence and …(pause) that, and a possible Oscar maybe [Laughter]. (Finn, 2012)

Amabile initially posited that there were circumstances that supported the idea that extrinsic motivation was in fact detrimental to creative behavior (Amabile,

1983, p. 120), but based on subsequent research (Cameron & Pierce, 1994; Deci &

Ryan, 1986; Eisenberger & Cameron, 1996; Eisenberger & Selbst, 1994; Hennessey

& Zbikowski, 1993) Sawyer suggests that ‘the key is to design the external rewards carefully’ (2006, p. 80), don’t reward small effort, only substantial effort, and reward must be contingent on the quality of the work.

Personally, there have been unsustainable episodes in my own career where I worked too hard for too long, eventually collapsing from overwork and being admitted to hospital on three occasions. This level of intensely ‘driven’ work was a combination of intrinsic motivation and passion for the process which was accelerated, amplified and focused by the extrinsic motivations of money, career recognition and fear of failure as a provider. I would not agree with Amabile’s early suggestion that the ‘intrinsically motivated state is conducive to creativity, whereas the extrinsically motivated is detrimental’ (Amabile, 1983, p. 91). Rather than take a binary view, I consider that intrinsic motivation supported or propelled by some extrinsic motivation is potentially even more fruitful. (See Appendix C for a personal 2001 goal-setting diary entry where an attempt was made to balance intrinsic and extrinsic motivations).

Describing such fruitful combination, Clydesdale states that the Beatles were intrinsically motivated by their love of music, and externally motivated by such 318

external rewards as getting on the A side of a single, chart success, fame, and surpassing their professional heroes. Citing George Martin (Beatles, 2000),

Clydesdale also posits the view that the Beatles creative output during the White

Album period was extrinsically underpinned. In an endeavour to complete their record contract with EMI they adopted an ‘underwhelming’ high quantity/low quality approach. Clydesdale notes that, by way of explanation, that ‘significantly missing from the literature about this period is any mention of external rivalry’

(2006, p. 136) suggesting the Beatles/Beach Boys rivalry was no longer a significant motivational factor.

8.5 Focus

I think the first thing that you need to do is to take out the trash and make up the bed (…) your mind becomes cluttered – mine certainly does with distractions, appointments and little anxieties, unresolved threads – just stuff that happens, just like your houses get filled with stuff and you have to move to a bigger house to get more stuff (…) your brain’s a bit like that too. And so in a way the first and most crucial act of creativity is creating space and time to do it. (Finn, 2012)

For Daniel Goleman (2013), the ability to focus relies on two capacities, both of which can be practiced and improved. The first is the capacity to direct attention towards an object or idea (to focus) and the second is the capacity to resist distractions that draw away the attention from the task at hand (to stay focused).

The first capacity, to focus, is closely connected to motivational state and the ability to move toward a flow state. If one is highly motivated to write songs, and songwriting ability is approximately matched to the songwriting task presented, then initial focus is unlikely to be problematic. In this case one would simply need tools and a process to produce a song. For this researcher, the carefully considered

319

alignment of personal and professional goals lead to high levels of intrinsic and extrinsic motivation. This highly motivated state made initial focus relatively easy.

It was not difficult to get started. The more problematic area in the early years was the second aspect that is, maintaining focus under conditions of fatigue, financial stress, sleep deprivation, technical and equipment problems, and personal challenges.

Once focused, the task of staying focused is dependent upon one’s ability to manage your mental state in real time, to meta-cognitively observe any loss of focus, or drifting mind, and determinedly, stubbornly, and actively redirect that focus to the songwriting task. For Goleman, two forms of interruption conspire to divert attention and hinder focus. These are sensory distractions, and emotional distractions (Goleman, 2013, p. 14). The first and easier distraction to manage, refers to distractions like feeling hungry, thirsty, tired, sore, feeling cold, sore eyes, or noisy environments. The second form of distraction, and harder to manage, is emotional. If a songwriter has just broken up with a lover, lost a close friend or pet, suffered a disappointment, or experienced any form of deeply affective negative emotion, staying focused may be difficult.

From experience, when faced with such a situation, I would still focus on the song, but change the songwriting method to suit the emotion. If, for example, it is profound sadness, I would document, in short lyric phrases, the negative self-talk that I am hearing at the time. The lyrics uncovered in this sad state are often far more powerful than those accessed when in a buoyant mood, and reflect much more closely the mood of the audience who might potentially enjoy a sad-lyric type 320

of song. Pragmatically, rather than attempt to produce a song in its entirety, or write the final draft of a near-complete song, where my faculties and focus need to be fully functioning, I would simply alter my outcome to that of capturing accurately my mood and the sensory perceptions of that mental state. The production of the song artefact itself would come at a later time, when a more highly spirited emotional tone was being experienced.

Self-discipline is a factor here, as is the capacity to delay rewards. Songwriting can provide both immediate and delayed rewards. Immediate intrinsic rewards come in the form of satisfaction, sense of achievement, tiny ‘wins’, and minor linguistic, melodic and harmonic ‘victories’ that naturally occur during the process of songwriting. These moments serve to provide the vital ‘good points’ where the songwriter can and should, take a moment, grab a coffee, and take a short break. In this working environment the potential extrinsic rewards are usually delayed. It can take days, weeks or even years to experience any cultural, commercial and symbolic capital gains.

Never stop at a barrier or problem; always stop on a good point. If you are at an impasse, set a tiny goal with a high likelihood of success, like to simply add one more line (a placeholder) to complete verse two, or to sketch the final chord of a four-chord vamp, or to create at least a two-bar drum loop of the kind of feel you are imagining, and then take a break. The little victory you give yourself will propel you through the break and give you the momentum to recommence work in ten minutes, rather than feeling down, flat, or frustrated, and reluctant to resume, faced with an immediate barrier. That minor victory is not insignificant; it is vital to maintaining songwriting flow and momentum. (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 152)

It should be stated that the ability to stay focused does not imply rigidly and forcibly trying to solve every lyrical, melodic, harmonic or rhythmic puzzle that presents itself for solution. The wandering mind will often discover solutions that

321

the forcefully directed mind cannot. It is this researcher’s experience that, when faced with a difficult songwriting task, it is often expedient to allow, and factor in, a little time for incubation of ideas when the conscious mind is mildly engaged and the below-conscious mind can test out the myriad possibilities generated by the meandering brain. The act of becoming enjoyably lost in some immersive activity like rock-climbing, bush-walking, exercise, meditation, a hobby, or a relaxing scenic drive, will often bear fruit, avoiding, however, any activity that adds pressure, is combative, or likely to cause anxiety or emotional stress, such as highly competitive sports, extremely strenuous exercise, or driving in heavy traffic.

8.6 Fruitful Drifting

As discussed in chapter 3, convergent thinking, that is, applying the conscious, logical mind, describes the type of thought where one looks toward the ideas in the forefront of the mind, seeking out what is similar. We look for analogies or comparable situations for which we have a known solution, in order to modify them slightly to solve the current problem. Divergent thinking, that is, applying the below-conscious, illogical mind, describes the type of thought where we look away from the ideas in the forefront of the mind, seeking out what is more remotely similar. We look for distant connections, remote analogies that may provide the necessary result despite being only tenuously related to the present situation.

Following Mednick’s research into bringing mutually remote ideas into contiguity

(1963, p. 265,266), Bastick’s Theory of Intuitive Thought states that divergent thinking ‘is the same as the ability to recall remote associates; comprises a fluency

322

and flexibility; correlates with other creativity tests; and is used to measure creativity’ (Bastick, 1982, pp. 315, 375). He describes the process as Combining by

Continued Drifting. After a continuous period of working on a problem, the individual ‘drifts’ through a succession of increasingly different emotional sets or remote-analogical possibilities, looking for ideas.

For the songwriter, this capacity to fruitfully ‘drift’ away from near-analogy toward remote-analogy is extremely relevant. For example, as a lyricist, one thinks of a cliché, and in order to avoid its banality, seeks a far less obvious metaphor.

Pattison (2011, pp. 49–51) talks in terms of word ‘collisions’, creating unlikely collisions between apparently unrelated nouns, verbs and adjectives, in order to create intriguing expressed identity, verbal metaphor, and qualitative metaphor.

Seeking an appealing harmonic progression for their next song, the songwriter will often ‘drift’ around the guitar or piano, allowing mistakes, different kinesthetic movements, deliberately unlikely shapes and constructions, or experimental voicings to occur. This trial and error, experimentation, itself a version of

Campbell’s (1960) blind variation and selective variation (BVSR) method discussed in brief earlier, takes the composer away from near-analogies and provides a kinesthetic ‘trick’ to create more remotely-analogical chord possibilities. In the hands of a songwriter with a high level of adeptus, this drifting becomes a form of ‘informed’, rather than ‘blind’ variation (discussed further in chapter 10).

Normally, when faced with a problem, we, as songwriters attempt to solve it based on closely-related, similar situations. If we keep trying without success, we may 323

become puzzled, sensing that something is not right with our approach.

Csikszentmihalyi observes what occurs when the creative songwriter, in this case, senses that something does not fit;

After a creative person senses that something does not fit (…) the process of creativity usually goes underground for a while. The evidence for incubation comes from reports of discoveries in which the creator (…) remembers coming to a sudden insight (…) it has been assumed that an indispensable stage of incubation must take place (…) our respondents unanimously agree that it is important to let problems simmer below the threshold of consciousness for a time. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 98).

Sensing intuitively a minor challenge, based on experience, the songwriter may allow a little time for incubation to occur. The just-above-consciousness comparison of remote analogical ideas is used to test out some divergent, less obvious, even less logical possibilities and combinations.

The second phase of the creative process is a period of incubation, during which ideas churn around below the threshold of consciousness. It is during this time that unusual connections are likely to be made. When we intend to solve a problem consciously, we process information in a linear, logical fashion. But when ideas call to each other on their own, without our leading them down a straight and narrow path, unexpected combinations may come into being. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 79)

This type of thinking is not ‘utterly different’, but subtly different. Pollio (1974, p.

152,153) and Fromm (1978; Fromm & Shor, 2009, p. 100) describe 15 major waking and altered states of consciousness and describe them as ranged along the primary/secondary process continuum, also referred to by Boden (1996, p. 163).

These process stages of creativity, incubation and insight, are often assisted by such primary process, as well as divergent thinking (Guilford, 1967, p. 329), remote analogical thinking (Mednick, 1963, p. 265,266; Weisberg, 1993, p. 106), and combining by continued drifting (Bastick, 1982, p. 375). Significantly, these types of subtly different thinking types are not the exclusive privilege of genius, exemplars or the divinely inspired. Divergent thinking is available to all as a basic human 324

capacity. However, some ‘creative’ types are predisposed to do it more often than others, or simply are fortunate to live, work or play in circumstances that support divergent thinking.

8.6.1 Convergent-Divergent Thinking Model

For Sawyer, the simplest model of the creative process is two-stage. He formulates an ‘expanding stage of divergent thinking where many possibilities are generated, followed by convergent thinking as you converge on the one best idea’ (Sawyer,

2006, p. 88). While qualifying this as only ‘a useful shorthand’, it resonates strongly for this songwriting researcher. When commenting on Campbell’s (1960) blind variation and selective retention (BVSR) model of creativity and the ‘tell-tale characteristics’ of such divergent thinking, Simonton highlights two characteristics; superfluity – where the creator ‘generates more ideas than are strictly necessary’, and backtracking – where the creator ‘returns to an idea that had been previously rejected because nothing better was found’ (Simonton, 2011).

Based on my own experience, in the world of the Pro-C songwriter, delivery deadlines and other time-pressures often place time constraints that restrict somewhat the time necessary for divergent thought that is, the luxury of time for pause. It is entirely possible to create quite functional songs to completion without such incubation and intuitive exploration. It is however, this researcher’s observation that the most satisfying song outcomes occur when some time is allocated and available for incubation and exploration of alternate combinations and possibilities, especially overnight, when there is a strong likelihood of rising in the early hours as a result of an ‘aha’ realisation or simply a ‘different’ (divergent)

325

plan of attack. When songwriting problems present, more obvious near-analogical solutions are sought. If the results do not please, the process repeats until such time as the suspicion or intuition suggests that something ‘doesn’t fit’. At that point, the song problem is reset, and placed in the ‘incubation vault’ of hypnogogic reverie. There it lies, often simply overnight, but possibly longer, awaiting an elegant solution. One particular songwriting problem, affecting the harmonic approach of an entire album, sat un-resolved from October to April of the next year. It was worth the wait, as it propelled the album I was working on into completely new, exciting harmonic territory (see chapter 5.7, Old Bottle, New

Wine). The following diagram describes the shift from near-analogical, convergent thinking where ideas ‘seem to fit’, to remote analogical, divergent thinking, called upon when ideas ‘don’t seem to fit’. The capacity of highly creative people to generate a great many ideas (superfluity), combined with the ability and cognizance to retry, reset and incubate (backtracking) supports the songwriting model; trial and error being a significant part of the process in practice.

Figure 12 - Convergent-Divergent Thinking Model

326

Said differently, songwriters who ‘dip down’ into hypnogogic reverie might find some wonderful ideas, but without the capacity to actively ‘rise up’ into a fully conscious, rational state with those ideas, they will be unable to apply those thoughts usefully in a song. This Pro-C songwriter’s success in using hypnogogic reverie as a songwriting tool was not merely that I had interesting thoughts occur at 3a.m., but rather that I established a disciplined routine of capturing, describing and utilising those thoughts on a consistent basis (step one – get out of the warm bed!). As stated earlier, convergent and divergent thinking should not be considered a binary in opposition, but a type of confluent, interactive flow where both near and remote associations are accessed in a non-linear fashion rather than in the merely instructional two-dimensional diagram above. Following their research into the unconscious work theory of the incubation effect (Dijksterhuis &

Meurs, 2006), Hao et al found that ‘positive emotion during the incubation interval may facilitate remote associative processes, which (…) have a positive impact on creative performance’ (Hao et al., 2015, p. 291).

8.6.2 Applied Incubation

Recognising some years ago the significance of incubation, and as part of this autoethnographic research, I have been observing hypnogogic reverie ‘episodes’ as they happen, occasionally as often as three times in a week. These observations are not presented as flawed reflections of unreliable recall dredged from the distant past, but as real time observations of my own incubation process. My experience of incubation and illumination happens constantly, regularly in bed at night, often in the car, and even occasionally in the bath. I actively employ them as part of my creative process, and sleep soundly in the knowledge that solutions to creative

327

problems are likely to appear at some stage (not always, but often) in the hours between 2:30am and 6am. I have spent a lifetime lunching or having coffee with distracted lyricists who scribble ideas and ‘aha’ moments on scraps of paper, serviettes (yes, the stereotypical serviette scenario actually happened) or into their mobile phones, and based on professional practice, field notes and diary entries, I have identified the following conditions that increase the likelihood of such an incubation being successful in building to an inspiration;

a. I need to have a present-time creative challenge or problem complex enough to disturb me and trigger my obsessive preoccupation personality traits (an easy problem won’t do).

b. I need to be well-rested (or at least not stressed from sleep- deprivation). Exhaustion seems to completely stop my creative process, leaving only my ‘craft’ abilities to continue producing products that consistently lack the novelty of creatively derived ideas (…)

c. I need to be relatively clear of everyday stress. Financial difficulties and feelings of repressed anger or severe work pressure seem to dramatically diminish the likelihood of success (…) Sadness, however, does not seem to dramatically impede incubation; emotional shock (say, the death of a loved one) stops the process for a few days, but it can resume quite quickly.

d. I must write down or record the ideas quickly as they arrive, typically within seconds, rather than minutes. Beyond that, I find my mind bouncing from topic to topic so rapidly that without warning the clarity fades within 10 or 20 seconds. The idea is not completely gone, but the clarity evaporates and only a shadow of an idea is left for me to archive (…)

e. Each song I hear, each book I read incubates ideas in the days following, and connections, relationships, concepts and theory propositions slowly evolve. I feel it happening, I feel something shift in my ‘below-consciousness’ as I read, (a kind of subtle, physiological excitement) but the actual thoughts don’t pop-up then. They sneak in hours, days and weeks later. (C. Harrison, 2015, p. 161)

328

8.7 Pro-C to Big-C creativity

Applying the expanded model of creative magnitude suggested by Kaufman and

Beghetto (2009), the research question ‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great’ can be put more academically in the following terms; ‘how can a little-c or Pro-C songwriter progress along the creativity continuum towards Big-C creativity?’ Rather than view the songwriting goal as a binary such as exploration and process, or the presentation of an artistic product, the theoretical perspective throughout this autoethnography is that it is a confluence of all three, that is, a willingness and enthusiasm for exploration, a fascination with process, and a consciousness of the presentation of an artistic product. The research question implies a goal to become ‘great’, and in academic terms, that ‘greatness’ is correlated with the attribution (by the field) of Big-C creativity.

To be a professional Pro-C songwriter some things need to be in place, and to be consistent they will need to act within Csikszentmihalyi’s systems model of creativity. It’s not enough to just write songs. Pro-C writers also need to have expert knowledge of the songwriting domain (Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’), create songs that are novel, useful and non-obvious, and have access to the field of experts, intermediaries, gatekeepers, critics, and the audience in that domain. Those three things might get the songwriter to a Pro-C level, but how might one change the domain or shift the paradigm? To be a Big-C songwriter, you’ll need to have a perspective that is somehow out-of-sync with other Pro-C songwriters, a slightly different way of looking at it (Gardner’s ‘Fruitful Asynchrony’), and, importantly, a willingness to create songs that challenge the current paradigms and be willing to

329

risk failure, or rejection (Sternberg, Kaufman and Pretz’s ‘Propulsion Theory’). So how can a songwriter nurture that ‘fruitful asynchrony’, and create a commercial or artistic point-of-difference?

It is also posited that an exceptional capacity for discriminant pattern recognition, that is, recognising, identifying and responding to important stimuli from the songwriting domain

is correlated to the ‘Big-C’ creativity of exemplars and that there exists a creative link connecting it with preferred data collection (thinking styles), and multiple intelligence capacities. Following Sawyer’s argument, ‘creative combinations often result when people switch fields’ (2006, p. 115) cross-disciplinary skills can provide a useful source of fruitful asynchrony that opens remotely-analogical possibilities for the creative agent (C. M. Harrison, 2016). Highly desirable for the songwriter, then, would be a strong capacity for naturalistic intelligence, in the sense of its relation to song evolution and species, combined with some expertise in unrelated disciplines, itself an opportunity for fruitful asynchrony.

In summary, six prerequisite capacities for precipitating the shift from Pro-C to

Big-C creativity are suggested, field-switching, metacognition, discriminant pattern recognition, fruitful asynchrony, productivity, and risk. Being a polymath or engaging in field-switching, that is, having expertise in multiple disciplines, is a factor that may stimulate the creative person to explore propulsions that move away from where the field is now. It’s possible that polymaths or field-switchers are more likely to make distinctions that other, less expert, less inter-disciplined people cannot. Metacognition is also important. Big-C creators require a capacity 330

for higher order thinking skills in the form of analysis, evaluation and creation.

They also exhibit the inductive capacity to hypothesise and are able to access the resources, including time, to test for the validity and reliability of their ideas.

Discriminant pattern recognition is also desirable, that is, the capacity, in an evolutionary sense, to recognise similar species across domains, as well as possessing the powers of differentiation, observation and evaluation enough to make informed distinctions that others cannot see, and to connect not just near- analogous patterns, but remotely analogous ones, like Kekulé’s snakes (Koestler,

1963, p. 118). Fruitful asynchrony, a unique perspective that challenges the current paradigms, is also significant. In order to be Big-C creative, one would need to make distinctions differently to others in the domain, in order to create differently.

As discussed in chapter 7.3.7.1. productivity, a capacity to create multiple candidate creative artefacts with the potential to be deemed novel and useful, is correlated with Big-C creativity. Finally, a capacity for risk, a willingness to explore possibilities without fear of failure, is necessary. A successful Pro-C songwriter might be simply unwilling to take paradigm-challenging risks.

For a songwriter wanting to create paradigm-shifting, Big-C songs, we have an indication of some, but certainly not all, the answers. It would be desirable for example to also have a strong capacity for pattern recognition combined with expertise in multiple disciplines, itself an opportunity for fruitful asynchrony.

However, without a willingness to use divergent thinking methods like blind variation and selective retention, including trial and error or random experimentation and a degree of risk-taking, outcomes will tend to be convergent ideas that result in unremarkable songs and propulsions will tend to be of the 331

forward incrementation variety, only slightly different from songs that came before, and therefore unlikely to be considered by the field as paradigm shifting. In this latter case the songwriter’s songs may become popular but unremarkable.

What then of the highly productive Pro-C songwriter who contributes multiple significant works over a lifetime but falls short of the ideal of changing the paradigm?

8.7.1 Significant Works

As discussed earlier, Sawyer (2006) has identified that truly significant works tend to come from highly productive creators, but the distinction should be made that not all ‘truly significant’ works are necessarily domain-changing or paradigm- shifting. Some may be simply the stand-out version, product, or idea in that domain at the time. Until the field has cast its vote, we won’t know which works are going to change the domain, and that may take years, decades, or even centuries.

Describing creativity that is ‘new in history’, Boden states, ‘what we identify as ‘H- creative’ depends to a large extent on historical accident and social fashion’ (1991, p. 269). This situation raises the songwriting question as to whether to attempt to create ‘significant works’ or to ‘change the domain’.

Furthermore, the question, ‘what moves the creative agent along the continuum from Pro-C creativity into the realm of domain-changing, Big-C creativity?’ is revealed to be misleading. It implies that the goal of the songwriter should be to change the domain, and that Big-C is somehow greater than significant Pro-C creativity, when in fact Big-C creativity is an attribution after-the-fact, sometimes many years later, as shown in the Systems Model. One might view it simply as a

332

paradigm-shifting iteration of Pro-C creativity. As Sawyer states;

A creation’s ultimate social importance can’t be predicted from the mental processes involved; it results from a social process. (Sawyer, 2006, p. 124)

It is posited then that the following distinction describes more accurately the songwriting continuum of ‘greatness’; Big-C creativity should include all significant creativities, whatever the style of propulsion, and a new term, ‘Alt-C’ would specifically refer to those ‘alternate’ creative propulsions that have been seen by the field to shift paradigms or change domains.

8.7.2 Summary

This chapter offered some insights and comments regarding a range of ways a songwriter could potentially think about their songwriting perspective and creative process; flow states, intuition, motivation, focus, fruitful drifting, applied incubation, and the creation of significant works. The notion of Big-C creativity is reconsidered and challenged, with a suggestion for a distinction regarding its definition that may facilitate the shift from good to great songwriting (Pro-C to Big-

C creativity). To be clear, it is argued that ‘significant’ songs need not necessarily be only those songs that change the domain or shift the paradigm. The discussion further suggests that in songwriting practice, recursive approaches can be applied across multiple facets. These include: the creative process between preparation, incubation, insight, evaluation, and validation; knowledge acquisition, as viewed in

Bloom’s Revised Taxonomy, moving from remembering, understanding, applying, analysing, evaluating and creating (Lorin Anderson & Krathwohl, 2000); the creation of song artefacts and testing their worth in the field; ‘dipping down’ into hypnogogic reverie for divergent ideas and returning to wakefulness in order to realise those ideas in song; and bouncing across the flow state, from too small a

333

challenge to too great, or from lacking skills to acquiring them.

A willingness and capacity for blind variation and selective retention - Campbell’s

(1960) BVSR – is also a vital part of songwriting process. Trial and error is often at work (discussed further chapter 10.5). Experienced songwriting professionals know the value of exploring ‘rabbit-holes’ and ‘chasing squirrels’ given that acquired habitus and expert, unique perspective simply enable them to identify the most likely candidate ‘squirrels’ to pursue and ‘rabbit holes’ to explore.

For songwriters to move then, from fair, to good, to great, the habitus of the songwriting domain must be acquired, with special attention to the field and audience who will judge the artefact as to its value and novelty. Focus would be best directed not to factors beyond the songwriter’s control (the opinions of a particular music critic, for example, or a fortuitous opportunity occurring), but to the acquisition of adeptus; the combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge resulting from the confluence of habitus (through deep domain immersion), intuition (non-linear parallel processing of global multi categorised information), the unique distinctions borne of discriminant pattern recognition (naturalistic capacity) and the application of recursive, directed practice and reflection over an extended time period. This adeptus can be seen to be operative in the application of the systemic interdependence of the various intelligences and, in particular, the significance of naturalistic intelligence. These multiple intelligences are addressed in the following chapter since, at various stages in the songwriting process, songwriters may draw on one or more of these intelligences to aid in the completion of song artefacts. 334

335

9.0 Multiple Intelligences at work in Songwriting

Up to this point, consideration has been given to a systemic approach to songwriting, where domain acquisition (culture), the importance of the field

(society), and the individual’s idiosyncratic perspective (creative agent) are seen as a useful means to comprehend the interdependence of the various elements.

This section provides a confluent and illuminating additional approach to that discussion, drawing on Gardner’s multiple intelligence construct as it intersects with and supports this systemic perspective. It was mentioned earlier the significance of naturalist intelligence capacity when identifying song species, antecedents and creative propulsions, and in this chapter all eight multiple intelligence capacities are placed on the songwriting table for scrutiny as to their relevance to the discussion. It is suggested that such capacities might positively influence the shift from fair, to good, to great songwriting, by clarifying the acquisition of domain knowledge, helping to categorise field expectations and audience preferences, facilitating lyric expression, enhancing musical performance and technical expertise, and otherwise providing strategies for better songwriting.

9.1 Measuring ‘Cleverness’

The people in my field [psychology] who I am most likely to seek out are those who believe that the IQ testing business is misguided and who believe that new, better tests are just over the horizon. (Sternberg, 1999b, p. 79)

It is common practice in Western education to rate student ‘cleverness’ with IQ tests, an arguably unfair practice if one is not linguistically or mathematically inclined. If one is artistic, musical, athletic, a people-person, self-aware, or great at

336

pattern-recognition in nature, one may be perceived (or perceive oneself) as not clever. Psychologist Howard Gardner has been challenging this single ‘g’ method of intelligence measurement since the early 1980s and has repeatedly posited the existence of not one intelligence, but multiple intelligences, that is, multiple ways for humans to be clever. Studying eight exemplary creators and carefully applying his background in cognitive psychology, Gardner created an alternate way of considering the way humans think creatively, which he called Multiple Intelligence

Theory(Gardner, 1983, 1988, 1993, 1995, 1998, 1999, 2002, 2006, 2011, 2013) .

Simplified for the songwriting purposes, he suggests that traditional IQ testing focuses on only two skills which he calls linguistic-verbal and logical mathematical, and views the consideration of skills/capacities from a wider and more inclusive perspective. These first two skills can be represented in the following way:

Table 5 - Traditional IQ Testing

Intelligence type Example Capacity Typical roles language and speech; reading, poets, journalists, teachers, Linguistic- T.S. Elliot writing, speaking, lyric- lyricists, orators, lawyers, Verbal writing singers mathematicians, scientists, mathematics, physics, logic, Logical- Albert logicians, engineers, problem solving, aspects of Mathematical Einstein programmer, accountants music theory

However, for Gardner, there are many ways to be clever, and creative. A piano- player himself, he provides us with a lens through which to view songwriting capacities, and to the two ‘intelligences’ identified above, he adds the following six;

337

Table 6 - Gardner's Proposed Additional Intelligences Intelligence type Example Capacity Typical roles dance, athleticism, physical dancers, athletes, musical Bodily- Martha coordination and dexterity, instrumentalists, actors, Kinesthetic Graham musical performance surgeons, and mechanics appreciation, listening, musicians, composers, Igor Musical-Aural composing, playing, or songwriters, DJs Stravinsky conducting music visual imagery, orientation Artists, sculptors, sailors, Pablo Spatial-Visual in space, time sense surgeons, chess players, Picasso (rhythm) architects people skills, nurses, politicians, Mahatma communication, leaders, teachers, Interpersonal Ghandi understanding and counsellors, salespersons collaboration self-awareness, cognitive researchers, novelists, Sigmund thought, emotions and psychologists, Intrapersonal Freud introspective capacity; lyric philosophers writing artists, poets, social Charles pattern and species Naturalistic scientists, and natural Darwin recognition; style and genre scientists

As well as applying logical and linguistic skills, measured primarily by IQ testing, songwriters also display multiple intelligences in their ability to paint visual pictures through lyrics, empathise, observe, understand, communicate, be musical, recognise patterns and species of song and perform. These latter are not measured by IQ testing. Gardner’s view was that one could conceivably nominate many more capacities as intelligences, but argued that eight was manageable and useful:

…it is (…) possible that existential questions are just part of a broader philosophical mind (…), my conservative nature dictates caution in giving the ninth place of honor to existential intelligence (…) but, in homage to a famous film by Frederico Fellini, I shall continue for the time being to speak of ‘8½ Intelligences’. (Gardner, 2006, p. 21)

He does not, however, suggest that creative people exhibit most or all of the intelligences in equal measure nor does he suggest that they excel in all or most.

What he highlights is that ‘in most cases they exhibit an amalgam of at least two intelligences, at least one of which proves to be somewhat unusual for that domain 338

[and that they] typically exhibit intellectual weaknesses as well’ (Gardner, 1999, p.

123). They tend to simply ignore or seek help where they are deficient. In his first book on the subject, Frames of Mind (1983), he states ‘…the performance of music entails several intelligences (among them bodily and interpersonal)’ (Gardner,

1983, p. xiv), however it is argued here that an even more diverse skill-set is demanded of the songwriter to create the song artefacts themselves. To be successful, a singer-songwriter is likely to need an amalgam of the following capacities: self-reflection and lyric writing (intrapersonal and linguistic-verbal intelligences); melody and harmony (logical-mathematical and musical intelligence); performance (bodily-kinesthetic and interpersonal); a sophisticated awareness of genre, style, song ‘species’ and antecedents (naturalistic intelligence); and rhythm, groove, record mixing and chart writing (spatial-visual).

In terms of the latter, the writing of charts and the use of formal music notation in some songwriting circles (Rock, Folk, R and B, Electronic Dance Music, for example) is relatively rare and for some, debatably inappropriate, partly because

Western music notation was devised several hundred years ago for primarily

Euro-classical purposes and for the archiving of pianistic composition, and partly because it requires formal schooling to become adept at its reading and writing.

While jazz-style chord notation, the Nashville notation system, and guitar tabs have gained popularity among working musicians, the capacity to accurately notate melody using traditional, classical, stave-based notation is still a valuable tool for songwriters for communicating performance instructions, as Naylor explains;

I didn’t used to [write charts] at all unless I had to write a lead sheet for 339

somebody – nowadays I like to key in a piano melody so I can see the relationship of the melody to the chord parts (I never used to do that) (…) I find it’s really quite helpful (…) It’s interesting the way computers are these days with different representations you see in like, keyboard views and also in things like Melodyne © where you see your vocal as blobs and I wonder whether maybe somewhere down the track people might start using that as a reading tool – because there’s more information there. (Naylor, 2015)

9.2 Musical-aural intelligence

Gardner is a pianist as well as an eminent psychologist. His 1983 definition of a musical intelligence read as follows;

Musical intelligence: the abilities of individuals to discern meaning and importance in sets of pitches rhythmically arranged and also to produce symmetrically arranged pitch sequences as a means of communicating with other individuals. (Gardner, 1983, p. 103)

For this researcher, the notion that the meanings we assign to the music we hear are culturally learned (Tagg, 2012), rings true. Working in the 1980s with local and ethnic musicians in Thailand and composing seven Western-style songs and integrating their live performance with an eleven-piece traditional Thai orchestra in a series of concerts for the King of Thailand to celebrate Thai Airlines 30-year anniversary, and also working with Indonesian musicians in composing music for a

90 minute video on Bali integrating Balinese gamelan instruments and traditional themes, showed me that music of unfamiliar cultures can be culturally baffling and emotionally bewildering. At the time it was clear that melodic, harmonic and rhythmic ‘meanings’ we Westerners attributed to song elements were interpreted very differently by these other-cultured musicians and that their music ‘meanings’

(Tagg, 2012, pp. 133–154) were easily misinterpreted by we Western musicians.

Growing up in a western culture, exposed to the radio, television, recording technology, Euro-Classical music, African-American styles including the blues,

340

access to first-world contrivances like the pianoforte, the electric guitar, the internet and YouTube, all contributed to my music enculturation from when I was a toddler.

‘Great musicians seem to be unusually sensitive to sounds even in their earliest years’ (Csikszentmihalyi in Sternberg, 1999:329) but, as Csikszentmihalyi also asserts, the evidence suggests that this may not be directly causal. In fact, this sensitivity may turn out to be the resultant effect of long periods of concentration in this area. (McIntyre, 2003, p. 231)

My environmental circumstances, fortuitously provided access for me to the church choir, the pipe organ, and Bach. My family had regular music evenings held in our lounge-room, my mother played piano and sang, my father played a T-chest bass accompaniment while I sat cross-legged under the piano keys, surrounded by songs, music, pipe-smoke, and adult legs in long pants with the cuffs turned up.

Before television (1962 in my household), the wireless radio was the epicenter of our kitchen – yet another window into the musical realm. The record player took pride of place in the lounge-room, along with the recordings of George Gershwin and the popular classics. As well as the upright piano, there was always a black acoustic guitar, my uncle’s, lying around to jam on, and despite being financially stretched, my parents paid for piano lessons for all three children. We weren’t merely exposed to music, we were immersed in a lively, swirling, participatory experience of music and song from very early childhood. All these elements of immersion combined to lay the foundations (my habitus) of a musical intelligence relevant to Western song and my capacities as songwriter. It involved: pitch awareness and recognition; chord texture/ colour recognition; timbral recognition; rhythmic nuances of meter, tempo and syncopation; knowledge of, and familiarity with, the symbol system of music notation; and aural, theoretical, kinesthetic, visual memory in performance; and experience and confidence performing and 341

communicating music and songs.

However, as we have seen, a musical intelligence might provide the inclination and capacity to create songs, but does not necessarily correlate with commercial success. It is possible to be a successful songwriter with limited musical/aural capacities, due to the powerful filtering of the industry forces that make up the field and other factors that shape the distribution of song artefacts to the potential audience;

The song is more than a song, it’s a product that’s going out to a market, and if the market exists it could be the worst song in the world sung by a footballer that can’t sing but if there’s an audience there that love that guy they’re going to buy it and think it’s the most wonderful song in the world cos it mentions our footy team, you know? That’s the lowest common denominator, but there’s been some amazing songs written by people who had no idea how to do that craft, because a song doesn’t have to be complex to be a good song, in fact, the opposite. (Naylor, 2015)

9.2.1 The Myth of ‘Perfect’ Pitch

While the control of pitch is one of the elements of song knowledge that a songwriter needs to be aware, based on experiential observation, it is suggested here that, despite Slonimsky’s romantic statement that ‘perfect pitch is an innate capacity which cannot be cultivated’ (1986, p. 164) the notion of ‘perfect’ pitch is itself a fiction. In forty years at the coalface of the music industry I do not recall ever meeting a person with alleged ‘perfect pitch’ who had not already spent many hundreds or thousands of hours at the piano, guitar or horn. Furthermore, given that even-temperament is a uniquely Western musical construct, how could anyone possibly identify an ‘Eb’ without enculturation in the musical domain that created the very idea of something called ‘Eb’?

342

What is being observed and erroneously attributed to ‘perfect pitch’, is a greater or lesser capacity to identify notes based on a specific form of habitus, often relating back to the instrument most familiar to the individual being tested. Perfect pitch is instead a form of highly developed relative pitch. In a personal studio conversation with me during a recording session, and after amazing me with his ability to correctly and immediately identify various pitches, master guitarist Tommy

Emmanuel stated quite specifically that he hears each note ‘and sees it on the fingerboard’. Similarly, jazz and classical pianist Mark Isaacs referred, in a chat in his home studio, to his version of ‘perfect pitch’ referenced to the piano, and specifically, contemporary concert pitch. This declaration raises another oddity about the ‘perfect pitch’ notion.

Haynes (2002) book, A History of Performing Pitch: The Story of “A.”, shows in great detail the fluctuations that have occurred in pitch norms across countries, time periods and according to instrument, over the past 400 years. The Eb pitch in the year 2015, based on the standard orchestral tuning of A = 440 Hz, is different from the Eb prior to the 19th century and earlier, varying as much as 5 semitones. ‘Pitch inflation’, where orchestral pitches through the 1800s rose over time, also affected what would have constituted an Eb. So would someone with ‘innately perfect pitch’, born in 1950, describe Eb as a G# note had they been born in the 1700s?

The fundamental notion is that the idea of musical pitch as we know and describe it, is a construct that has moved many times, based on fashion and cultural norms of the time, geography and culture. Slonimsky’s Aunt Isabelle Vengerova, in order to identify that Nicolas had ‘perfect pitch’, must have taught him what to call each

343

note in the first place, suggesting some form of musical instruction, rather than innate capacity.

‘Perfect pitch’ has simply become the accepted, de facto term to describe those with such highly developed relative pitch that they need not reference a piano, guitar or other device in order to successfully identify a musical pitch played to them. In the following Csikszentmihalyi reference, and despite his reference to

‘someone born with perfect pitch’, I accept the term perfect pitch as such, implying, rather, highly developed relative pitch;

It makes sense that a person whose nervous system is more sensitive to color and light will have an advantage in becoming a painter, while someone born with perfect pitch will do well in music. And being better at their respective domains, they will become more deeply interested in sounds and colors, will learn more about them, and thus are in a position to innovate in music or art with greater ease. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 52)

The point is that a sensory advantage of possessing a highly developed relative pitch, is unquestionably a great advantage to songwriters and musicians, providing a quick method of harmonic and melodic analysis. It can also be a hindrance. Isaacs described hearing a rock band comprised of two guitars and bass, who were playing a quarter-tone below concert pitch, as needlessly distracting. Mark had to consciously decide to call their pitch approximation the key of ‘E’, despite recognising it as ‘in the cracks’ between E and Eb. My motivation for entering this semantic argument is not purely academic. If we take the view that a perfect pitch capacity is only hereditary, many potential songwriters may not be inclined to practice pitch recognition. If, however the expression ‘highly developed relative pitch’ is used, there is an implied developmental capacity to improve the skill over time. For that reason, the alternate expression, ‘absolute’ pitch, is equally

344

frustrating. When a songwriting student, for example, displays highly developed relative pitch, but it is identified erroneously as either ‘perfect’ or ‘absolute’, the implication is three-fold in its negativity, that is, it cannot be learned, it is innate and therefore impossible to acquire to one born without it, and students of music and/or songwriting may have ‘absolutely’ no chance to become ‘perfect’.

9.3 Linguistic-verbal intelligence

Among the oldest symbolic systems in the world are those organised around the content and rules of language; the first narrative stories telling of real or imaginary events, the myths and campfire tales of our ancestors, extended dramatically the range of human experience through imagination. The rhyme and metre of poetry created patterns of order that must have seemed miraculous to people who had yet scarcely learned to improve on the precarious order of nature. And when the discovery of writing made it possible to preserve memory outside the fragile brain, the domain of the word became one of the most effective tools and greatest sources of pride for humankind. Perhaps, only art, dance and music are more ancient. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 238)

In the realm of linguistic-verbal capacities, connected as it is to the domain of songwriting, the capacity to sculpt an appropriate lyric is arguably the most consuming aspect of songwriting, and of particular interest to this research.

Although one of many elements required in a song, lyric-writing presents a disproportionate challenge for songwriters; how best to communicate an abstract or concrete message or attitude effectively, within the rhythmic, melodic, harmonic and structural constraints of contemporary song? It is not therefore hard to view lyric-writing as a confluence of linguistic, musical, naturalistic, logical, spatial

(temporal), intra-personal and intrapersonal capacities. Asked how he knows when a lyric is ‘right’, Don Walker offers not a ‘Romanticist’ view per se, but certainly a perspective that highlights the ambiguity of contemporary lyric writing

345

outcomes;

I can’t tell you the answer but I do. I’ve spoken to other people who are writers, not just songwriters, …there is a moment when they ‘just know’ it’s right, and until that moment they also ‘just know’ that it’s not right. (…) a big bell goes off (…) like a little ‘eureka’ moment. I’ve got plenty of examples in my writing, of lyrics that I don’t understand – so I don’t know what it’s saying, (…) but I know with utter certainty that it’s right - and sometimes (…) I’ll figure out what is actually going on there, years later. (Walker, 2015)

As we can be sees from this example, effective lyric writing is not just a semantic confluence of words with penumbras of meaning. It also encompasses, as observed, conversational, vernacular, localised and genre-specific tribal idioms with appropriate syntactical conventions, the functional, pragmatic constraints of length (3’30” typically), message, target audience demographic, reach, and, importantly, the sound of the words and syllables themselves, the phonology of the song lyrics.

9.3.1 Four Linguistic Elements

Describing the linguistic capacity of poet T.S. Elliott, Howard Gardner refers to four elements (1983, p. 80,81). These are:1) semantics , including penumbras of meaning, message, ambiguity, and Antony Gregorc’s concreteness/abstractness dichotomy, where ‘the poet’s logic centers around a sensitivity to shadings of meaning’ (1983, p. 80), and what they imply (or preclude) for neighbouring words;

2) syntax, which includes the conversational, poetic, grammar, and vernacular rules to be applied (or broken), where ‘the poet must understand, intuitively, the rules of constructing phrases as well as the occasions on which it is permissible to flaunt syntax, to juxtapose words that, according to ordinary grammatical principles, should not occur together’ (1983, p. 81); 3) phonology of rhyme types, alliteration, onomatopoeia, and other phonetic considerations, where ‘the poet

346

must have a keen sensitivity to phonology: the sounds of words and their musical interactions upon on another’ (1983, p. 80); and 4) function which involves the purposes and projected outcome of the work;

…the poet must appreciate the pragmatic functions, the uses to which language can be put: he must be aware of the different poetic acts, ranging from the lyric of love to the epic of description, from the directness of an order to the subtleties of a plea. (Gardner, 1983, p. 81)

As the advent of literacy and printing devalued the cultural importance of an individual’s powerful verbal memory, so the advent of computers has more recently de-valued the cultural importance of an individual’s ability to create, perform, sing and record songs. Given the facility with which a novice can generate a naïve song in GarageBand© to post on YouTube, it is even more important for the career songwriter to display those higher level (Pro-C) skills that differentiate a work of quality from child-like (mini-c) works of lesser cultural significance.

At best, a [songwriter]’s job is to pour new wine into old bottles, to retell in a new way the same emotional predicament that humans have felt since the beginnings of time. (…) [songwriters] know that the power of words depends on how they are used: so they enjoy playing with them, stretching their meanings, stringing them in novel combinations, and polishing them until they shine. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1997, p. 239) [denotes paraphrasing]

9.3.2 Lyrics vs. Poetry

Dylan got away with murder. I thought, well, I can write this crap too. You know, just stick a few images together, and you call it poetry. (John Lennon, in Russell & Tyson, 1995, p. 70)

Singing the lyrics to a song is different to reading poetry from a book and the act of singing and speaking are different faculties that can be independently damaged or spared, as has been shown empirically through brain-damage research Gardner

(1999, p. 30). One could argue that since the advent of electrical and electronic media, poetry in a general sense is for the eyes and ears, whereas lyrics are for the

347

ears only. Unless they have access to the written lyrics in the form of album liner- notes, song-listeners most often have only their ears to make sense and give meaning to what is being sung, whereas in the written poem we also see visual clues to structure and meaning. In reading these poems we can see stanzas, notice when a new line starts, and mentally match line lengths. With song, however, the ears are the primary receptor. Successful lyric writing must therefore be aurally- focused, constantly considering how the words will work phonetically when performed by the eventual singer, who is likely to possess an array of techniques, tricks and ‘cheats’ to make a lyric rhyme work. In order to integrate smoothly with the prescribed melody, including quavers, crotchets, minims and semibreves (or even greater), vowel sounds are greatly extended to facilitate dramatic and complex melisma42. Furthermore, to comply with genre-specific nuances of accent and the demands of high-volume delivery, vowels sounds are crushed, wrestled and manipulated almost beyond audible recognition. For example, ‘baby’ might rhyme with ‘maybe’, but both are sung differently to the way they are spoken;

‘baby’ is usually pronounced ‘behbeh’, ‘maybe’ is sung ‘mehbeh’. Without the overt musical constraints of melody and song-based rhythm, such vowel-corruption may be unnecessary when reading a poem, As a performance piece, for example, Allen

Ginsberg’s Howl, (1956) benefits from song-like oral devices such as exaggerated plosives and some vowel-stretching. Again, this example simply serves to support the notion that the written word is very different to the orally-performed and aurally experienced poem or song, and Howl is a form of intermediary performance which falls somewhere in the continuum between the written poem

42 Melisma: Singing a phrase of multiple pitches within a single vowel sound. 348

and the sung lyric, in much the same way as do contemporary Rap lyrics. As a songwriter, I hear a strong antecedent connection between the beat-poetry of the

1950s that embraced its performance potential and was referred to in Orality and

Literacy by Walter Ong as a ‘second orality’ (1982, p. 2) and contemporary Rap, as a type of neo-Darwinian development of it. Where beat-poetry pre-dated Rhythm and Blues, Rap has embraced its rhythms and polyrhythms, and the performance of Rap lyrics incorporates not just the embedded metre and percussive possibilities of exaggerated alliterations, but is carefully integrated into the beat and subtle rhythmic subdivisions of the (typically) R & B drum groove;

In rap music, the vocal interest very often emerges not simply from the linguistic content, but from the rhythmic work achieved by the vocal line. At the same time, the content itself is frequently obscured by the intensity of rhyme and alliteration, and the rhythmic pace (Whiteley & Rycenga, 2013, p. 205)

The songs and poems of medieval balladeers and minstrels used predominantly terminating rhyme types (the perfect rhyme pairs were placed at the end of a line), simple rhyme schemes (AABB, or ABAB), and were performed orally and transmitted aurally. After Gutenberg set up his printing press in 1450, the popularity of the printed word saw a shift to the writing down of poetry and its’ considered reading. Poems went from being an oral/aural practice to a largely visual pursuit. Poetry is now largely read rather than listened to, and for four hundred years, poems and song lyrics were archived in writing, rather than committed to memory. A shift back to oral/aural practice occurred with the advent of new archiving systems. In the late nineteenth and twentieth century Edison

(phonograph), Marconi (wireless radio), and Baird (television), created new ways to archive and communicate a story by playing records, listening over the radio, or by listening and watching on television. Songwriters became the new bards, and 349

songwriting became once more a predominantly oral/aural experience, although contemporary songwriters now record a definitive iteration of the song, whereas the songs of the ancient bards were ‘never sung the same way twice (...) they were stitched together or “rhapsodized” differently in each rendition’ (Ong, 1982, pp. 58,

59).

9.3.3 Lyrics and the Listener

Following Stuart Hall’s (1973) work on encoding and decoding McIntyre discusses three ways an audience may approach a text. They may engage with it via a preferred reading, an oppositional reading, or via a negotiated reading (2003, p.

80). From the perspective of a songwriter designing the lyric content of a work, and looking to generate meaning for the listener preferred readings might imply alignment (I understand these lyrics as intended); oppositional readings might imply the reader doesn’t appreciate, understand or agree with these lyrics; or negotiated readings, implying an acceptance and modification (I hear these lyrics and modify them to suit my own view of the world). This contested but commonly accepted typology (Morley 1993) accurately describes my own experiential observation that when writing a song lyric, the lyricist often has an intention for what the song should mean to others (preferred reading), but is sometimes surprised at the audience’s interpretation (negotiated reading) or even confronted with an unexpected negative response (oppositional reading). Multi-award- winning Australian country music songwriter Graeme Connors describes his awareness of the various ways the lyric is interpreted by audiences;

Most listen to a line in the song, and if it happens to be very pertinent to their life experience at that point in time they hang on to it – and the rest of the song can be completely misinterpreted (…) … the classic for me is Let the Cane-Fields Burn. It’s a song about a suicide – it’s about a person who’s

350

had enough and this is his form of protest – the bankers are coming to take the place so he’s going to burn it to the ground – and himself included. People still hear Let the Cane-Fields Burn as an anti-politician song; like it’s a power-to-the-people song and a celebration of cane-fires burning. It’s quite astonishing. (Connors, 2015)

McIntyre then examines Condit’s concept of ‘polyvalence’ (1989) and Morley’s

(1993) distinction that ‘the power of an audience to reinterpret meanings is often constrained by the discursive power of those who construct the text’ (McIntyre,

2003, p. 81). This notion of songwriters actively manipulating their lyric choices to convey their preferred meaning has been mentioned and described in various terms in songwriting method books (Braheny, 1988; Pattison, 2010; Stolpe, 2007).

In An Adult’s Guide to Style, Antony Gregorc defined two ways of knowing; perception, and ordering, and proposed two ways by which to perceive information

(1982);

Abstractness: enables you to grasp, conceive, and mentally visualize data through the faculty of reason and to emotionally and intuitively register and deal with inner and subjective thoughts, ideas, concepts, feelings, drives, desires, and spiritual experiences. This quality permits you to apprehend and perceive that which is invisible and formless to your physical senses.

Concreteness: enables you to grasp and mentally register data through the direct use and application of the physical senses. This quality permits you to apprehend that which is visible in the concrete, physical world through your physical senses. (Gregorc, 1982, p. 5) in (G. D. Smith & Durrant, 2006)

Gregorc’s abstractness/concreteness dichotomy can be seen described by Stolpe

(2007) as internal/external detail when applied to song lyric writing.

External Detail describes the actions or objects surrounding the main character of the song. The detail is concrete and often provokes an image in the mind of the listener.

Internal Detail describes the thoughts and emotions within the main character of the song. The detail is abstract, sometimes metaphorical and does not provoke an image in the mind of our listener (Stolpe, 2007, p. 21)

Useful as the dichotomy may be for lyric purposes, however, such a binary view

351

can be misleading. A lyric does not necessarily sit in either polar opposite. It can fall somewhere on a continuum between internal and external – pain, heat, and balance, for example, can be sensed physically, emotionally or both. For that reason, this researcher prefers Gregorc’s notions of abstractness and concreteness where a continuum is a little more easily envisioned and can range across a set of emotional triggers. The significance of emotions, imagery and ‘colours’ in songwriting are highlighted by Thistlethwayte (in reference to evocative chords);

If you’re looking behind the colour scheme behind chord progressions; they’re all there, there’s a lot of little emotional twinges and feelings that you can get in the same way on an emotional level from looking at something that provokes that, and hearing something that provokes that, or having a thought with your eyes closed and someone’s whispering something in your ear to change it – it can be pretty subtle, and you can feel it in all these ways… it all just changes shape. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

…and highlighted by Naylor (in reference to evocative lyrics);

If it was a story-telling lyric and say in it you were describing a scene, it would be really important in that, cos you’re actually visualising the old lady sitting on the rocking chair on the veranda, and the sun coming in and hitting her hair, or a break-up song; you’re seeing the train rolling down the tracks or whatever it is and she ain’t never comin’ back, but in your mind you would be seeing that train while you’re struggling to get that… you’re thinking of the rhyme and the meter and all that kind of stuff but you’re actually watching this little movie while it’s happening (Naylor, 2015)

9.3.4 Conversational lyrics

While a professional songwriter should be aware of this type of sensory detail and other scholarly lyric possibilities, not all lyrics need to reference the five human senses, be rich with metaphor, allegory, and subtlety or even make any sense at all.

It may be appropriate to reject syntactical and semantic literary conventions and employ direct, conversational, clumsy, obvious lyrics, where function and phonology predominate, as is common in pop, dance, urban rap lyric styles.

Beautifully sculpted lyrics, sophisticated, carefully considered metaphor, and vivid

352

imagery may result in good marks for a songwriting exam, or win accolades from critics and reviewers, but it should be noted that not all audiences analyse song lyrics through contemplative listening. Theodor Adorno, scholar from the (some would say pessimistic), ‘Frankfurt School’, wrote a famously scathing analysis of

‘popular’ music’ (jazz) (1941) , referring primarily to the formulaic writing of Tin

Pan Alley and swing music, rather than the highly improvised forms to come later.

In an earlier article he had bemoaned the ‘regression of listening’, using such terms as ‘taste is itself outmoded’, ‘familiarity is a surrogate for quality’, ‘nobody can any longer listen’ and tellingly, ‘people have learned to deny their attention to what they are hearing even while listening to it’ (Adorno, 1938) While not sharing

Adorno’s pessimism, I tend, like Bernard Gendron (1986), to feel that his conceptual framework has implications for contemporary songwriters. Rarely are songs listened to with the kind of attention allocated at a poetry reading. Songs are more often experienced in the background of our existence, providing a soundtrack to a gym workout, a long commute, a romantic meal, a movie, or a dance-floor explosion of arms and legs.

The age of the musical foreground (and silent, contemplative listening) may actually be the historical anomaly. Court musicians, for example, primarily produced background sounds for other activities, and eighteenth-century opera goers seem to have moved, talked, and dined throughout the performance. (Frith, 1996, p. 301)

Songwriters and songwriting educators can be inclined, as a result, to take an exaggerated view of how significant the lyrics are. They may be powerfully loaded with meaning to the composer, but often less so to the audience. While a single, contemplative listener sitting in the bedroom deeply experiencing the melancholic depth in the lyric may be the songwriter’s target, that does not diminish the lyric value of 50,000 fans at an AC/DC concert screaming ‘War Machine!’ in unison. The 353

quest for deeper or more sophisticated lyrics may be less relevant to success than considerations of entertainment value, phonology and cultural trends of the audience demographic. Professional songwriters may spend many hours immersed in contemplative listening, but should keep sight of the other, far more prevalent, perspective, that is, that of the disengaged listener for whom music is simply an underscore to life, not the entire script. There may be times when it is better for songwriters to deliberately avoid lyric depth and correctness in order to get the attention of the listen, as one would in a direct conversation. When feeling highly emotional, angry, upset or energised, the formalities of speech may not be necessary nor even appropriate. In this case it may be useful to think simply of song lyrics as a conversation where the ‘speaker’ (songwriter) has the luxury of time to consider and select only the most suitable, expressive words, which may not necessarily be the most poetic.

Beyond formal writing technique, an understanding of lyric writing must also factor intensity of expression and relevance to the cultural norms of that particular genre. The judicious use of conversational language, swear-words, pop culture references, specific product, brand, person or place names, contemporary word- memes, urban expressions or loaded sub-cultural keywords (used with caution) can all add to the clarity and directness of the song idea, resonating as they do as

‘authentically’ representing their target demographic. Another aspect of this commentary on formalised lyric-writing practice is that for song genres that challenge or reject commercial or popular paradigms, lyrics are often designed to appeal to listeners who enjoy songs that deliberately disturb, unsettle, aggravate, embarrass, stir, or agitate; to disorder and unbalance expectations. One method for 354

creating interest and avoiding a normative or formulaic approach to lyric writing has been described as ‘anti-lyric’.

9.3.5 Anti-Lyric

In order to achieve lyric responses other than order and balance, songwriters might apply a technique described by Dai Griffiths as anti-lyric; shifting from ‘lyric, rhyme and syllabic consistency, in favour of a looser relation more akin to prose forms’ (in Moore, 2003, p. 54). Paul Simon’s verses for Call Me Al and Graceland provide good examples of vivid, prose-like lyrics without obvious perfect rhyme

(those that are present are rhythmically de-emphasised);

Call Me Al- Paul Simon A man walks down the street, He says, ‘Why am I soft in the middle now? Why am I soft in the middle? The rest of my life is so hard I need a photo opportunity, I want a shot at redemption Don’t want to end up a cartoon, In a cartoon graveyard’ Bone digger, bone digger, Dogs in the moonlight Far away my well-lit door Mr. Beer belly, Beer belly, Get these mutts away from me You know I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore (P. Simon, 1986b)

Graceland- Paul Simon The Mississippi Delta was shining like a National guitar I am following the river down the highway through the cradle of the Civil War I’m going to Graceland, Graceland, In Memphis, Tennessee, I’m going to Graceland Poor boys and pilgrims with families and we are going to Graceland My traveling companion is nine years old, he is the child of my first marriage But I’ve reason to believe we both will be received in Graceland (P. Simon, 1986a)

Breaking from traditional perfect rhyme phonological patterns and incorporating language that is conversational, whilst remaining vivid and specific, can be a powerful way to engage listener attention;

I see people like Sting, for instance, who are so careful to be beautifully

355

poetic all the time. I’m prepared to write of very ordinary things because that’s real life. Life isn’t always poetic. Life is everyday (…) you can be too polished. Romance really isn’t about floating on the moon (…) the first time I sat with a girl in a romantic way was probably in the Boomerang Café, where our legs are touching. (John Williamson, in Kruger, 2005, p. 185)

Daniel Johns (Silverchair) describes the lyric content of Freaks as follows;

The whole thing about freaks being alienated from society (…) I wanted people to hate the first verse. [Laughs] I just wanted them to hate it (…) when I want to be pop, I’ll put something that rhymes just for the kids. But most of the time, why would you? It takes all the magic out of your stream of consciousness (…) If you have to rhyme, you’ll take a step and then you’ve got to think of a line that rhymes with that, so that the development is so long and tedious and the song sucks (Daniel Johns, in Kruger, 2005, p. 544)

Johns’ disdain for rhyme might suggest that he did not use a rhyming dictionary, perceiving the highly stable effects of perfect rhyme as being incongruous with the iconoclastic, alienated idiosyncratic perspective of his target audience.

Considerations of authenticity would suggest it is desirable for one consistent lyric perspective, be that romantic, iconoclastic, political, cathartic, conversational, formal, narrative, archaic, poetic, or regional, to be adopted and held for the song’s duration, the album’s breadth, the artist’s entire performance, and possibly even career, as is the case with AC/DC, who’s musical style and lyric content had been relatively unchanged for nearly forty years.

9.4 Naturalistic intelligence

Gardner suggests that the pattern-recognising talents of artists, poets, social scientists, and natural scientists are all built on the fundamental perceptual skills of naturalistic intelligence (1999, p. 50, 2006, p. 19). Where Charles Darwin saw patterns, songwriters hear patterns. As in de Groot’s ‘chess master analogy’, the

356

expert songwriter examines the song at every stage of development and uses his/her expert knowledge to organize ideas into meaningful ‘chunks’ (de Groot et al., 1996, pp. 222–233), proceeding to find familiar patterns, retrieve possible

‘moves’ that have been successful in analogous situations, and analyze them for potential application in the new song. For songwriters, the patterns of lyrics, melody, chords, rhythm and structure are everywhere, embedded in the songwriting domain the songwriter has access to via immersion in it. Songwriters develop their habitus through recognising patterns, relationships, antecedents, style evolution and hierarchies. The notion of species origin can be applied in this realm. The species is song, and songwriters, audience and intermediaries are all active participants in its evolution. Joe Bennett makes the observation that the commercial forces at work that select worthy contributions to the species (songs that live, rather than become extinct) constitute the natural selection of which

Darwin spoke (2012a). While Simonton states, in Origins of Genius: Darwinian

Perspectives on Creativity, that ‘the creative mind represents the single most potent

Darwinian force on the planet’ (1999, p. 74), Gabora contests his notion of

‘secondary Darwinism’, stating, ’there is no reason evolution must be Darwinian, or even involve selection except as a special case’ (2005, p. 9) and a lively decade-long debate regarding BVSR and Darwinism continues (Gabora, 2015; Simonton, 2014,

2015b).

However, this autoethnographic research perspective, with the researcher having experienced multiple examples of such natural selection in professional practice, falls in with Bennett and Simonton. If songwriting is one of Gabora’s special cases, it is an important, diverse and exemplary case familiar to prolific songwriters, with 357

multitudinous supporting examples, and arguably not special, but commonplace.

Similar to Perkins’ Darwinian reference that ‘each generation of an organism yields a range of variants, each variant constitutes a trial’ (in Boden, 1996, p. 126),

Bennett takes a view of song ‘evolution, where music fans ‘select’ songs, unselected songs don’t ‘survive’, and songwriters provide a form of ‘reproduction’ inasmuch as they write subsequent, slightly varied songs’ (2012a), and extends the metaphor to include song mutations. This idea is supported by the forward incrementation model proposed in the Propulsion Theory of Creativity (Sternberg et al., 2001,

2002) discussed earlier under Creative Propulsions.

The unique depth perspective of the Big-C creative, and the presumed capacity to notice patterns that the less culturally aware would miss, is visible in the songwriting realm. For example, a student songwriter might listen to a popular song, with a common chord progression, genre-typical lyrics, an unremarkable melody, and standard production values, and not observe some subtle nuances that point to forward incrementation, as would an experienced professional with the capacity for keener perception of nuances of style. When Rai Thistlethwayte listens to the songs of others, it is relevant that rather than the mundane elements of everyday creativity, it’s the great craftsmanship and salient, possibly elusive

‘magic moments’ that he specifically looks for and which get his attention;

I don’t know if I’m looking for anything, I’m more surprised, and like, memory jogged when I hear good things that come out of other people’s songs, so I just acknowledge some great craftsmanship that’s gone into it… or just some magic moments that happened in performance that were, thankfully, captured because someone was rolling tape. They’re the things I look for. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

358

9.5 Interpersonal intelligence

Songwriters who tell stories of urban, rural, or other experiences do so from a particular perspective; that of someone empathetic with the subject of the song and with an awareness of the commonality of experience shared by the audience, a crucial constituent of the field. For Goleman (2013, p. 98), that empathy has three elements. The first is Cognitive Empathy constituted as an understanding and ability to see the perspective of others as songwriters might view the world and interact with others around them. The second is Emotional Empathy indicating an ability and willingness to ‘feel’ the emotion ‘with’ the song subject and thereby, the audience as silent observer. The third he labels Concern, which is an ability and willingness to care for or help others by suggesting answers, attitudes or approaches that may aid, heal, lessen or heighten the experience in question. As

Naylor explains;

You can write a song about a relationship without you being in the relationship, or you can write it pretending it’s you (…) everything that came out of the Brill Building was a relationship song – but it wasn’t their relationships. (Naylor, 2015)

As discussed earlier (chapter 9.3.4 Lyrics and the Listener), the songwriter has an intent as to what the song will mean to others (preferred reading), but is sometimes surprised at the audience’s interpretation (negotiated reading) or even confronted with an unexpected negative response (oppositional reading). For this researcher, it is the responsibility of the songwriter to present the song as a communication and be prepared for the audience to take a preferred, negotiated, or oppositional reading of the song text. The songwriter initiates the conversation, as it were, to a group of complete strangers via some media distribution method, in

359

the hope of connecting with some in a positive way (preferred reading) and accepting that some or many of the audience will interpret the song differently

(negotiated reading) and some may even have a negative response (oppositional reading). Given the exclusive nature of some contemporary music genres and sub- genres, it may even be advisable to identify which audience members are clearly not likely to connect with the song. By identifying the non-initiates in the field to the style, one may better identify and garner approval from the initiates. For forward incrementers and replicators, the game becomes to identify which song elements resonate with the target demographic, and reproduce those elements with just enough novelty and variation to be selected by the same group as a worthy addition to the style. For synthesists, the game becomes capturing what is supported by two separate styles and finding novel and useful hybrids that win favour with the fans of both styles, and minimise the distance they must travel from their favoured style in order for the field to accept the hybrid.

This researcher’s unique songwriting perspective, that of taking responsibility for the audience response, treating each song artefact as an enjoyable ‘game’ with the field to be played, experimented with, and won, lost or drawn, is arguably not common amongst other songwriters. I have always taken a pragmatic view of the role of the musician/songwriter as a communicator and entertainer, as demonstrated here in a monograph from 1983 on live performance;

Of primary importance here is the simple fact: when you (…) began playing in front of audiences, you then became responsible for entertaining them. Yes, you. Like it or not, that’s what people pay for, expect and are entitled to - some entertainment (…) so you should look around you, see where they’re at, and give them something they can relate to. That goes for all types of music, in any club in the world. People like to have a good time, that’s why they’re there listening to you, so include them in the performance (…) they 360

may not know a whole lot about the kind of music you’re playing, but give them a chance. (C. Harrison, 1983)

One of the primary reasons for my retirement from the jazz milieu in the late

1980s was personal dissatisfaction and disillusionment at the jazz styles being performed at the time in Sydney. My view, rightly or wrongly, was that the material was often conservatorium-directed, overtly non-communicative, accessible only to jazz musicians to the exclusion of interested others, and fundamentally unmelodic, rhythmically unconvincing, and harmonically obscure for the sake of being obscure. Unable to envision a compositional and improvisational approach that would satisfy my desire for better-directed communication with keen jazz followers, I retired and moved in the polar-opposite direction, into advertising. If I were ever to revisit the jazz realm as a performer, I suspect I would take a synthesist approach, searching for a jazz style that I felt would challenge the paradigm.

9.6 Intrapersonal intelligence

Songwriter Neil Finn alludes to feelings of warmth, remote analogies, and notions of incubation in his reference to the echoes, shadings, feelings and impressions of the subconscious, and reflects his metacognitive self-awareness, that is, thinking about thinking. The following quote can be compared with notions of convergent and divergent thinking, hypnogogic reverie, remote-analogy, and feelings of warmth discussed earlier;

Creation I think is consciously and conspicuously making something that didn’t exist before, and I think it’s when you combine your intellect and your instinct to draw out your ideas from the subconscious that are connected to feelings and impressions. I think in the conscious mind these are only really visible as little echoes and little shadings; things you can’t put your finger on. (Finn, 2012)

361

Beyond the common practice of writing relationship-based songs, it would appear that metacognitive awareness, the capacity for self-reflection and self-evaluation, is a valuable asset amongst songwriters. It is noteworthy that, in the following extract, that even as an interview subject, Thistlethwayte self-evaluates and reflects on his response;

CH: There’s plenty been written about songwriters who deal with interpersonal and relationship subjects, what about self-reflection?

RT: Definitely, a huge part of songwriting… not just with documenting and cataloguing your feelings in sonic form… through all the happy emotions and the sad emotions, there’s all of that, but there’s definitely a personal, psychological growing journey which… songwriting is like a side-kick walking hand-in-hand with that development in your life…and like it’s always there by your side or it’s there to remind you of the things that you were feeling, not probably that long ago, or way long ago, and whether things have changed… it’s like a great diary and reading back and getting reflection on that is sort of… it is the reflective songs that give you the most reflection… that’s a weird thing to say [laughs, adopts a ‘stoner’ accent…] ‘Yeah man, that’s gonna be written down, man, you know, it is the reflective songs that give you the most reflection’. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

One aspect of intrapersonal capacity, or metacognition in practice, manifests in the songwriter as an ability to observe oneself during the act of songwriting and to reflexively adjust one’s process to produce a more successful outcome. This ability includes the capacity to evaluate ‘how one is doing’, and to evaluate whether one is focussed on the job at hand, or has one’s attention dispersed from what is important;

I do get a little of that ‘could that change be better?’, but I’m not usually worried about whether it’s good enough. The other thing I guess is ‘I had hoped that that would be better…’ I’ve got this wonderful idea and then when I start to put a framework around it then I’m thinking ‘well it’s not as good as I thought it was going to be, so where’s it gone wrong?’ Cos in my head at 4a.m. this was wonderful (laughs). (Naylor, 2015)

The type of self-evaluation of a creative pursuit such as songwriting, where multiple solutions to the ‘what is my next song?’ question are possible, is distinctly 362

different from the much clearer goal when pursuing a better instrumental performance through repeated practice;

The first thing to be aware of when you are practicing or studying is that it’s not much good to do it, if you don’t have a good idea why you’re doing it (…) sit down, with pen and paper and map out what exactly you need to work on… all the things you need to improve, then divide them up into sections and get stuck into them, and only them (...) It’s reassuring to play something you already know, but the really good stuff is what you’ve been avoiding. (C. Harrison, 1983)

In the former songwriting example, an evaluation that one has improved as a songwriter may be hard to assess from song to song, as one may need to write ten songs before observing measurable improvement. In the latter, performance- centred situation, gradient improvement may be more observable in a quantitative way from day to day, as one plays a passage measurably better, faster, or with less performance errors. The capacity for controlling, and working with, the inner world of emotions and thoughts, entails a finely tuned introspective capacity. The examination, then, of one’s own thoughts and feelings has an important position in the realm of the lyricist and is an example of what Gardner, referring to Sigmund

Freud, identifies as ‘creativity through the use of (…) intrapersonal examination of one’s thoughts and feelings’ (Gardner, 1993, p. 81).

9.6.1 Writer’s Block

Self-reflection or metacognition regarding one’s songwriting process and progress may be a factor in addressing what is commonly referred to as ‘writer’s block’. The notion that the ideas may dry up, become interminably slow, or that the writer has hit a creative brick wall is commonplace, and often discussed among creative types. Walker refers to an uncommon slowing down, grinding period which he attributes to the long-term effects of marijuana;

363

I was going to say I haven’t experienced writer’s block because I’ve never really pushed it or needed to write, but saying that, in the writing of the fourth Cold Chisel album Circus Animals yes, I had a lot of trouble, those songs were ‘ground’ out, the songs that I contributed to that album (…) I had been smoking dope for just the wrong number of years (…) I found I went through a stage of quite a bit of drugs, which were initially very, very productive in songwriting, and then there was a back-kick from that where everything dried up. (Walker, 2015)

Neil Finn speaks about writer’s block from the perspective of one who has experienced it multiple times, but learned to trust that the creative way will become clear again in time. Acknowledging his wife Sharon and indicating that she had been witness to his experience, he states;

There’s a certain madness attached to creativity – days when the pathways are blocked and instincts are absent and there’s a kind of selfish, small- minded feelings of cosmic betrayal and a sort of weird entitlement that start to come to the surface. Those days are when endurance and faith are really needed – by faith I mean faith in yourself and your essential difference ultimately and the feeling that inspiration will return if you just keep working. When you’re younger I think, when you dry up and have writer’s block there’s a tendency to think that’s it, it’s all over, because you can’t access those things that seem effortless for a while when you’re young. The first time it happens it’s terrifying, but then by the time you get to my age I realised that it’s going to return at some point (…) I think everyone is creative, wherever their creativity lies, you can actually never lose that completely. It can get buried under the weight of neurosis or whatever it is but it never actually disappears – it’s always accessible(…) I’m not much fun to be around (…) I come downstairs saying ‘There’s not a musical bone in my body!’ and Sharon knows to disappear… (Finn, 2012)

Finn refers to ‘cosmic betrayal’ ironically, acknowledging the oft-cited

Inspirationist or Romanticist perception that creativity comes from elsewhere, having earlier clarified his view that creativity involves practical challenges, effort, guile, and an element of bluff. As a successful songwriter, he can look to a constant stream of peer-approval, audience adulation and industry kudos, for self- assurance. Despite all that, it is remarkable that writer’s block remains an occasional hindrance, even for a Big-C songwriter like Neil Finn.

364

9.7 Bodily-kinesthetic intelligence

This wonderfully explicit quote from 1588 is attributed to ‘Thoinot Arbeau’ or

Father Jean Tabourot;

Dancing is practiced to make manifest whether lovers are in good health and sound in all their limbs, after which it is permitted for them to kiss their mistress, whereby they may perceive if either has an unpleasant breath or exhales a disagreeable odour as of bad meat; so that in addition to divers other merits attendant on dancing, it has become essential for the wellbeing of society. (Tabourot, in Sparshott, 1988, p. 22)

So what does a songwriter need to consider regarding bodily-kinesthetic intelligence, in order to ‘make manifest whether lovers are in good health and sound in all their limbs’, or in the context of this research, respond to expert and audience evaluations in such a way as to move their songwriting from fair, to good, to great?

9.7.1 Real-Time performance

For the performers of songs, be they singers or instrumental musicians, an adequate degree of bodily-kinesthetic skills is a prerequisite. For singer/songwriters who do both simultaneously, perhaps accompanying themselves on the piano or guitar, it is helpful to rehearse the instrumental aspect to the point of automaticity, such that the focus of attention can be on the important vocalisation of the lyric, with appropriate pitch, expression and nuance.

... deep immersion provides extensive opportunities for practising any skills, such as playing the piano, required to create within the domain, which makes them automatic. Automaticity of skills may be necessary for the production of novelty, for example, improvisation of new melodies. (Weisberg, in Sternberg, 1999a, p. 247)

This observation resonates with personal experience as a bass player, as documented 35 years ago, long before notions of flow had been so beautifully described by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. This extract from my 1983 bass tutorial 365

book describes the application of bodily-kinesthetic intelligence in terms of

‘muscular memory’ or tactile practice;

You should work at teaching the fingers and muscles to move the correct distance wherever possible, so that at least if you are in one hand position you can reach all the notes in that hand position without having to look (…) what you are in fact doing is committing these movements to muscular memory. I’d like to point out here that your muscles don’t really know a right note from a wrong one. They only know the movements as you taught them (…) so practise only the correct movements, even if it means playing the exercise at an excruciatingly slow tempo for a while. (C. Harrison, 1983)

In the classical realm, where real-time expression and accurate performance are a priority, and melodic or harmonic improvisation is not, the acquisition of skill- automaticity frees the attention to focus upon nuances of touch, dramatic expression, flow and imagery. In a period in my thirties where I was working on classical piano performance, automaticity of skills was augmented by tuition in what was then referred to, by my teacher Beris Quinn, as multiple memory systems. In order to memorise complex classical works she recommended engaging multiple memory systems, and identified the following memory techniques. The similarity between her teaching approach and Gardner’s MI

Theory are obvious, at least to me;

Aural memory: ‘I know what the music is supposed to sound like’. The mind seems to play in advance the upcoming seconds of the music. This could be a half a second, many seconds or even minutes. This includes upcoming melody, chord tonic, guide tones and a sense of relative modulation if that is about to occur.

Visual memory: ‘I know what the music looks like on the page and on my instrument’. What the chart or score looks like (and the information contained therein) and what your hands (and feet, if you are a drummer or organist) look like. What the shapes and playing surface of your instrument look like.

Intellectual memory: ‘I know what’s in the music technically, mathematically and structurally’. Having studied the piece, or transcribed the chart and the harmony therein, a conceptual understanding of what is ‘going on’, where modulation occurs, substitute chords, suspensions, 366

clichés, patterns and variations etc. This allows the performer to ‘logically- mathematically’ predict the next musical section.

Kinesthetic memory: ‘My body has practiced performing this work and can remember what to do’. The awareness of where the limbs and fingers are placed; the distance of one octave up a single string, the span of a 9th in the left hand on the piano, the feeling in the abdomen when you prepare breath for a long vocal phrase. Often the result of regular training in music fundamentals – scales, exercises and so on (…)

So my process now always includes Listening (Aural aid), Writing a Chart (Intellectual and Visual aid), Preparation (Kinesthetic and Visual – fingerings, hand positions, breaking down tough bits into component parts etc.) and then woodshedding43 (Kinesthetic) the correct performance technique for the piece.

(C. Harrison, 2013d)

While these aural, visual and intellectual techniques inform real-time evaluation and memory, the kinaesthetic technique supplies the automaticity referred to by

Weisberg. However, where Weisberg links automaticity of performance skills to the production of novelty for the purposes of improvisation, for the singer- songwriter, the less challenging ‘non-improvisatory’ task of song accompaniment requires a form of automaticity which allows accurate performance of less technically difficult parts that (to an extent) free the attention for the vocal delivery. A fundamental difference between the live performance of a song and its recorded version is the fact that, as good live performers are acutely aware, a performer can respond in real time to the audience.

Touring with Cold Chisel we were plugged directly into the audience night after night, without the filter of the music industry, so we could see with a lot of immediacy, what people want, and, quite often what people don’t want. In a way that was far more immediate and pungent than anyone in the music industry or radio stations knew. They were not in night-by-night touch with what people wanted to hear; we were. That’s not to say we always played

43 Woodshedding: the act of practicing (for many hours) multiple formulaic figures that fit the complex chord progressions of the jazz repertoire – retiring to some practice space metaphorically described as ‘the woodshed’. 367

what people wanted to hear, but when we didn’t, we certainly found that out, and not by any long, round-about route; it was right in front of us; ‘What you’re playing now is shit’. So then you learn, ‘Don’t do that tomorrow night’ – if you can do some of the other thing - that they really liked. (Walker, 2015)

The audience is predisposed and receptive to performance variation within the existing song structure. In fact, while for some time bands were lauded for sounding exactly like their records, whereas now audiences hope for and expect, added value from the live concert. If the CD or digital recording is something to be enjoyed, the live performance, it is hoped, can provide deeper context, surprise, visual events and other dimensions of engagement with the song. The band is at liberty to experiment, unplug, re-arrange and extend their recorded version, creating an experience (Pine & Gilmore, 1999) at the live concert far beyond the recording and eliciting a worthy water-cooler conversation for the audience, as well as a noteworthy life experience.

9.7.2 Multistage performance

Bodily-kinesthetic skills are required of the songwriter intent on capturing the song elements in a recoding. However, due to the accessibility of multitrack recording systems, each instrumental and vocal element can be performed separately, one at a time, and recorded in layers, greatly lessening the need for automaticity of simultaneous skills. The impact of this separation of skills from the days of ‘live recording’ to the current practice of multi-tracking is accurately described by Burns; ‘songwriting involves mainly the manipulation of textual elements, whereas performing and producing involve mainly the manipulation of other, non-textual elements’ (1987). Burns goes on to identify three elements of song, provided variously by songwriter, performer and producer (1987, p. 2) that parallel in some ways the tripartite typology outlined earlier by Zak. Burns refers

368

to songwriter elements which includes songwriting domain knowledge as taught in institutions, such as lyric, melody, harmony, structure, etc., that is, the elements that the songwriter brings to the table and are included in the song text. The second category, performer elements, including instrumentation, tempo, dynamics, improvisation and accident which are brought to the table by the band and the singer(s). These include sound, editing, mix, balance, distortion and sound effects.

The third of Burns categories is the producer elements, brought to the table by the record producer, engineer and others. As discussed in chapter 1.1.1, my own

(atypical) practice was to take responsibility for all the songwriting elements referred to by Zak and Burns, but for this discussion they are separated, as is more typical in standard songwriter practice.

For songwriters, the performer elements of singing and instrumental performance skills are definitely an asset in the twentieth century. Thistlethwayte, for example, describes how kinesthetic skills have helped him in his songwriting;

They’re mechanical/biological ways of expressing what we want to do, filtered through the use of instruments and our own vocal instrument – you need some kind of physicality to do it, because you need to create sound waves travelling through air. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

It can also be argued that bodily-kinesthetic ability as a singer or performer affects the songwriting output in some genres far more than others. For example, in order to compose songs in the Nashville style, it would be advantageous to have guitar and vocal skills; by contrast, writing in a Hiphop style would require skills in production and vocal performance, and writing soul/funk dance songs may benefit from drum or bass-playing ability and singing. Put simply, singing and instrumental skills need not be prodigious, but as Naylor suggests, they are

369

certainly advantageous in order to accurately express songwriting ideas;

Well just the ability to play an instrument, for a start, and the ability to be able to hear a melody in my head and to be able to pick up a guitar and or even a piano and find that melody (…) if I didn’t have that I would find that very difficult. I think the only way you could write without that would be to sing into a recorder (…) I don’t consider myself a very good singer but (…) I can cut a demo, roughly, and then to be able to convey that to someone else in a rough form. (Naylor, 2015)

9.7.3 Entrainment, Beat Induction, and Corporeal Appropriation

When you play rhythms, you’d better play them strongly, with good old predictable, agreeable time, because there’s an audience there wanting to predict it, and wanting to be ‘right’. That doesn’t mean you can’t surprise the audience with a change of rhythm every now and then; it just means that before and after the surprise they should be able to predict comfortably the fall of beats. (C. Harrison, 1983)

Humans engage with the rhythm of songs through the process of entrainment, a bio-musicological term which, in the songwriting sense, refers to the synchronization of the listener to an external rhythm, such as dancing or tapping the feet. Beat induction is ‘the cognitive skill that allows us to hear a regular pulse in music to which we can then synchronize’ (Honing, 2012). Put simply, listeners try to predict accurately the beat, move their bodies to the pulse, and immerse themselves thereby, in the music. In short, they dance;

As long as there are rock bands, there will still be large amplifiers, because it is a very physical type of music. It requires that you shake people’s nervous systems around. It requires that they feel the bass drum coming through the floorboards to make them dance; it’s that type of feeling. (C. Harrison, 1979)

In Music, Language, and the Brain, neuroscientist Ani Patel refers to it as ‘beat- based rhythm processing’ (2007, pp. 402–415). Unlike some other animal species, human hearts and bodies tend to synchronise with the musical pulse, and we can

370

cognitively induce when the next beat will occur. This ability to predict the regularity of the up-coming pulse, anticipating it, allows us to participate with our bodies, and be rewarded for successfully moving to its pulse, and to that end,

‘having a good sense of time merely gives you all a common reference point by which to play together’ (C. Harrison, 1983).

There are many things about this process that songwriters would find useful. For example, the human heart beats between 60-80 beats-per-minute (BPM) when we are resting, and over 150 BPM when we are undergoing vigorous sport, work, or dancing. Dance music is often in the 130-140 BPM range. Heavy Metal is ‘heavier’ than Speed Metal simply due to the much slower tempo, and songs that contemplate love, relationships, and emotion usually reflect a reasonably relaxed but thoughtful state of approximately 70 to 90 BPM. Between 90 and 130 BPM are tempo ranges that are flexible and sit between sensual, active, different dance styles such as narrative, country, for example;

In playing a rhythm your purpose may be to bring about a participation from the listener. You’re trying to get them to feel the rhythm themselves. If they can feel it themselves, then they’ll start to be able to predict the pulse of the music, and once they start to accurately predict the pulse, then they have begun to participate. In predicting the pulse of the music, what they’re trying to do is AGREE with you, they want to agree as to when the next beat will fall. When you have a whole band (…) playing good rhythm, (…) the waitresses will start bopping along as they walk, people start hitting spoons on tables, feet start tapping… lots of agreement. But in order to achieve that the band has first to agree. (C. Harrison, 1983)

9.7.4 Immersion vs. Insertion

While Middleton uses the term corporeal appropriation in his book Studying

Popular Music (1990, p. 97), these factors of tempo, entrainment, beat induction and rhythmic groove, support a perspective where a distinction is made between

371

songs that invite immersion, and songs that invite insertion, that is to describe the activity of allowing oneself to become physically immersed or inserted into the groove;

Phil Spector’s ‘wall of sound’ invites the listener to immerse himself in the quasi-Wagnerian mass of sound (…) this can be contrasted with the open spaces and more equal lines of typical funk and reggae textures, which seem to invite the listener to insert himself in those spaces and actively participate. (Middleton, 1990, p. 89)

In the ‘wall of sound’ model, with the placement of the lead vocal as a foreground to the balanced, blended background, Middleton suggests that the listener is immersed. In the funk or reggae models, the listener is inserted. That choice of verb is revealing. The former models are typically, so musically dense that the listener becomes immersed in the over-whelming arrangements and participates passively, swept away by a textural tidal wave. The latter forms, however, leave rhythmic gaps of syncopation, and some sonic room for the singer or listener to insert themselves, and actively participate, in the mid- and back-grounds of the more open arrangements of funk and reggae. The resultant engagement is equally compelling, and represents the kind of audience preference easily identified by performing band musicians who observe audience responses on the dance-floor.

Extracted from a tongue-in-cheek, ‘mockumentary-style’ blog, the following describes a mating ritual of sorts, performed in a cover-band dance environment;

After the band has played the obligatory sophisticated and slightly challenging instrumental piece or two, it graduates selection into non- threatening, slightly romantic gentle soft pop/rock songs that invite moderate participation. The females, once settled, select one that pleases them, and proceed to the dance-floor, usually in a group of three, smile coyly at the band (they may need a powerful ally later in the evening if things get nasty on the dance floor and bouncers are needed) and dance, laugh and preen in a circle around their handbags (…) [Later] The band, sensing critical mass approaching, introduces some male-friendly (or androgynously tempo-ed) songs into the set-list. Males prefer slower tempi, with 8th-note, rather than 16th note feels, to dance to. Perhaps it is due to 372

their greater bodyweight and a limb mass that resonates slower than the female, who is shorter, lighter and quicker on her feet. (C. Harrison, 2013a)

Popular song is inextricably linked to popular dance styles, and apart from the gender preferences just described, song tempi, groove, orchestration, syncopation, density, weight, and momentum all contribute to the song’s perceived value on the dance floor. In Western popular music culture, songs are not just for listening; ears are for listening, voices are for singing, and feet are for dancing, and sound pressure levels in dance clubs are high for a reason - the louder the music and particularly the beat, the easier it is to appropriate it into our bodies. To the contemporary dancer, it is not enough to tap one’s foot lightly in polite appreciation. We, as dancers, want to be immersed in the rhythmic assault, to pound our ribs, overwhelm our nervous system, shell-shock our ears and numb our inhibitions while we scream the lyrics with our friends in a cacophonic, chaotic celebration of having completed another disappointing or tiresome week in the office, university or factory.

9.8 Logical-mathematical intelligence

9.8.1 Logic and Maths in Songwriting Practice

The advent of personal computers and Digital Audio Workstations has changed the songwriting landscape and highlighted the need for a developed logical- mathematical capacity in order that the conceptual physics and mathematics of sound, pitch, audio, acoustics, and music may be logically addressed and marshalled into a recording. To that end, it is expedient to apply systematic methodology to the post-inspirational process of capturing the ephemeral

373

elements that arrive into consciousness after a hypnogogic reverie (Bastick, 1982) in a recording, and presenting it to the world in an appropriate structure and form of contemporary media.

Logic and mathematical capacities are useful to the songwriter in a wide range of activities during the songwriting process. They are useful in understanding and applying melodic, harmonic and rhythmic theory, wherein melody is derived from a twelve-tone octave and tertial harmony which provides a basis for creating chords through third-stacking. They are useful where intellectual memory is applied as a performance aid, in using computer programs for song production, in the application of thematic development and sequential patterns in melody. They are useful for understanding the logarithmic nature of pitch, and volume, the physics of the harmonic series, acoustics, and electronics as well as rhythm, where bars are divided into 8, 12, and 16 rhythmic subdivisions, and those subdivisions themselves divided into halves or thirds, commonly. They are useful in exploring song procedures, that is, patterns of structure, harmonic cadences and melodic resolutions that have a culturally accepted form and, finally, in problem solving connected to all the above. An additional element, that is, the use of repetition, diminution, augmentation in lyric deployment is also worth special mention.

While such devices are commonplace in lyric constructions such as the following augmentation; ‘I can’t, I can’t stand losing (…) I can’t stand losing you’ (Sumner,

1978), Euro-classical devices such as retrograde, inversion, tone-row and other

‘mathematical’ composition devices are conspicuous by their absence in popular songwriting. It is posited that in order to be accepted by the field of contemporary 374

song, melodies are expected to be memorable, singable and inclusive, rather than academically challenging and exclusive. It should be stated, however, that one can find plentiful examples of lyric repetition, diminution and augmentation, but deliberate retrograde, inversion and tone-row explorations of melody seem not to be part of the popular songwriter’s toolkit, most likely because songwriters rely on informal aural immersion in the domain, rather than formal institutional academic study of technique. The contemporary popular music field has made it clear by their selection over the last century that excessively complex or abstract melodic, rhythmic and harmonic designs are largely considered inappropriate and unlikely to be widely embraced by the listening public.

9.8.2 Problem-solving

The creative pursuit of songwriting presents problems that may be ill-defined or lacking in specificity, with goals and operators that are not pre-specified, and that admit multiple ‘good enough’ solutions, rather than one ‘correct’ answer (H. A.

Simon, 1981)cited in (Kaufman & Sternberg, 2010, p. 33);

Anyone who decides to become an artist of any sort, makes a commitment to produce a body of original work in that field; (…) the artist is trying to solve the problem of what to do next. (Martindale, in Weisberg, 1993, p. 251)

To the working songwriter, mathematical perspectives may be subliminal, integrated at the below-conscious level and embedded as part of the habitus of the songwriter rather than consciously and overtly considered during songwriting process itself. However, mathematical patterns profoundly influence songwriting choices. For example, Naylor describes an awareness of the decision, based on immersion in the domain, to satisfy a musical ‘hunch’ that suggests the breaking of a formal music theory ‘rule’ may be productive, novel and useful;

375

I’ll be going for a melody or a change and something in the back of my head is saying ‘This shouldn’t work’ because there is a formula involved here and I’ve just broken the formula (laughs), but then sometimes there’s someone on the other shoulder saying ‘Go for it’, and the mathematical side – I try not to think about it; sometimes I come back and try to analyse later and say ‘No, well I’m really going to have to change that, because it’s not going to work – there’s something better’. (Naylor, 2015)

The discriminant pattern-recognition (see Ch 8.7) of harmonic, melodic, metric and compositional patterns are significant elements of logical-mathematical skills;

There is no doubt that individuals who are mathematically talented often show an interest in music. I think that this linkage occurs because mathematicians are interested in patterns, and music offers itself as a gold mine of harmonic, metric and compositional patterns. (Gardner, 2006, p. 74,75)

Beyond merely recognizing patterns (what), music–making and song creation require deep immersion and understanding of genre-appropriate norms (who, where and when) as well as an immersion in the symbol systems, musical principles, concepts and procedures (why). The following advice from 1983 regarding the acquisition of domain expertise, directed (at the time) at instrumental performance practice, is transferable and relevant to this discussion of songwriting practice;

…it’s one thing to learn a line, lick, melody or whatever on the bass. It’s another thing again to know why it works, and why the guy who first played it chose those particular notes. That’s where study of scales, modes, harmony etc. comes in. If you want to be able to make up your own lines, creative, interesting and effective lines, you’ll need at least to have a basic knowledge of why things work. So get a music dictionary and all the books on the subject you can lay your hands on and find out the reasons behind all those favourite lines of yours. If they sound good and strong, they they’re probably based upon sound logic. (C. Harrison, 1983)

9.9 Spatial-visual intelligence

Two applications of visual-spatial intelligences have been covered already. These

376

are the visual memory systems engaged in the playing of instruments and visual- spatial lyric references used to evoke images in the listener’s mind. For songwriters, spatial and visual capacities are less to do with being able to draw, sculpt or paint, and more to do with the aural space created in the mix to suggest the virtual placement of instruments and voices as well as the temporal space incorporating the rhythm, tempo, meter and groove. In addition, an architectural notion of space within the recorded artefact is important in the form of the sectional and structural design of the song, including the visual representation of performance instructions on a chart or score. As such, we can consider three spatial factors in the recording of the song artefact; architectural, aural and temporal space.

9.9.1 Architectural Space

Thistlethwayte uses a ‘luggage in a room’ metaphor to describe song architecture;

…it’s more like rooms, and luggage in a room (…) the different parts of the song are like a bunch of different rooms that you can walk into and build a little house (…) and making one section different (…) to kind of interior decorate all those rooms in their own way, but it still works under the one roof… there’s a ‘blockiness’ and ‘boxiness’ to houses and there’s also a ‘blockiness’ and ‘boxiness’ that can happen with songs. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

This architectural design metaphor is supported by Grammy-award-winning songwriter Jimmy Webb, where walls are represented by lines and song sections, and structural elements such as verses, choruses etc. are the virtual ‘rooms’ of the song (Webb, 1999, Chapter 4). As Thistlethwayte states, the songwriting target may be a particular sound (aurally visualized) or may be a visual or pictorial scenario (spatial-visual);

I sort of have a target in my head… maybe I have some weird, like, dream of where this song is going to end up… and you’ve got to dream it into a sonic

377

reality, really. So if there’s that kind of weird scene in my head of maybe an end product… it might be me singing it on stage, it might be the music video for it, just picturing how joyful it’s gonna be to hear the finished version of it… and so you just kind of chase that. (Thistlethwayte, 2015)

9.9.2 Aural Space

Spatial-visual capacity is brought into play when considering the aural space created in the production and mixing of a song recording. Panning across the stereo image, that is, the placement of sounds across the width of a mix created by the sonic landscape, creates an impression or image of width;

I’m not very good at painting, or drawing, as such, but I can visualise things (…) I can imagine something in an image, and referring to mixing, (…) it’s almost like I’m seeing the instrument on a stage, or if I say close my eyes I’ve put the arpeggiated guitar slightly to the right and I’m actually seeing the guitar when I’m doing that, it’s not just hearing it, and if I change the position of it it’s like I see it take a couple of steps (laughs) across. (Naylor, 2015)

To that description, I would offer that depth or density could be considered a

‘second dimension.’ Listeners perceive not only left and right images but also a sense of how far away elements are, and how ‘thick’ the combination is. Continuing the metaphor, a view of the various note pitches and the frequency range of audio perceived can be considered as ‘vertically’ represented giving a ‘third’ spatial dimension. If such a notion as a fourth dimension can be tolerated, one could add that recordings have embedded another aspect which is volume. Notions of crescendo, diminuendo, loudness, absolute volume, compression, limiting, fade-ins, fade-outs, breakdowns, dips, beat-drops and outros all reference a change of experienced volume, and dramatically and powerfully contribute to the heard artefact.

9.9.3 Temporal Space

Finally, and arguably extending the metaphor to breaking point, is the notion of 378

temporal space. Music, like dance, is a time-based art form, and all ‘four’ dimensions described above, that is, width, depth, height, and volume, are subject to variations over time. Spatial relationships in the songwriting field can be thought of then, in five dimensions; pitch (height), panning (width), reverb placement (depth), volume (power, density), and time. Applying the first three dimensions of Euclidean space is not new –3D imagery is often used in the field of sound mixing – and certainly volume is a major consideration for the mix engineer and the composer. From a fourth dimensional point of view, volume is separate in this model from height, width and depth. Perhaps the sound engineer may consider volume to represent height, and pitch to be the fourth element, but personal experience as a songwriter and my sense of what is common amongst composers, is that overall and individual volume considerations come relatively late in the song recording procedure.

The fifth element, time, has significance in multiple ways. This significance occurs in the length of the song, the pace of tempo at which the song and its lyrics are

‘delivered’, and the temporal relationships within the song as well as all of those considerations of rhythm, groove, and feel so important to the engagement of the listener. During the songwriting procedure temporal considerations exert their influence in the early stages, sometimes even before lyrics, melody and harmony are considered, as a groove template is established to lay a rhythmic foundation for lyric and harmony development. In that scenario, the songwriter’s spatial focus might be time (groove), then lyric writing, followed by height (melody and harmony) in order to create a simple demo recording. Once the rhythmic groove, lyrics (linguistic intelligence) melody and harmony (musical intelligence) have 379

been recorded, reverb (depth) panning (width) and volume can be manipulated to create a demo ‘mix’, as described by McIntyre;

Mixing is the blending of various sounds into a cohesive combination that satisfies various musical, sonic, technical, commercial and personal criteria. It involves, amongst many other things, volume balancing, creating relationships in three dimensional sonic space through the judicious use of panning and use of effects such as delay and reverb, equalising various components of the mix to have them sit comfortably within the audio spectrum. (McIntyre, 2007b)

9.9.4 Five Dimensions

Figure 13 - Mixing in Five Dimensions

Within the three-dimensional pitch/reverb/panning model seen directly above we can place all the height, or pitch elements (melody, harmony) on the vertical axis, the panning positioning of the instruments ‘across the stage’ along the horizontal axis of width, and the distance from the listener (foreground, mid-ground and background depth) is controlled by reverb (and similar sonic treatments). Those three dimensions can then be meta-controlled by overall volume, which adds to the perception of aural distance, perceived power, and sonic density. Finally, all these elements may vary across a ‘fifth dimension’ – that of time; referring to song tempo, metre, groove, rhythm, and overall structure. I would note however, that the notion of ‘mixing in five dimensions’ presented here is not a recommendation

380

to be adopted by recording engineers. It is simply a model based on professional practice for highlighting the architectural and temporal nature of song recording and mixing, that is, another ‘useful fiction’ for analysis.

9.10 The 8 Capacities in Songwriting

At various stages in the songwriting process, then, songwriters may use all eight multiple intelligences described by Gardner;

Table 7 – Eight Capacities in Songwriting

Example Symbol Elements Activities Systems Writing, singing Letters, words, Elements of syntax, semantics, Linguistic- lyrics, phrases, stanzas, phonology, function, rhyme, Verbal communicating articulation marks, argot and conversational with musicians graphics language Subdividing a Wave forms, circuits, Elements of song creation and Logical- meter into 16th flow charts, graphics, recording -pitch relationships, Mathematical notes icons, graphs, mind physics, acoustics, electronics maps. and computing Leaping an octave. Music notation, Bar Temporal space , time, groove, Panning charts, graphics, icons rhythm, volume, pitch, panning Spatial-Visual instruments Count depth time Play in sync. Recognising Music Notation, Techniques of melody, pitches, singing in Tablature, Chord harmony, structure, lyrics, Musical-Aural tune, analysis charts arranging, recording and style chords, motifs Using muscular Fingerboard charts, Conducting, instrumental and Bodily- memory for piano graphics, conducting vocal performance of melodic, Kinesthetic or drum gestures, visual cues harmonic and rhythmic performance elements Playing in tune, in Charts, Lead sheets, Collaborative relationships with time, and Lyric sheets, co-writers, performers, support Interpersonal stylistically with spreadsheets, icons, staff, colleagues and audience others graphics, mind maps ‘Feeling’ a rhythmic Progress signposts, Metacognitive, creative, groove, managing goal images, creative intuitive thought of the Intrapersonal mental state for triggers, mental individual songwriter - creating images management of self

Listening for style, Structural notation, Hierarchies, antecedents, recognising the written word, song evolution, Chord Naturalistic similarities, DAW screen-shots patterns, melody patterns, patterns and structures procedures

381

In his summary of the domain-appropriate skills acquisition of the songwriter,

McIntyre includes; poetic skills (formal education), instrumental music lessons

(compulsory schooling), private tuition (semi-formal), learning songs (as part of learning an instrument, and for performance, access to peer information, ad-hoc mentoring, oral transmission of domain knowledge, familial influence, and access to popular culture transmissions (2003, p. 168). Such diverse immersion in the domain exemplifies the need for an inclusive view of domain acquisition, one that acknowledges informal, oral traditions as well as more formal music and literary education. Clearly, a multiple intelligence approach is likely to facilitate such an educational approach.

Within the realm of songwriting, the application of Gardner’s ‘useful fiction’ identifies the various capacities desirable for the task. At first, musical-aural and linguistic-verbal skills are highly relevant and necessary, in order to simply create basic songs of the little-c creative variety by combining words with music. From that naïve and limited songwriting capacity, and as skills in other intelligences come into play, songwriting creativity develops along the continuum toward Pro-C creativity, where the field and domain see some value, novelty and even some non- obviousness. Inculcation by the Pro-C songwriter in the domain of song provides the necessary distinctions and expertise to apply the logical-mathematical skills of chord theory, recording, and composition, and as instrumental and/or vocal performance skills blossom through directed practice, (bodily-kinesthetic capacity), greater authenticity of voice and style can be achieved. At this Pro-C stage the songwriter is competent and can be productive within the industry, 382

producing song artefacts that are useful and novel enough to fit the forward incrementation model of song development.

Those songwriters with particularly well-developed interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalistic capacities now come to the fore, selected by the field (endorsed by experts and widely embraced by the mass audience) for their ability to reflect specifically and consistently what is valued, novel and non-obvious to the audience. Songs that capture the imagination of a ravenous listening audience, always on the alert for sounds and emotions that are current, expressed in the latest sonic texture and in musical and lyrical language appropriate for the genre, are devoured enthusiastically. For those songwriters who have, through studious immersion, made the necessary distinctions, using intrapersonal and metacognitive capacities, to provide exactly the right elements of emotional lyric content (interpersonal capacity) and musical-aural texture, the rewards are often disproportionately high. In the pop realm, enormous commercial and symbolic capital can be generated, such as royalties, awards and performance fees. In the indie/alternate realm, cultural capital is more often the desirable outcome and comes in the form of devoted fans, respect, acceptance as ‘authentic’ and an engagement with community.

9.11 An Unexpected Conclusion

This last observation draws this research to an unexpected conclusion for this researcher. On first view of MI theory some years ago, the songwriter’s capacity for naturalistic intelligence, described by Gardner in Darwinian/evolutionary terms,

383

seemed remote and possibly irrelevant to the research questions. The previous two paragraphs summarise elements of songwriting development from little-c to

Pro-C creativity that are quite achievable through formal instruction and study, but in attempting to answer the question of moving from Pro-C to Big-C creativity, there is an important role for naturalistic intelligence. The idiosyncratic perspective of the Big-C songwriter utilises a capacity far beyond that of the everyday songwriter in observing and applying nuances of style, technique and habitus unnoticed or missed completely by the lesser songwriter. The best songwriters, it would seem, listen better, notice differently, and document their unique perspectives in song, better than those around them (see Ch 7.2). It is likely that a form of fruitful asynchrony is at work here, a varied background, a slightly off-kilter point-of-view, a disadvantageous or unusually advantageous upbringing, or, as discussed earlier, some form of interdisciplinary skills-transfer across unrelated domains.

Furthermore, the acquisition of such highly specific and elusive domain knowledge is unlikely to come in the classroom formally. It is most often achieved in two ways.

Firstly, by prolific songwriting, testing those songs on audiences, observing reactions, and writing new songs for subsequent testing, and secondly, through studious listening to songs that have been already accepted into the domain as worthy by the field and by observing what appears to work and considering the potential generalities that may exist. Both require the songwriter to actively participate outside the classroom – in the field itself. Whereas formal music and songwriting education may filter domain knowledge into a form of intense, focused and specific curriculum, socialisation in the field is also necessary. Attending live 384

concerts, purchasing and studying multiple texts, that is, large numbers of song recordings, engaging in live performance where audience response is immediate, and actually writing, recording and distributing multiple song artefacts, all contribute subtle, observable distinctions that may prove invaluable to moving along the creativity continuum. Naturalistic intelligence capacity then, is neither remote nor irrelevant to the songwriter. It is vital to domain acquisition, relevant at every turn to artefact evaluation, and a powerful differentiator between moderate and outstanding songwriting outcomes. Significantly, this type of domain acquisition relies for its development largely on self-directed, informal immersion in the sub-culture and is not normally included in formal music education.

9.12 Summary

Chapter 9 brought the eight intelligences of Gardner’s useful construct into the songwriting realm and integrated it within a systemic view of creativity, as defined by Csikszentmihalyi. Musical-aural, linguistic-verbal, bodily-kinesthetic might be considered self-evident as capacities necessary for songwriting, where it can be said music, lyrics and performance intersect. A little less obvious perhaps are logical mathematical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal capacities, however considering the logic of recording platforms, the mathematics of western music traditions, interpersonal relationships with the field and the fact that so much of lyric writing is concerned with interpersonal relationships and/or intimate personal feelings, it is clear that the songwriter is engaging in those intelligences deeply and often. Naturalistic capacities – to discerns species and patterns in nature, was, for this researcher, initially deemed less important, however on

385

investigation it was discovered that the discriminant pattern recognition and species-awareness of expert songwriters is a significant contributing factor to their success; without the expert awareness of the subtle differences between nuanced songwriting choices and the ever-changing appetite of audiences, those Big-C songwriters would most likely have missed the mark (as they all occasionally may do).

The next and final chapter summarises the distinctions arrived at from the preceding chapters, draws conclusions from them, and presents some potential topics for further research

386

10.0 Conclusions and Further Research

This final chapter reviews the research path and highlights significant findings, discussions and conclusions. In seeking answers to the research question posed,

‘How do songwriters go from fair, to good, to great?’, its similarity and relevance to the little-c, Pro-C and Big-C creativity favoured by Kaufman and Beghetto (2009), was immediately recognised and identified as a useful construct to focus research.

A combination of insider, depth-perspective knowledge and experience, crystallised by specific interviews with carefully selected subjects, and analysis of song artefacts, diaries, field notes, blogs and other records, has been employed to reveal what songwriters do creatively when they sit down to write songs. The value in the analytic autoethnographic approach used here is that while it deliberately avoids evocative subjectivism as much as is possible, the observations, generalisations and conclusions will always be qualitative and falsifiable. Therein lies the value; the unique, insider perspective has been described as accurately and analytically as possible in order to inform debate and discussion. This research perspective has then been applied specifically to the domain of contemporary

Western songwriting.

Pivotal to this discussion have been Gardner’s construct, ‘Multiple Intelligence theory’, Sternberg’s ‘Creative Propulsion Theory’, Bourdieu’s notions of ‘habitus’ and arenas of contestation, and Csikszentmihalyi’s ‘Systems’ Model of Creativity’ – together they form a confluence of thinking and are useful additions to the understanding of songwriters, songwriting process, creativity and divergent thinking framed in answer to the question, ‘how do songwriters go from fair, to

387

good, to great?’.

Of the various creative process models discussed, Sawyer’s five stage model ’seems to fit’ most seamlessly; Preparation, Incubation, Insight, Elaboration and finally,

Validation, and it is noted that the process is recursive, with evaluation occurring at every stage, based on the habitus of the songwriter. Confirming the myth of

Romanticist views of creativity, one does not need to be living poorly to write songs of value. The archetypal pseudo-neurotic, genius-creative, drug-addled, dead-at-27 songwriter is a myth, perpetuated by media, the industry, and to an extent, the songwriters themselves.

It is argued that applying a rationalist view to creativity, rather than that of an inspirationist or romanticist, is the only functional way for songwriting educators to proceed and for songwriters, two stages are significant to the divergent thinking discussion. Firstly, the research highlights the need for just-below-conscious incubation of ideas, the potential for divergent thinking, and some time away from the problem with mild distraction to occupy the attention somewhat. Secondly, insight, where multiple small ‘aha’ moments may combine, sometimes during hypnogogic reverie, to propel the creative act toward completion or realisation, is important.

10.1 Sociocultural Aspects of Songwriting

Within the broadest cultural realm, and through the varied creativity definitions and process models presented by scholars, songwriting resides as a small but

388

influential sub-domain of popular culture. From McIntyre’s (2003, p. 228) synthesis of theorists Csikszentmihalyi, Bourdieu, and Negus, the most valuable lessons in this discussion for the songwriter are the following perspectives, all specifically directed at the research question, ‘How do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’. Simply writing songs is necessary but not sufficient.

Distribution and access to the domain and the field are vital. That we write songs having absorbed the song culture of the time, and cannot avoid having been influenced in our songwriting decisions in a profound way is crucial to understand.

What is also significant is the idea that in order for a song to become part of the domain it must be deemed worthy by the filter of the music industry, and that the

Romantic paradigm of the songwriter as being a completely independent creative agent is a myth. What is vital to understand is that songwriters act within a songwriting system of creativity where agency and structure are interdependent.

The synchronous performance by band members at the recording stage, and the addition of motifs, musical ‘hooks’ and rhythmic context for the lyrics, has the potential to add substantially to the song’s perceived authenticity, appropriateness of style, and increases the likelihood of validation by the field experts as worthy of inclusion in the field-based aspects of the domain. Furthermore, Becker’s Art

Worlds reminds us that within the song recording world, engineers, producers and other creative agents contribute to the song outcome and its potential for success in the mass-based aspect of the domain. As McIntyre highlights and this research confirms, the distribution of power in the studio based on Bourdieu’s notions of social, economic, cultural and symbolic capital is also a handy aid in understanding the operation of the songwriting field.

389

10.2 Domain Acquisition

By developing the habitus of the songwriter, consisting of those skills, techniques, concepts and procedures necessary for appropriate lyric, melody, harmony, rhythm, texture and style, and the language, terminology and notation of songwriters, quality song artefacts that satisfy the field of experts and audiences are more likely to be consistently created, i.e, increasing the likelihood of moving from fair, to good, to great. Notation skills, the ability to write chord charts, scores and lead sheets, are not essential to the songwriter, but are highly valuable as a means of controlling performance elements and degrees of player interpretation on the live stage and in the studio. The specific nomenclature and language of songwriters is geographically and historically inconsistent, changing generationally with conversational speech. As a result, it behoves songwriters to establish a common and contemporary argot for use, discussion, interaction and education.

10.3 MI Theory

In multiple intelligence theory, Gardner presents a useful tool for songwriting practitioners that is especially geared to redress some of the imbalance of a general intelligence or ‘g’ based education system. The ‘eight intelligences’ view represent a construct for examining alternative songwriting practice relevant to the transfer of songwriting domain knowledge, and this autoethnographic study confirms the confluence of MI theory with creativity, and specifically songwriting, within the cultural milieu. It should be noted that multiple intelligence theory takes a cognitive view of creativity, and is based on the individual node as situated

390

within the systems model that includes two other nodes, domain and field. Prior research in the field has not specifically drawn together these notions, nor examined how they might inform songwriting practice and its related andragogy.

This research has uncovered the following distinctions: at various stages in the songwriting process, songwriters may use all eight multiple intelligences to move along the continuum from fair, to good, to great; musical-aural and linguistic- verbal skills are prerequisite capacities; inculcation in the songwriting domain provides the necessary distinctions and expertise to apply the logical- mathematical skills of chord theory, recording, and composition; consideration of three spatial factors in the recording of the song artefact - architectural, aural and temporal space - provides a useful ‘fiction’ to conceptualize this process; greater authenticity of voice and style can be achieved as instrumental and/or vocal performance skills (bodily-kinesthetic capacity) blossom through directed practice; those songwriters with well-developed interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalistic capacities are highly valued and more likely to be selected by the field

(experts and audiences) for their ability to reflect specifically and consistently what is valued, novel and non-obvious to the audience.

10.4 Naturalistic Intelligence

The capacity of songwriters to correctly identify and reproduce accurate song

‘species’ correlates with Gardner’s eighth naturalistic intelligence. Songs survive or become extinct based on the field’s evaluation and a Darwinesque survival of the fittest is at play based upon whether or not the ‘field’ accepts the song artefact as a worthy inclusion in the domain. Songwriting based upon deep immersion in a

391

specific song style has a tendency to garner industry support, as the field recognises the near-analogous nature of the song, and embrace the Forward

Incrementation proposed by Sternberg, Kaufman and Pretz. Song artefacts whose lineage and style are clear are more popular in commercial markets than those that are not, conversely, those artefacts whose lineage and style are obscure are more popular in avant-garde and local markets than those whose target market is obvious. As described earlier by Thistlethwayte, a heightened awareness of song lineage and antecedents is common, but it is desirable to use those earlier works as inspiration for exploration, rather than merely copying. For Pro-C songwriter

Connors, the experienced professional can deconstruct their works post-hoc, and recognise influences, but what is valued is the unaccountable and personal choices they have made based on their own adeptus;

On recognising song lineage and antecedents: I listen to my work and I can pull it apart and say that’s rather Newman-esque; that’s sort of Prine-ish – because I do listen intently to those people (…) but once again it’s after-the- fact (…), the seed that starts, can be so remote from the final outcome, and it can be so circuitous to get to that point (…) I can now, deconstruct the cathedral, there’s no doubt about it, but there’s no way I could tell you where the cornerstone came from. (Connors, 2015)

As the songwriter endeavours to move from fair, to good, to great, choices regarding propulsion styles will need to be made based on the desired creative outcome, that is, whether the paradigm is to be challenged or not, and to what degree incrementation is applied, if at all. Fundamental to this choice is discriminant pattern recognition as to what the field deems worthy.

10.5 Expert Variation and Selective Retention

It is suggested that the capacity to be creative, that is come up with valuable, useful

392

and non-obvious solutions, and use divergent thinking is available to anyone, and that ‘highly creative’ persons simply direct their attention toward remote- analogies more freely and successfully than ‘less creative’ persons, who, for one reason or another, seek near-analogies as a matter of habit. A willingness to test, explore and embrace blind variation and selective retention (BVSR) is implied where song possibilities include trial and error, randomised choices, unlikely solutions to songwriting ‘problems’ and risk-taking. Following Weisberg, who proposes a ‘continuum between expert-based creativity and BVSR, with the important dimension being the depth of knowledge that the individual brings to the situation’ (Hass & Weisberg, 2015, p. 471), it is suggested that a highly skilled, deeply immersed songwriter might apply their unique habitus to use a form of

‘expert’ variation and selective retention (I would posit the acronym EVSR) where experience allows a form of discriminant pattern recognition unavailable to lesser songwriters. From this informed EVSR perspective, trial and error, risk-taking and solution-seeking is much more likely to be successful than the random choices of a novice whose variations are ‘blind’.

10.6 Moving from Fair, to Good, To Great

The confluent application of a songwriting methodology that embraces the systems model of creativity (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988), maximises those capacities of multiple intelligence as are available (Gardner, 1983), exploits one’s preferred thinking styles (Sternberg, 1994a), and maintains both intrinsic and extrinsic motivations (Amabile et al., 1994) is likely to be highly productive. Furthermore, it is desirable to acquire a high level of expertise or domain immersion beyond that

393

of others, allowing distinctions to be made that others would miss, or fail to recognise as significant to acceptance by the field and inclusion in the domain.

These creatives will make exceptional choices based on ‘intuition’ i.e. ‘feelings of warmth’ as to the solutions most likely to produce novel and useful variations within the domain, apply songwriting techniques hitherto undocumented in songwriting texts (C. Harrison, 2012d; Middleton, 1990; Moore, 2003; Tagg, 2009) and apply the dogged persistence, determination, focus, application, and other attributes described as attributes of the creative personality (Boden, 1996;

Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi, 1991; Gardner, 1993).

Six prerequisite capacities for precipitating the shift from Pro-C to Big-C creativity are suggested:

1) Polymath or Field-switching - having expertise in multiple disciplines is a fruitfully asynchronous factor that stimulates the creative person to explore propulsions that move away from where the field is now. Polymaths or field- switchers are more likely to make distinctions that other, less expert, less inter- disciplined people cannot;

2) Metacognition - Big-C creativity requires a capacity for higher order thinking skills. These include: analysis, evaluation and creation; the inductive capacity to hypothesise; and the resources (including time) to test for validity and reliability;

3) Discriminant Pattern Recognition - the capacity, in an evolutionary sense, to recognise similar species across domains and possess the powers of differentiation, observation and evaluation enough to make informed distinctions that others cannot see, and to connect not just near-analogous patterns, but remotely analogous ones, like Kekulé’s snakes (Koestler, 1963, p. 118); 394

4) Fruitful Asynchrony - an asynchronous perspective that challenges the current paradigms. In order to be Big-C creative, one would need to make distinctions differently to others in the domain, in order to create differently; and

5) Productivity – As Sawyer states (chapter 7.3.7.1) have a lot of ideas, and then just get rid of the bad ones’. By creating multiple artefacts, one maximises one’s chances for one or more to be deemed novel and useful, i.e. creative.

6) Risk - a willingness to explore possibilities without fear of failure. A successful

Pro-C songwriter might be simply unwilling to take paradigm-challenging risks.

A further distinction should be made regarding high productivity. Sawyer’s notion that the production of truly significant works can be correlated with high productivity creators, does not however also insist that such truly significant works constitute domain-changing or paradigm-shifting works. They may simply be truly significant as representative of creative output of the highest order in that domain, that is, the best version, product, or idea based upon the collective evaluation of the field. That evaluation is entirely possible and available to the Pro-

C creator who does not necessarily set out to change the domain, and whose works follow the forward incrementation of someone who is content with the state of the domain and has no need to shift it. For example, Grammy award-winning Swedish producer and songwriter Max Martin springs to mind. His song artefacts have not shifted the domain of mainstream pop per se, but he has certainly produced many significant works amongst his 54 top ten hits and 19 number ones.

That being the case, and as discussed in Harrison (2016), perhaps it can be said that Big-C creativity is in fact a subset of Pro-C creativity, that is, excellent, 395

significant works that happen to change the domain or shift the paradigm, rather than incrementally move it forward. If the research question ‘how do songwriters move from fair, to good, to great?’ is expressed in Pro-C and Big-C terms as ‘what moves the songwriter along the continuum from Pro-C creativity into the realm of domain-changing or paradigm-shifting, Big-C creativity?’ it would appear that the question itself is misleading. It implies a hierarchy where the highest goal of the songwriter should be to change the domain, and that Big-C is somehow greater than excellent Pro-C creativity, when that implication may not necessarily be true.

It is just a paradigm-shifting version of Pro-C.

The idiosyncratic depth perspective of the Big-C songwriter appears to utilise a capacity far beyond that of the everyday songwriter in observing and applying nuances of style, technique and habitus unnoticed or missed completely by the lesser songwriter. The best songwriters, it would seem, listen better, notice differently, and document their unique perspectives in song, better than those around them. It is likely that a form of fruitful asynchrony is at work here, a varied background, a slightly off-kilter point-of-view, a disadvantageous or unusually advantageous upbringing, or, as discussed earlier, some form of interdisciplinary skills-transfer across unrelated domains.

10.7 Adeptus and its Acquisition

Adept: expert, skilful, nimble-fingered, capable, polished, professional, masterful. Adeptus: all the attributes of an expert or master. More precisely; The combined expertise and tacit acquired knowledge resulting from the confluence of habitus (through deep domain immersion), intuition (non- linear parallel processing of global multi categorised information), the 396

unique distinctions borne of discriminant pattern recognition (naturalistic capacity) and the application of recursive, directed practice and reflection over an extended time period.

Songwriters benefit from, and need to be cognisant of, the role of informal, self- directed education and to the vital domain acquisition derived beyond the classroom – the tacit knowledge of the seasoned professional - which contributes significantly to the habitus, and discriminant pattern-recognition of the successful practicing songwriter.

On first view of MI Theory some years ago, the songwriter’s capacity for naturalistic intelligence, described by Gardner in Darwinian/evolutionary terms, seemed remote and possibly irrelevant to the research questions. However, it has been shown that naturalistic intelligence capacity is neither remote nor irrelevant to the songwriter. It is vital to domain acquisition, relevant at every turn to artefact evaluation, and a powerful differentiator between moderate and outstanding songwriting outcomes. Significantly, this type of domain acquisition is not normally included in formal music education. It relies for its development largely on self-directed, informal immersion in the sub-culture. It is most often achieved in two ways; a) by prolific songwriting, testing those songs on audiences, observing reactions, and writing new songs for subsequent testing; and b) through studious listening to songs that have been already accepted into the domain as worthy by the field, observing what appears to work, and considering the potential generalities that may exist. Both require the songwriter to actively participate outside the confines of the studio or the classroom – in the field itself.

When habitus (through deep domain immersion), intuition (non-linear parallel 397

processing of global multi categorised information) and the unique distinctions borne of discriminant pattern recognition (naturalistic capacity) is combined with recursive, directed practice and reflection over an extended time period, the resultant tacit acquired knowledge and expertise or ‘adeptus’ - is likely to move creativity from ‘fair’ (little-c) to ‘good’ (Pro-C). In order to move beyond Pro-C into the realm of Big-C creativity, an attribution given ‘after-the-fact’ by the field of experts, a number of additional factors are needed including a fruitfully asynchronous perspective, a willingness and the capacity to challenge or reject the current paradigm, and some luck. This may be in the form of appropriate timing, proximity and access to opportunity. It is not asserted that these elements provide all that is necessary for Big-C creativity to occur, merely that they are necessary for the progression from ‘good’ to ‘great’. This research points to some useful answers, depth perspectives, and unique distinctions from the songwriting realm that are transferable for cross-disciplinary creativities.

10.8 Implications

The conclusions, findings, generalisations and theories proposed in this research uncovered through autoethnography, have clear and immediate value for songwriters, students and teachers of songwriting, with the main focus on moving from fair, to good, to great songwriting. Across elements of domain acquisition including lyric writing, melodic invention, harmonic choices, rhythmic context and nuances of style, ideas and discussion has added to the knowledge. Depth perspective and a confluence of academic literature-based research into creativity has shone a light on those elements of idiosyncratic perspective and individual creative practice, but has also provided important distinctions highlighting the 398

interdependence of the systems model of creativity as it affects and effects successful songwriting practice. The role of intermediaries, gatekeepers, experts and other support personnel is directly addressed with regard to the field-based domain, as well as the role of audience in actively selecting (or not) song artefacts for inclusion into the mass-based cultural domain.

Discussions regarding process models, and the move from fair, to good, to great songwriting, however, have wider implications across other creative disciplines.

Creative endeavour in any discipline will fall somewhere along the continuum of creative magnitude, and the quest to move closer to those significant works described (variously and contextually) as either Pro-C, Big-C, Alt-C (or in Boden’s terms H-creativity) is arguably a universal desire among creative agents. By placing this discussion squarely within the confluence of sociocultural, creativity and songwriting-specific research, and highlighting the notion of adeptus and its implications, it is hoped that some contribution has been made to the knowledge base that informs the wider creative community.

10.9 Further Research

This study points to a range of topics for further research. The area of performance in songwriting practice covers topics such as: micro-timings in groove - why ‘live’ feels better than loops or computer drums; the nuances of micro-pitch, blue thirds,

Billie Holliday and pitch-correction programs; a fuller understanding of ‘deep pockets’, rhythmic authority, entrainment, and beat induction; and a further exploration of perfect pitch, the resilient but flawed ‘genius’ view of highly developed relative pitch capacities. 399

From the area of creativity as it is practiced by songwriters, a range of intriguing topics present as having potential for further research. These include: the inter- disciplinary transfer of domain-general creativity; a more thorough investigation of expert variation and selective retention; some more empirical work on propulsion theory; an examination of forward incrementation through emulation; the cost of paradigm-shifting Big-C creativity; as well as an exploration of motivation, continued drifting and divergent thinking at a deeper level.

Multiple Intelligence theory, particularly naturalistic intelligence in the realm of songwriting practice, warrants deeper investigation, and the songwriting industry and songwriting education provide potential for deeper investigation, especially in the areas of authenticity, subversive music theory, ambiguity, divergently fruitful creative drifting, copyright, and authorship in relation to the shift toward confluent or systemic approaches to creativity.

400

Appendices

Appendix A - Suggested (or implied) songwriter/audience contract, written for a songwriting lecture delivered in Sydney in 2011;

Dear Mr/Mrs/Ms Songwriter,

I just paid $10 to hear your band/spent 3 minutes in the car listening/watched your video on YouTube. Your song didn’t mean anything to me. I tried, but I couldn’t find anything that resonated with my world. If you want me to devote my undivided attention to your heart-felt song lyrics, then in exchange I would like a little something from the transaction. Please, when you next write a song, meet at least one of the following lyric criteria:

a. Make me happy/smile/laugh b. Make me sad/cry/teary/angry c. Make me think/ponder/reminisce d. Make me tap my foot/dance/head bang/shake booty e. Make it stick in my head so I can carry it through my day f. Create any other emotion, response or reaction

Meet any one of these criteria, and I will consider you have added value to my life a little bit, so I won’t feel like you stole 3 minutes from me. Meet any two criteria or more, and I will reciprocate by singing along and listening to your next song. For maximum effect, please meet two or more of the following criteria:

a. Don’t tell me how you feel, show me how you feel! Paint me a picture. b. Say something that I deeply connect with. c. Say something I wish I had said. d. Say something that changes the way I feel. e. Say something that represents me.

...and I will exchange money for your song(s), listen to your next album favourably, tell all my friends, and even play your song to them personally so they understand how great your songs are.

Yours Sincerely, Joe Public (i.e. everybody on the train to work.) (C. Harrison, 2012)

Appendix B - Personal example of ‘inductive’ strategy (1996)

401

Appendix C - 2001 goal-setting attempt to balance intrinsic and extrinsic motivations)

Appendix D – Children’s song lyric circa 1990

402

Appendix E – Diary entries, Split Enz session, (1983), booking and payment

Appendix F – Page one, transcription of George Russell theory book

403

Appendix G – Diary entry, Jamming with Chick Corea, (1977)

Appendix H – Lyric (written 1977) and used for a ‘Junk’ fusion song (1982)

404

Appendix I – Bondi Bump, hand-written lead sheet (1983)

Appendix J – early (1980) transcription example extract

405

Appendix K – Avalanche album (1977) inside cover (author far right)

Appendix L – Once Bitten jazz fusion album, back cover (1982)

406

Appendix M – Swamp Fever – (1998)

Appendix N – Up Yours, Buddy (2006)

Appendix O – Noizy Pocketz (2012)

407

Bibliography

Adorno, T. W. (1938). On the fetish character in music and the regression of listening. The Essential

Frankfurt School Reader, 270–99.

Adorno, T. W. (1988). Introduction to the sociology of music. London, UK.: Continuum International

Publishing Group.

Adorno, T. W., & Simpson, G. (1941). On popular music. Studies in Philosophy and Social Science, (9).

Alexander, V. (2003). Sociology of the arts: exploring fine and popular forms. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley

Publishing.

Amabile, T. M. (1983). The social psychology of creativity: a componential conceptualization. Journal of

Personality and Social Psychology, 45(2), 357–376.

Amabile, T. M. (1998). How to kill creativity. Boston, MA.: Harvard Business School Publishing.

Amabile, T. M., & Gryskiewicz, N. D. (1989). The creative environment scales: work environment

inventory. Creativity Research Journal, 2(4), 231–253.

Amabile, T. M., Hill, K. G., Hennessey, B. A., & Tighe, E. M. (1994). The work preference inventory:

assessing intrinsic and extrinsic motivational orientations. Journal of Personality and Social

Psychology, 66(5), 950–967.

Anderson, L. (2006). Analytic autoethnography. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 35(4), 373–395.

Anderson, L., & Krathwohl, D. (2000). A taxonomy for learning, teaching, and assessing: a revision of

Bloom’s taxonomy of educational objectives, abridged edition. Boston, MA.: Allyn & Bacon.

Armstrong, T. (2003). The multiple intelligences of reading and writing: making the words come alive.

Alexandria, VA.: ASCD.

Armstrong, T. (2009). Multiple intelligences in the classroom, 3rd edition. Alexandria, VA.: ASCD.

Azerrad, M. (2013). Come as you are: the story of Nirvana. New York, NY.: Random House LLC.

Baer, J. (1993). Creativity and divergent thinking: a task-specific approach (Vol. viii). Hillsdale, NJ.:

Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

Baer, J. (1998). The case for domain specificity of creativity. Creativity Research Journal, 11(2), 173–177.

Baer, J. (2012). Domain specificity and the limits of creativity theory. Journal of Creative Behavior, 46(1),

16–29. 408

Bailin, S. (1988). Achieving extraordinary ends: an essay on creativity. Berlin, Germany.: Springer.

Baker-Sennett, J., & Ceci, S. J. (1996). Clue‐efficiency and insight: unveiling the mystery of inductive leaps.

The Journal of Creative Behavior, 30(3), 153–172.

Barrington, E. (2004). Teaching to student diversity in higher education: how Multiple Intelligence Theory

can help. Teaching in Higher Education, 9(4), 421–434.

http://doi.org/10.1080/1356251042000252363

Barron, F. (1955). The disposition toward originality. The Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology,

51(3), 478.

Barron, F., & Harrington, D. M. (1981). Creativity, intelligence, and personality. Annual Review of

Psychology, 32(1), 439–476.

Barron, F., & Welsh, G. S. (1952). Artistic perception as a possible factor in personality style: its

measurement by a figure preference test. The Journal of Psychology, 33(2), 199–203.

Barthes, R. (1977). Image, music, text. Waukegan, IL.: Fontana Press.

Bastick, T. (1982). Intuition: how we think and act. Hoboken, NJ.: John Wiley & Sons.

Bateson, G. (1979). Mind and nature: a necessary unity. Cresskill, N.J: Hampton Press.

Beatles, T. (2000). The Beatles anthology. San Francisco, CA.: Chronicle Books.

Becker, H. (1974a). Art as collective action. American Sociological Review, 39(6), 767–776.

Becker, H. (1974b). Photography and sociology. Studies in the Anthropology of Visual Communication,

1(1), 3–26.

Becker, H. (1982). Art worlds. Berkeley, CA.: University of California Press.

Bennett, A. (2001). Cultures of popular music. Maidenhead, UK.: Open University Press.

Bennett, J. (2010a). Collaborative songwriting–the ontology of negotiated creativity in popular music

studio practice. In Proceedings of the 6th Art of Record Production Conference (Vol. 2, p. 1).

Bennett, J. (2010b). Constraint, collaboration and creativity in popular songwriting teams. Journal of

Articles in Support of the Null Hypothesis, 2.

Bennett, J. (2011, October). Song vs track - the picture and the frame. Total Guitar, (219). Retrieved from

http://joebennett.net/2012/05/18/song-vs-track-the-picture-and-the-frame/

409

Bennett, J. (2012a, June). The song remains the same - why? (from Total Guitar magazine). Total Guitar,

(228). Retrieved from http://joebennett.net/2013/02/11/the-song-remains-the-same-why-from-

total-guitar-magazine/

Bennett, J. (2012b, July). Accidental plagiarism in songwriting. Total Guitar, (229). Retrieved from

http://joebennett.net/2014/01/16/plagiarism-in-songwriting/

Bennett, J. (2013). You won’t see me–in search of an epistemology of collaborative songwriting. Journal

of the Art of Record Production, 8.

Blaikie, N. (1993). Approaches to social enquiry: advancing knowledge. Cambridge, UK.: Polity.

Blaikie, N. (2000). Designing social research: the logic of anticipation. Cambridge, UK.: Wiley.

Blaxter, L., Hughes, C., & Tight, M. (2010). How to research. Berkshire, UK.: McGraw-Hill International.

Boden, M. (1987). Artificial Intelligence and Natural Man (2 Exp Sub edition). New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Boden, M. (1991). The creative mind: myths & mechanisms. New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Boden, M. (1996). Dimensions of creativity. Cambridge, MA.: MIT Press.

Boden, M. (2012). Creativity and art: three roads to surprise. Oxford, UK.: Oxford University Press.

Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a theory of practice. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Bourdieu, P. (1983a). The field of cultural production: essays on art and literature. New York, NY.:

Columbia University Press.

Bourdieu, P. (1983b). The field of cultural production, or: the economic world reversed. Poetics, 12(4),

311–356.

Bourdieu, P. (1986). Distinction: a social critique of the judgement of taste. London, UK.: Routledge.

Bourdieu, P. (1993). Sociology in question. London, UK.: Sage Publications.

Bourdieu, P. (1996). The rules of art: genesis and structure of the literary field. Palo Alto, CA.: Stanford

University Press.

Bourke, C. (2014). Crowded House: something so strong. Sydney, Aust.: Momentum.

Bowers, K. S., Regehr, G., Balthazard, C., & Parker, K. (1990). Intuition in the context of discovery.

Cognitive Psychology, 22(1), 72–110.

Brackett, D. (2007). Fleetwood Mac: 40 years of creative chaos. Westport, CT.: Greenwood Publishing

Group.

410

Braheny, J. (1988). The craft and business of songwriting: a practical guide to creating and marketing

artistically and commercially successful songs (1st ed.). London, UK.: Omnibus Press.

Braheny, J. (2006). The craft and business of songwriting: a practical guide to creating and marketing

artistically and commercially successful songs (3rd ed.). Cincinnati, OH.: Writer’s Digest Books.

Brake, M. (1980). The sociology of youth culture and youth subcultures: sex and drugs and rock “n” roll.

London UK.: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

Briggs, J. (1984). The Genius Mind. Science Digest, 92(12), 74–77.

Brockman, J. (1993). Creativity. New York, NY.: Simon & Schuster.

Brown, J. W. (2007). Essential Understandings: Exploring my personal relationship with The Multiple

Intelligences through art. Presented at the Master of Arts - Integrated Arts and Education,

University of Montana. Retrieved from http://etd.lib.umt.edu/theses/available/etd-07232007-

123044/

Burbridge, D. (2001). Francis Galton on twins, heredity and social class. The British Journal for the History

of Science, 34(3), 323–340.

Burnard, P., & Haddon, L. (Eds.). (2014). Activating diverse musical creativities: teaching and learning in

higher education. London, UK.: Bloomsbury.

Burns, G. (1987). A typology of “hooks” in popular records. Popular Music, 6(1), 1–20.

Bychawski, A. (2010, August 2). Bombay Bicycle Club. New Musical Express. Retrieved from

http://www.nme.com/news/bombay-bicycle-club/52324

Cameron, J., & Pierce, W. D. (1994). Reinforcement, reward, and intrinsic motivation: a meta-analysis.

Review of Educational Research, 64(3), 363–423.

Campbell, D. T. (1960). Blind variation and selective retentions in creative thought as in other knowledge

processes. Psychological Review, 67(6), 380.

Campbell, P. (Ed.). (1996). Analysing performance: issues and interpretations. Manchester, UK.:

Manchester University Press.

Campbell, P. S. (1995). Of garage bands and song-getting: the musical development of young rock

musicians. Research Studies in Music Education, 4(1), 12–20.

411

Cantor, J. (2006). Fearless innovation-songwriting for our lives: inspiring learners with arts-based

practices that support creativity. Multicultural Education, 14(2), p57.

Carrell, N. (1967). Bach the borrower. Crow’s Nest, NSW.: Allen & Unwin.

Carson, S. H., Peterson, J. B., & Higgins, D. M. (2005). Reliability, validity, and factor structure of the

creative achievement questionnaire. Creativity Research Journal, 17(1), 37–50.

Ceulemans, C. (2009). Commercial success of rock artists in the USA: the role of internal competition.

Université Libre de Bruxelles: Working Paper ECARES.

Chang, H. (2008). Autoethnography as method. Walnut Creek, CA.: Left Coast Press.

Cho, J., & Trent, A. (2006). Validity in qualitative research revisited. Qualitative Research, 6(3), 319–340.

Clydesdale, G. (2006). Creativity and competition: The Beatles. Creativity Research Journal, 18(2), 129–

139.

Cockington, J. (2001). Long way to the top: stories of Australian rock and roll. Sydney, Aust.: ABC Books.

Colangelo, N., & Davis, G. A. (2002). Handbook on Gifted Education. Third Edition. Boston, MA: Allyn &

Bacon.

Coleman, R. (1998). McCartney: Yesterday . . . and today. Darby, PA.: Diane Publishing Company.

Condit, C. M. (1989). The rhetorical limits of polysemy. Critical Studies in Mass Communication, 6(2), 103–

122.

Connors, G. (2015). (August 28th). Personal Interview [Conducted @ Connors residence, Mackay].

Cooper, R. E. B. (1958). The two ends of the log: learning and teaching in today’s college (First edition).

Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.

Crane, D. (1994). The sociology of culture: emerging theoretical perspectives (xii). Cambridge, MA.:

Blackwell.

Cropley, A. (2006). In praise of convergent thinking. Creativity Research Journal, 18(3), 391–404.

Crotty, M. (1998). The foundations of social research: meaning and perspective in the research process.

Crow’s Nest, NSW.: Allen & Unwin.

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1988). Society, culture, and person: a systems view of creativity. In R. J. Sternberg &

J. Davidson (Eds.), Conception of giftedness (pp. 325–339). New York, NY.: Cambridge University

Press.

412

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1997). Creativity: flow and the psychology of discovery and invention. New York, NY.:

Harper Perennial.

Csikszentmihalyi, M., & Csikszentmihalyi, I. S. (1988). Optimal experience: psychological studies of flow in

consciousness. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Csikszentmihalyi, M., & Csikszentmihalyi, I. S. (1991). Flow: the psychology of optimal experience (Vol. 41).

New York, NY.: Harper Perennial.

Davidson, A. (2010). Instruments for identification and comparison of learning styles and personality types

among undergraduate theatre students. Occasional Paper, Australian Academy of Dramatic Art. de Groot, A. D., Gobet, F., & Jongman, R. W. (1996). Perception and memory in chess: studies in the

heuristics of the professional eye (Vol. xix). Assen, Netherlands: Van Gorcum & Co.

Deci, E., & Ryan, R. (1986). Intrinsic motivation and self-determination in human behavior. New York and

London: Plenum.

Decurtis, A. (2006, October 1). Right Out in the Spotlight and Feeling Invisible. The New York Times.

Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/01/arts/music/01decu.html

Delamont, S. (2008, January 14). Arguments against auto-ethnography. Retrieved May 16, 2013, from

http://www.leeds.ac.uk/educol/documents/168227.htm

Delamont, S. (2009). The only honest thing: autoethnography, reflexivity and small crises in fieldwork.

Ethnography and Education, 4(1), 51–63. http://doi.org/10.1080/17457820802703507

Denzin, N. K., & Lincoln, Y. S. (2005). The Sage handbook of qualitative research. SAGE.

Deyoung, W. (2015). For Crowded House’s 1991 masterpiece “Woodface”, it was death by chocolate.

Retrieved July 29, 2015, from http://somethingelsereviews.com/2015/07/19/crowded-house-

woodface/

Dijksterhuis, A., & Meurs, T. (2006). Where creativity resides: The generative power of unconscious

thought. Consciousness and Cognition, 15(1), 135–146.

Domino, G. (1970). Identification of potentially creative persons from the Adjective Check List. Journal of

Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 35(1p1), 48.

Downton, P. (2003). Design research. Melbourne, VIC.: RMIT Publishing.

Drever, J., & Wallerstein, H. (1975). A dictionary of psychology. London, UK.: Penguin Books.

413

Dunsby, J. (2009). Roland Barthes and the grain of Panzéra’s voice. Journal of the Royal Musical

Association, 134(1), 113–132.

Durkheim, E. (1982). Rules of sociological method. New York, NY.: Simon and Schuster.

Echols, A. (2010). Hot stuff: disco and the remaking of American culture. New York, NY.: W. W. Norton.

Eisenberger, R., & Cameron, J. (1996). Detrimental effects of reward: reality or myth? American

Psychologist, 51(11), 1153.

Eisenberger, R., & Selbst, M. (1994). Does reward increase or decrease creativity? Journal of Personality

and Social Psychology, 66(6), 1116.

Eisenberger, R., & Shanock, L. (2003). Rewards, intrinsic motivation, and creativity: a case study of

conceptual and methodological isolation. Creativity Research Journal, 15(2–3), 121–130.

Eisner, E. W. (1991). The enlightened eye: qualitative inquiry and the enhancement of educational

practice. Toronto, ON.: Macmillan.

Ellingson, L., & Ellis, C. (2008). Handbook of constructionist research. (J. A. Holstein & J. F. Gubrium, Eds.).

New York, NY.: Guilford Press.

Ellis, C. (2004). The ethnographic I: a methodological novel about autoethnography. Lanham, MD.:

Rowman Altamira.

Ellis, C., Adams, T., & Bochner, A. (2011). Autoethnography: an overview. Historical Social Research, 36(4

(138)), 273–290.

Ellis, C. S., & Bochner, A. (2000). Autoethnography, Personal Narrative, Reflexivity: Researcher as Subject,

733–768.

Eno, B. (2004). The studio as compositional tool. Audio Culture: Readings in Modern Music, 127–130.

Etzkorn, K. P. (1963). Social context of songwriting in the United States. Ethnomusicology, 7(2), 96–106.

Eysenck, H. J. (1981). A model for personality. Berlin, Germany: Springer-Verlag.

Fabbri, F. (1982). A theory of musical genres: two applications. Popular Music Perspectives, 1, 52–81.

Farriss, A. (2015). (December 6th). Personal Interview [Conducted @ Australian National University].

Fawcett, J., & Downs, F. S. (1992). The relationship of theory and research. Philadelphia, PA.: F.A. Davis.

Feist, G. J. (1998). A meta-analysis of personality in scientific and artistic creativity. Personality and Social

Psychology Review, 2(4), 290–309.

414

Feldman, D. H., Csikszentmihalyi, M., & Gardner, H. (1994). Changing the world: a framework for the

study of creativity. Westport, CT.: Praeger.

Fernandez-Armesto, F. (2001). Truth: a history and a guide for the perplexed. New York, NY.: St. Martin’s

Press.

Findlay, C. S., & Lumsden, C. J. (1988). The creative mind: toward an evolutionary theory of discovery and

innovation. Journal of Social and Biological Structures, 11(1), 3–55.

Fine, G. A. (2003). Towards a peopled ethnography developing theory from group life. Ethnography, 4(1),

41–60.

Finn, N. (2012). Unknown Pathways: Neil Finn on Songwriting and Creativity. Retrieved November 7,

2013, from https://medicine.yale.edu/psychiatry/education/grand/2012/0921.aspx

Flanagan, B. (2010). Written in my soul: conversations with rock’s great songwriters. Maleny, QLD: Rosetta

Books.

Forde, E. (2015). Why Metallica haven’t made a new album. Retrieved October 14, 2015, from

http://classicrock.teamrock.com/features/2015-10-05/why-metallica-havent-made-a-new-

album

Foucault, M. (1977). Discipline and punish: the birth of the prison. New York, NY.: Vintage Books.

Freud, S. (1908). Creative writers and day-dreaming. Standard Edition, 9, 141–153.

Frith, S. (1988). Copyright and the music business. Popular Music, 7(1), 57–75.

Frith, S. (1990). What Is Good Music? Canadian University Music Review, 10(2), 92.

Frith, S. (1991). The good, the bad, and the indifferent: defending popular culture from the populists.

Diacritics, 102–115.

Frith, S. (1996). Performing rites: on the value of popular music. Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University

Press.

Frith, S., & Horne, H. (1987). Art into pop. London, UK.: Methuen.

Fromm, E. (1978). Primary and secondary process in waking and in altered states of consciousness.

Journal of Altered States of Consciousness, 4(2), 115–128.

Fromm, E., & Shor, R. E. (2009). Hypnosis: Developments in Research and New Perspectives. Piscataway,

NJ.: Transaction Publishers.

415

Gabora, L. (2005). Creative thought as a non-Darwinian evolutionary process. The Journal of Creative

Behavior, 39(4), 262–283.

Gabora, L. (2015). Probing the mind behind the (literal and figurative) lightbulb. Psychology of Aesthetics,

Creativity and the Arts, 9(1).

Gardner, H. (1983). Frames of mind - the theory of multiple intelligences. New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (1988). Creativity: an interdisciplinary perspective. Creativity Research Journal, 1(1), 8–26.

Gardner, H. (1993). Creating minds: an anatomy of creativity as seen through the lives of Freud, Einstein,

Picasso, Stravinsky, Eliot, Graham, and Gandhi. New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (1993). Introduction to the Tenth Anniversary Edition. New York, NY: Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (1993). Multiple intelligences: the theory in practice. New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (1995). Reflections on multiple intelligences. Phi Delta Kappan, 77(3), 200–208.

Gardner, H. (1998). Is musical intelligence special? Choral Journal, 38(8), 23–34.

Gardner, H. (1999). Intelligence reframed: multiple intelligences for the 21st century. New York, NY.: Basic

Books.

Gardner, H. (2002). On the three faces of intelligence. Daedalus, 131(1), 139–142.

Gardner, H. (2004). Changing minds: the art and science of changing our own and other people’s minds.

Boston, MA.: Harvard Business Press.

Gardner, H. (2006). Multiple intelligences: new horizons. New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (2011). Truth, beauty, and goodness reframed: educating for the virtues in the twenty-first

century. New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (2013). Five minds for the future. Boston, MA.: Harvard Business Press.

Gardner, H. (2014, February 20). (Personal email) Aural capacity in MI theory.

Garofalo, R. (1999). From music publishing to MP3: music and industry in the twentieth century.

American Music, 318–354.

Gelly, D., & Sykes, H. W. (1976). The facts about a pop group: featuring Wings. Melbourne, VIC.: Angus

and Robertson.

Gendron, B. (1986). Theodor Adorno meets the Cadillacs. Studies in Entertainment: Critical Approaches to

Mass Culture, 18, 36.

416

Getzels, J. W., & Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1976). The creative vision: A longitudinal study of problem finding

in art.

Giddens, A. (1979). Central problems in social theory: action, structure, and contradiction in social

analysis. Berkeley, CA.: University of California Press.

Ginsberg, A. (1956). Howl and other poems: pocket poets number 4. San Francisco, CA.: City Lights Books.

Given, L. M. (Ed.). (2008). The SAGE encyclopedia of qualitative research methods. Thousand Oaks, CA.:

SAGE Publications.

Gladwell, M. (2008). Outliers: the story of success. London, UK.: Penguin.

Goleman, D. (1996). Emotional intelligence: why it can matter more than IQ. New York, NY.: Bantam

Books.

Goleman, D. (2013). Focus: the hidden driver of excellence. New York, NY.: HarperCollins.

Gonzales, L. (2008). Mars Volta, surprised by latest LP’s success. Retrieved May 15, 2014, from

http://forum.thecomatorium.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=107963

Gotye. (2012, May 29). Gotye dominates APRA Awards [Text]. Retrieved May 15, 2014, from

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2012-05-29/gotye-dominates-apra-awards/4038602

Gough, H. G. (1979). A creative personality scale for the Adjective Check List. Journal of Personality and

Social Psychology, 37(8), 1398.

Gregorc, A. F. (1979). Learning/teaching styles: potent forces behind them. Educational Leadership, (36),

234–236.

Gregorc, A. F. (1982). An adult’s guide to style. Columbia, CA.: Gregorc Associates.

Gregorc, A. F. (1984a). Gregorc style delineator: developmental technical and administration manual.

Columbia, CA.: Gregorc Associates.

Gregorc, A. F. (1984b). Style as a symptom: a phenomenological perspective. Theory into Practice, 23(1),

51–55.

Gregorc, A. F. (1985). Inside styles: beyond the basics: questions and answers on style. Columbia, CA.:

Gregorc Associates.

Griswold, W. (1994). Cultures and Societies in a Changing World. Thousand Oaks, CA.: Sage Publications.

417

Grix, J. (2002). Introducing students to the generic terminology of social research. Politics, 22(3), 175–

186.

Grix, J. (2004). The foundations of research. Hampshire, UK.: Palgrave Macmillan.

Groce, S. (2008). On the outside looking in: professional socialization and the process of becoming a

songwriter. Popular Music and Society, 15(1), 33–44.

Gruber, H. E. (1989). Networks of enterprise in creative scientific work. Psychology of Science:

Contributions to Metascience, 246–274.

Gruber, H. E., & Davis, S. N. (1988). 10 inching our way up Mount Olympus: the evolving-systems

approach to creative thinking. The Nature of Creativity: Contemporary Psychological

Perspectives, 243.

Guilford, J. P. (1959). Traits of creativity. In Creativity and its cultivation (pp. 142–161). New York, NY.:

Harper & Brothers.

Guilford, J. P. (1962). Creativity: its measurement and development. A Source Book for Creative Thinking,

151–167.

Guilford, J. P. (1967). The nature of human intelligence. New York, NY.: McGraw-Hill.

Gunders, J. (2013). Electronic dance music, the rock myth, and authenticity. Perfect Beat, 13(2), 147–159.

Hall, W. B. (1972). A technique for assessing aesthetic predispositions: Mosaic Construction Test*. The

Journal of Creative Behavior, 6(4), 225–235.

Hammersley, M., & Atkinson, P. (1983). Ethnography: Principles and Practice. London, UK.: Taylor &

Francis.

Hao, N., Liu, M., Ku, Y., Hu, Y., & Runco, M. A. (2015). Verbal divergent thinking facilitated by a

pleasurable incubation interval. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 9(3), 286–295.

Haralambos, M., & Foster-Carter, A. (1985). Sociology, new directions. Essex, UK.: Causeway Books.

Haralambos, M., & Holborn, M. (1995). Sociology: themes and perspectives. Vancouver, BC.: Collins

Educational.

Harrison, C. (1976). Interview with Clive Harrison. Juke Magazine, (July).

Harrison, C. (1979). Clive Harrison and the importance of Theory. JAMM, (5).

Harrison, C. (1983). Teach yourself advanced bass. Sydney, Aust.: Music Sales.

418

Harrison, C. (1985). Field notes: motivational speech.

Harrison, C. (2012). Field notes: lyric workshop – October 2012, Hobart, Tasmania.

Harrison, C. (2012). Sensei blog #001 - Do Your Homework. Retrieved from www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2012). Sensei blog #003 - Rhythmic authority. Retrieved from www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2012). Songwriting Lecture Series. Lecture, Australian Institute of Music.

Harrison, C. (2012). Taxonomies for the Teaching of Songwriting. Australian Institute of Music.

Harrison, C. (2013a). Sensei blog #007 - Nigel Meets Narelle. Retrieved from www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013b). Sensei blog #008 – The song writing process. Retrieved from

www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013c). Sensei blog #009 - Why write charts? Retrieved from www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013d). Sensei blog #010 – Multiple memory systems. Retrieved from

www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013e). Sensei blog #011 - Change Key for the Singer. Retrieved from

www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013f). Sensei blog #013 – Composing in my sleep. Retrieved from www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013g). Sensei blog #014 – The culture of songwriting. Retrieved from

www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013h). Sensei blog #015 - Tasteful playing. Retrieved from www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013i). Sensei blog #020 – Adelaide to New York at 21. Retrieved from

www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2013j). Sensei blog #029 –Classical, rock, jazz, - which is best? Retrieved from

www.clivemusic.com.au

Harrison, C. (2015). The songwriting labyrinth: practical tools to decode the mysterious craft. Sydney,

Aust.: Rumpelstiltskin Press.

Harrison, C. M. (2016). Bebop on the hockey pitch: cross-disciplinary creativity and skills transfer.

Performance Science, 7, 123.

419

Hass, R. W., & Weisberg, R. W. (2015). Revisiting the 10-year rule for composers from the Great American

Songbook: on the validity of two measures of creative production. Psychology of Aesthetics,

Creativity, and the Arts, 9(4), 471–479.

Hayes, J. R. (1989). Cognitive processes in creativity. Berlin, Germany: Springer.

Haynes, B. (2002). A history of performing pitch: the story of “A.” Lanham, MD.: Scarecrow Press.

Hebdige, D. (1995). Subculture: the meaning of style. Critical Quarterly, 37(2), 120–124.

Helding, L. (2009). Mindful voice: Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences. Journal of Singing -

The Official Journal of the National Association of Teachers of Singing, 66(2), 193–199.

Hennessey, B. A., & Zbikowski, S. M. (1993). Immunizing children against the negative effects of reward: a

further examination of intrinsic motivation training techniques. Creativity Research Journal, 6(3),

297–307.

Herrigel, E. (1953). Zen in the Art of Archery. London, UK.: Routledge.

Herrmann, N. (1989). The creative brain. Lake Lure, NC.: Ned Herrmann Group.

Herrnstein, R. J., & Murray, C. A. (1994). The bell curve: intelligence and class structure in American life.

New York, NY.: Free Press.

Hobson, J. A., & Pace-Schott, E. F. (2002). The cognitive neuroscience of sleep: neuronal systems,

consciousness and learning. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 3(9), 679–693.

Holland, J. L. (1997). Making vocational choices: a theory of vocational personalities and work

environments (3rd ed.) (Vol. xiv). Odessa, FL: Psychological Assessment Resources.

Holt, N. L. (2003). Representation, legitimation, and autoethnography: an autoethnographic writing story.

International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 2(1), 18–28.

Honing, H. (2012). Without it no music: beat induction as a fundamental musical trait. Annals of the New

York Academy of Sciences, 1252(1), 85–91.

Howe, M. J. A. (1999). Genius explained. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Huber, J. (1998). Invention and inventivity as a special kind of creativity, with implications for general

creativity. The Journal of Creative Behavior, 32(1), 58–72.

Jackson, S. A., & Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1999). Flow in sports. Champaign, IL.: Human Kinetics.

420

James, M. (2012). Autoethnography: the story of applying a conceptual framework for intentional

positioning to public relations practice. Public Relations Review, 38(4), 555–564.

Jennings, D. (1993). Creepshow. Melody Maker, (Sept). Retrieved from

http://www.greenplastic.com/coldstorage/articles/melodymaker092593.html

Johnson-Laird, P. N. (1988). The computer and the mind: an introduction to cognitive science. Cambridge,

MA.: Harvard University Press.

Kassell, C. (1998). Music and the theory of multiple intelligences. Music Educators Journal, 84(5), 29.

Kaufman, J. C., & Baer, J. (2005). Creativity across domains: faces of the muse. Oxford, UK.: Taylor &

Francis Group.

Kaufman, J. C., & Baer, J. (2012). Beyond new and appropriate: who decides what is creative? Creativity

Research Journal, 24(1), 83–91.

Kaufman, J. C., & Beghetto, R. A. (2009). Beyond big and little: the four c model of creativity. Review of

General Psychology, 13(1), 1–12.

Kaufman, J. C., & Sternberg, R. J. (2010). The Cambridge handbook of creativity. Cambridge, UK.:

Cambridge University Press.

Kelly, J. (1985). Interview with Jim Kelly, of Crossfire, by Clive Harrison. JAMM Magazine, (33).

Kelly, K., & McDonnell, E. (Eds.). (1999). Stars don’t stand still in the sky: music and myth. In Stars Don’t

Stand Still in the Sky: Music and Myth (pp. 56–71). New York, NY.: New York University Press.

Kerrigan, S. (2013). Accommodating creative documentary practice within a revised systems model of

creativity. Journal of Media Practice, 14(2), 111–127.

Koestler, A. (1963). The act of creation. (M. A. B. Brazier, Ed.). Berkeley, CA.: University of California Press.

Kozbelt, A., Beghetto, R. A., & Runco, M. A. (2010). Theories of creativity. In The Cambridge Handbook of

Creativity (pp. 20–47). Cambridge, MA.: Cambridge University Press.

Krathwohl, D., Bloom, B., & Masia, B. (1984). Taxonomy of educational objectives, book 2: affective

domain. London, UK.: Longman.

Kruger, D. (2005). Songwriters speak: conversations about creating music. Balmain, NSW.: Limelight Press.

Kuhn, T. S. (1996). The structure of scientific revolutions (3rd ed). Chicago, IL.: University of Chicago Press.

421

Lena, J. C., & Peterson, R. A. (2008). Classification as culture: types and trajectories of music genres.

American Sociological Review, 73(5), 697–718.

Lockett, D. (2015). How Much All the “Uptown Funk” Writers Will Make -- Vulture. Retrieved July 25,

2015, from http://www.vulture.com/2015/05/how-much-all-the-uptown-funk-writers-will-

make.html

Loehr, J., Loehr, D. J. E., & Schwartz, T. (2005). The power of full engagement: managing energy, not time,

is the key to high performance and personal renewal. New York, NY.: Simon and Schuster.

Lopes, P. D. (1992). Innovation and diversity in the popular music industry, 1969 to 1990. American

Sociological Review, 57(1), 56–71.

Lubart, T. I. (1994). Product-centered self-evaluation and the creative process. Unpublished Doctoral

Dissertation, Yale University, New Haven, CT.

Lull, J. (1990). Inside Family Viewing: Ethnographic Research on Television’s Audiences. London, UK.:

Routledge.

Mansfield, R. S., & Busse, T. V. (1981). The psychology of creativity and discovery: scientists and their

work. Chicago, IL.: Nelson-Hall.

Martin, G., & Pearson, W. (1994). Summer of love: the making of Sgt Pepper. London, UK.: Macmillan.

Marx, K., Bottomore, T. B., & Rubel, M. (1963). Selected writings in sociology and social philosophy.

Translated by T.B. Bottomore. Harmodswoth, UK.: Penguin Books.

Marx, K., & Engels, F. (2010). The German ideology. Saddle Brook, NJ.: People’s Publishing House.

Maslow, A. (1954). Motivation and personality. New York, NY.: Harper and Row.

Mauch, M., MacCallum, R. M., Levy, M., & Leroi, A. M. (2014). The evolution of popular music: USA 1960-

2010: supporting information. ArXiv E-Prints, 1502, arXiv:1502.05417.

Mauch, M., MacCallum, R. M., Levy, M., & Leroi, A. M. (2015). The evolution of popular music: USA 1960-

2010. ArXiv E-Prints, 1502, arXiv:1502.05417.

McDonald, C. (2000). Exploring modal subversions in alternative music. Popular Music, 19(3), 355–363.

McIntyre, P. (2003). Creativity and cultural production: a study of contemporary western popular music

songwriting. Thesis PhD-Macquarie University Division of Society, Culture, Media & Philosophy,

Department of Media and Communication.

422

McIntyre, P. (2006a). Creative practice as research: “testing out” the systems model of creativity through

practitioner based enquiry. UON.

McIntyre, P. (2006b). Paul McCartney and the creation of: the systems model in operation. Popular

Music, 25(2), 201–219.

McIntyre, P. (2007a). Journal on the Art of Record Production » The Systems Model of Creativity:

Analyzing the Distribution of Power in the Studio. Retrieved August 21, 2015, from

http://arpjournal.com/the-systems-model-of-creativity-analyzing-the-distribution-of-power-in-

the-studio/

McIntyre, P. (2007b). Learning to be songwriters: creativity, the systems model and domain acquisition.

Sounds and Selves: Selected Proceedings from the 2005 IASPM Australia/New Zealand

Conference, 46.

McIntyre, P. (2008a). Creativity and cultural production: a study of contemporary western popular music

songwriting. Creativity Research Journal, 20(1), 40–52.

McIntyre, P. (2008b). The systems model of creativity: analyzing the distribution of power in the studio. In

4th Art of Record Production Conference (University of Massachusetts Lowell, 2008) (Vol. 1).

McIntyre, P. (2011). Creativity and cultural production: issues for media practice. Basingstoke, UK.:

Palgrave Macmillan.

McIntyre, P. (2011). Rethinking the creative process: the systems model of creativity applied to popular

songwriting. Journal of Music, Technology & Education, 4(1).

McIntyre, P. (2011). Systemic creativity: the partnership of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Musicology

Australia, 33(2), 241–254.

McIntyre, P. (2013a). Examining creativity and cultural production: screen-based media and the current

research into creativity. Interactive Media: Ejournal of the National Academy of Screen & Sound,

(9), 1–17.

McIntyre, P. (2013b). Handbook of research on creativity. (K. Thomas & J. Chan, Eds.). Cheltenham, UK.:

Edward Elgar Publishing.

McIntyre, P., & Morey, J. (2011). “Working out the split”: creative collaboration and assignation of

copyright across differing musical world. Journal on the Art of Record Production, 5.

423

Mednick, M. T. (1963). Research creativity in psychology graduate students. Journal of Consulting

Psychology, 27(3), 265.

Metcalfe, J. (1986). Premonitions of insight predict impending error. Journal of Experimental Psychology:

Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 12(4), 623.

Metcalfe, J., & Wiebe, D. (1987). Intuition in insight and noninsight problem solving. Memory & Cognition,

15(3), 238–246.

Middleton, R. (1990). Studying popular music. New York, NY.: Open University Press.

Middleton, R. (2013). Voicing the popular: on the subjects of popular music. London, UK.: Routledge.

Moore, A. F. (2002). Authenticity as authentication. Popular Music, 21(2), 209–223.

Moore, A. F. (2003). Analyzing popular music. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Mori, M., MacDorman, K. F., & Kageki, N. (2012). The uncanny valley [from the field]. Robotics &

Automation Magazine, IEEE, 19(2), 98–100.

Morley, D. (1993). Active audience theory: pendulums and pitfalls. Journal of Communication, 43(4), 13–

19.

Muncey, T. (2010). Creating autoethnographies. London, UK.: Sage Publications.

Naylor, T. (2015). (2015, February 20th). Personal Interview [Conducted @ Naylor residence, Melbourne].

Negus, K. (1995). Where the mystical meets the market: creativity and commerce in the production of

popular music. The Sociological Review, 43(2), 316–341.

Negus, K. (1996). Popular music in theory: an introduction. Cambridge, UK.: Polity Press.

Negus, K., & Pickering, M. (2004). Creativity, communication and cultural value. Thousand Oaks, CA.: Sage

Publications.

Odena, D. O. (2013). Musical Creativity: Insights from Music Education Research. Farnham, UK.: Ashgate

Publishing, Ltd.

Ong, W. J. (1982). Orality and literacy. London, UK.: Methuen & Co.

Osborn, A. F. (1963). Applied imagination; principles and procedures of creative problem-solving. New

York, NY.: Scribner.

Osciak, S. Y., & Milheim, W. D. (2001). Multiple intelligences and the design of Web-based instruction.

International Journal of Instructional Media, 28(4), 355.

424

Paddison, M. (1982). The critique criticised: Adorno and popular music. Popular Music, 2, 201–218.

Patel, A. D. (2007). Music, language, and the brain. Oxford, UK.: Oxford University Press.

Pattison, P. (2010). Writing better lyrics. Blue Ash, OH.: Writer’s Digest Books.

Pattison, P. (2011). Songwriting without boundaries: lyric writing exercises for finding your voice. Blue Ash,

OH.: Writer’s Digest Books.

Perkins, D. N. (1981). The minds best work. Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press.

Petrie, D. (1991). Creativity and constraint in the British film industry. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Pine, B. J., & Gilmore, J. H. (1999). The experience economy. Boston, MA.: Harvard Business Press.

Plucker, J. A., Beghetto, R. A., & Dow, G. T. (2004). Why isn’t creativity more important to educational

psychologists? Potentials, pitfalls, and future directions in creativity research. Educational

Psychologist, 39(2), 83–96.

Polanyi, M. (1966). The tacit dimension. Chicago, IL.: University of Chicago Press.

Pollio, H. R. (1974). The psychology of symbolic activity. Boston, MA.: Addison-Wesley Publishing

Company.

Ponterotto, J. G. (2005). Qualitative research in counseling psychology: a primer on research paradigms

and philosophy of science. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 52(2), 126–136.

Pope, R. (2005). Creativity: theory, history, practice. London, UK.: Routledge.

Pressing, J. (1988). Improvisation: methods and models. Generative Processes in Music, 129–178.

Regan, B., Nesbitt, K., & McIntyre, P. (2011). Incorporating practitioner based enquiry into software

development research. PACIS 2011 Proceedings. Retrieved from

http://aisel.aisnet.org/pacis2011/154

Rhodes, M. (1961). An analysis of creativity. Phi Delta Kappan, 305–310.

Richards, R., Kinney, D. K., Benet, M., & Merzel, A. P. (1988). Assessing everyday creativity: characteristics

of the lifetime creativity scales and validation with three large samples. Journal of Personality

and Social Psychology, 54(3), 476.

Robbins, D. (2000). Bourdieu and culture. Thousand Oaks, CA.: Sage Publications.

Robson, C. (2011). Real world research. Hoboken, NJ.: Wiley.

425

Rodriguez, N. M., & Ryave, A. I. (2002). Systematic self-observation: a method for researching the hidden

and elusive features of everyday social life. London, UK.: Sage Publications.

Rogers, C. R. (1954). Toward a theory of creativity. ETC: A Review of General Semantics, 11(4), 249–260.

Rothenberg, A., & Hausman, C. (1976). The creativity question. Durham, NC.: Duke University Press.

Runco, M. A., Plucker, J. A., & Lim, W. (2001). Development and psychometric integrity of a measure of

ideational behavior. Creativity Research Journal, 13(3–4), 393–400.

Russell, T., & Tyson, S. (1995). And then I wrote: the songwriter speaks. Vancouver, BC.: Arsenal Pulp

Press.

Ryan, R. M., & Deci, E. L. (2000). Intrinsic and extrinsic motivations: classic definitions and new directions.

Contemporary Educational Psychology, 25(1), 54–67.

Sanjek, R. (1988). American Popular Music and Its Business: The beginning to 1790. Oxford, UK.: Oxford

University Press.

Sawyer, R. K. (2006). Explaining creativity: the science of human innovation. Oxford, UK.: Oxford University

Press.

Sawyer, R. K., John-Steiner, V., Moran, S., Sternberg, R. J., Feldman, D. H., Nakamura, J., &

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (2003). Creativity and development. Oxford, UK.: Oxford University Press.

Schaler, J. (2006). Howard Gardner under fire. Chicago, IL.: Open Court.

Schön, D. (1983). The reflective practitioner: how professionals think in action. New York, NY.: Basic Books.

Schwandt, T. (1994). Handbook of qualitative research. (N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln, Eds.). Thousand Oaks,

CA.: Sage Publications.

Schwartz, T. (2007). Manage your energy, not your time. Harvard Business Review, 85(10), 63–6, 68, 70–

3, 164.

Sharples, M. (1999). How we write: writing as creative design. London, UK.: Routledge.

Simon, H. A. (1956). Rational choice and the structure of the environment. Psychological Review, 63(2),

129–138.

Simon, H. A. (1981). The sciences of the artificial. Cambridge, MA.: MIT Press.

Simon, P. (1986a). Graceland. Retrieved January 8, 2015, from

http://www.paulsimon.com/us/music/paul-simons-concert-park-august-15-1991/graceland

426

Simon, P. (1986b). You Can Call Me Al. Retrieved January 8, 2015, from

http://www.paulsimon.com/us/music/paul-simons-concert-park-august-15-1991/you-can-call-

me-al

Simonton, D. K. (1988a). Creativity, leadership, and chance. The Nature of Creativity: Contemporary

Psychological Perspectives, 386.

Simonton, D. K. (1988b). Scientific genius: a psychology of science. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University

Press.

Simonton, D. K. (1999). Origins of genius: Darwinian perspectives on creativity. Oxford, UK.: Oxford

University Press.

Simonton, D. K. (2011). Creativity and discovery as blind variation: Campbell’s (1960) BVSR model after

the half-century mark. Review of General Psychology, 15(2), 158–174.

Simonton, D. K. (2014). Thomas Edison’s creative career: the multilayered trajectory of trials, errors,

failures, and triumphs. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Art, 9(1), 2–14.

Simonton, D. K. (2015a). (Personal email) Social practices that discourage creativity.

Simonton, D. K. (2015b). “So we meet again!”—replies to Gabora and Weisberg. Psychology of Aesthetics,

Creativity and the Arts, 9(1).

Slonimsky, N. (1986). Perfect pitch. Grand Street, 6(1), 160–176.

Smith, B. H. (1988). Contingencies of value: alternative perspectives for critical theory. Boston, MA.:

Harvard University Press.

Smith, G. D., & Durrant, C. (2006). Mind StylesTM and paradiddles—beyond the bell-curve: towards an

understanding of learning preferences, and implications for instrumental teachers. Research

Studies in Music Education, 26(1), 51–62.

Smith, G. J., & Carlsson, I. (1987). A new creativity test. The Journal of Creative Behavior, 21(1), 7–14.

Smith, S. M., Ward, T. B., & Finke, R. A. (1995). The creative cognition approach. Cambridge, MA.: MIT

Press.

Soyini Madison, D. (2006). The dialogic performative in critical ethnography. Text and Performance

Quarterly, 26(4), 320–324.

427

Sparkes, A. C. (2000). Autoethnography and narratives of self: reflections on criteria in action (Vol. 17, pp.

21–43). Presented at the Sociology of Sport Journal.

Sparshott, F. E. (1988). Off the ground: first steps to a philosophical consideration of the dance. Princeton,

NJ.: Princeton University Press.

Spearman, C. (1987). The proof and measurement of association between two things. By C. Spearman,

1904. The American Journal of Psychology, 100(3–4), 441.

Staff, K. (2015). This is how Twitter reacted when Kanye declared himself the biggest rock star on the

planet. Retrieved July 4, 2015, from http://www.buzzfeed.com/kimberleydadds/kanye-west-

declares-himself-greatest-living-rock-star-on-the

Sternberg, R. J. (Ed.). (1988). The nature of creativity: contemporary psychological perspectives.

Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Sternberg, R. J. (1994a). Allowing for thinking styles. Educational Leadership, 52(3), 36–40.

Sternberg, R. J. (1994b). Thinking and problem solving. San Diego, CA.: Academic Press.

Sternberg, R. J. (Ed.). (1999a). Handbook of creativity. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Sternberg, R. J. (1999b). Thinking styles. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Sternberg, R. J. (2006). The nature of creativity. Creativity Research Journal, 18(1), 87–98.

Sternberg, R. J., & Grigorenko, E. (Eds.). (1997). Intelligence, heredity and environment. Cambridge, UK.:

Cambridge University Press.

Sternberg, R. J., Kaufman, J. C., & Pretz, J. E. (2001). The propulsion model of creative contributions

applied to the arts and letters. The Journal of Creative Behavior, 35(2), 75–101.

Sternberg, R. J., Kaufman, J. C., & Pretz, J. E. (2002). The creativity conundrum: a propulsion model of kinds

of creative contributions. London, UK.: Routledge.

Sternberg, R. J., & Lubart, T. I. (2002). Defying the crowd: simple solutions to the most common

relationship problems. New York, NY.: Simon and Schuster.

Stolpe, A. (2007). Popular lyric writing: 10 steps to effective storytelling. Boston, MA.: Berklee Press

Publications.

Sullivan, G. (2005). Art practice as research: inquiry in the visual arts. London, UK.: Sage Publications.

428

Summers, J. H. (Ed.). (2008). The politics of truth: selected writings of C. Wright Mills. Oxford, UK.: Oxford

University Press.

Sumner, G. (1978). Sting.com > Lyrics: Can’t Stand Losing You. Retrieved August 21, 2015, from

http://www.sting.com/discography/lyrics/lyric/song/108

Swamp Fever. (1998). [CD]. Sydney, Aust.: Polygram.

Tagg, P. (2008). Analysing popular music: theory, method and practice. Popular Music, 2, 37.

Tagg, P. (2009). Everyday tonality. Montreal, QC.: The Mass Media Scholars’ Press.

Tagg, P. (2011). Trouble with tonal terminology. Festschrift for Coriún Aharonián and Graciela

Paraskevaidis., 32.

Tagg, P. (2012). Music’s meanings: a modern musicology for non-musos. Montreal, QC.: Mass Media’s

Scholar’s Press.

Tagg, P. (2013). Not the sort of thing you could photocopy. Retrieved September 14, 2014, from

http://tagg.org/articles/xpdfs/Frith1301.pdf

Tagg, P. (2015, June 14). (Personal email) IASPM and adaptability.

Tardif, T. Z., & Sternberg, R. J. (1988). What do we know about creativity? The Nature of Creativity, 429,

440.

Taylor, C. W., & Barron, F. E. (1963). Scientific creativity: its recognition and development. Oxford, UK.:

John Wiley & Sons.

The Making of Sgt. Pepper. (1992). Isis Productions, London Weekend Television Productions, Really

Useful Group.

Thistlethwayte, R. (2010). AIM seminar DVD. Australian Institute of Music Publications. Sydney, NSW.

Thistlethwayte, R. (2015). (2015, April 27th). Personal Interview [Conducted @ Specific Studios, Redfern].

Thompson, J. B. (1990). Ideology and modern culture: critical social theory in the era of mass

communication. Cambridge, UK.: Polity Press.

Thornton, S. (1996). Club cultures: music, media, and subcultural capital. Middletown, CT.: Wesleyan

University Press.

Thurstone, L. L. (1938). Primary mental abilities. Chicago, IL.: University of Chicago Press.

429

Tobias, E. S. (2013). Composing, songwriting, and producing: informing popular music pedagogy. Research

Studies in Music Education, 35(2), 213–237.

Torrance, E. P. (1962). Guiding creative talent. Prentice-Hall, Inc, xi.

Torrance, E. P. (1965). Rewarding creative behavior: experiments in classroom creativity. Upper Saddle

River, NJ.: Prentice-Hall.

Torrance, E. P. (1974). The Torrance tests of creative thinking-TTCT manual and scoring guide: verbal test

A, figural test. Lexington, KY.: Ginn & Co.

Trilling, L. (1959). Freud and Literature. In Readings in psychoanalytic psychology (pp. 321–337). East

Norwalk, CT: Appleton-Century-Crofts.

Vaishnavi, V., & Kuechler, W. (2008). Design science research methods and patterns: innovating

information and communication technology. Boca Raton, FL.: CRC Press.

Walker, D. (2015). (2015, June 2nd). Personal Interview [Conducted @ Edgecliffe].

Wallas, M. G. (1926). The art of thought: by Graham Wallas. London, UK.: C.A. Watts.

Walliman, N. (2010). Research Methods: The Basics. Routledge.

Ward, T. B. (1994). Structured imagination: the role of category structure in exemplar generation.

Cognitive Psychology, 27(1), 1–40.

Webb, J. (1999). Tunesmith: inside the art of songwriting. New York, NY.: Hyperion.

Weber, M. (2009). From Max Weber: essays in sociology. New York, NY.: Routledge.

Weber, R. J., & Perkins, D. N. (1992). Inventive minds: creativity in technology. Oxford, UK.: Oxford

University Press.

Weisberg, R. W. (1993). Creativity: beyond the myth of genius. London, UK.: W H Freeman & Company.

Weisberg, R. W. (2015). Expertise, nonobvious creativity, and ordinary thinking in Edison and others:

Integrating blindness and sightedness. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 9(1),

15–19.

Weisberg, R. W., & Hass, R. (2007). We are all partly right: comment on Simonton. Creativity Research

Journal, 19(4), 345–360.

Whiteley, S., & Rycenga, J. (2013). Queering the Popular Pitch. London, UK.: Routledge.

Williams, R. (1966). The long revolution. New York, NY.: Harper.

430

Williams, R. (1981). The sociology of culture. Chicago, IL.: University of Chicago Press.

Wolcott, H. F. (1999). Ethnography: a way of seeing. Oxford, UK.: Rowman Altamira.

Wolff, J. (1981). The social production of art. New York, NY.: St. Martin’s Press.

Yin, R. (2009). Case study research: design and methods. London, UK.: Sage Publications.

Zak, A. (2001). Poetics of rock: cutting tracks, making records. Berkeley, CA.: University of California Press.

Zolberg, V. L. (1990). Constructing a sociology of the arts. Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press.

Zollo, P. (2003). Songwriters on songwriting. Cincinnati, OH.: Da Capo Press.

431