I wrote my first song when I was seven years old. I was on a swing set in the backyard of my childhood home.
It goes a little something like this:
Some times, I look up at the sky Some times, the birds chirping in the trees Some times, a man walking down on the street
Listen to me sing a more recent rendition here: Sometimes.m4a
I’ve held onto this melody and these lyrics for more than 22 years so far. I will likely never forget it and can now share it with others. I can whistle it or sing it whenever I want. You can too.
I’ve selfishly enjoyed the spoils of my creative gifts throughout my whole life but December 2020, I finally unlocked my ability to share my music with the world.
I can’t explain or express myself through words, written or verbal, as well as I can through music. Music is everything for me and I’ve immersed myself in music, simply because I love it so much, I understand musicians at every depth and width, and music helps me navigate and understand life.
When I mean everything I mean: songs serve as milestones for my life, songs help me process my whiplash moods, songs help me connect with others, songs entertain me, songs surprise me, songs satisfy me on levels I couldn’t even begin to properly describe or express.
My friends from high school could attest to my random-given talent for freestyling song parodies for our small group to laugh about and enjoy.
My friends from college could attest to how much I love music, simply based on conversations we’ve had about music.
Music is my true language. My one Spotify user profile cataloging monthly playlists since June 2016 is an incomplete picture. Even the word “picture” doesn’t do music justice. Music is everywhere and in everything. Our heart beats rhythms, our entire bodies are instruments, the world spins around like a vinyl record.
Telling you what Daft Punk’s “Digital Love” means to me is incomplete. I can’t fully express how it felt driving down unfamiliar streets and wailing along to Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” which served as the one flare of light I had in a very dark, devastating moment. I can’t keep any journal that mints moments of time into cherished memories better than even a single song can do.
Presently, collective humanity faces a moment in time of profound loss and change. Everyone has lost someone from the pandemic. Everyone has had their lives disrupted or ruined because of how we’ve restructured the world in the wake of the pandemic. People can’t see any history. People can’t picture any future. In the United States alone, 230 million people live paycheck-to-paycheck or worse. This is devastating. This is pure tragedy. Not a single song could ever mint this moment in time.
I made “See You Tomorrow” inspired by a wonderful wintery cabin trip with some close friends. When I came home from that experience, I felt every emotion that was possible to feel at once. I was lucky enough or am gifted enough or have spent enough time practicing to get my one silly life packaged into “See You Tomorrow” which ends with a whistle growing distant, not any word.
“Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Whether or not this song grows in popularity, reaches many people, is verified by critics, or is even fully understood by myself and my loved ones doesn’t really matter as much as the accomplishment of seeding it into the world.
I have no illusions about my stature, significance, or prominence but I feel the importance of a one minute forty two second long track packed with this much emotion, with a message that engenders a perpetual positive orientation toward the future, and wrapped up in three simple words everyone already knows, with a phrase we all use perfectly: see you tomorrow.
“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”
From the time I wrote my first song for birds to now, I merely played parts. I have played the part of employee, coworker, supervisor, son, brother, boyfriend, friend, good friend, negligent friend, spacey friend, former friend, Twitter mutual, thinker, leader, doer, believer, dreamer, comedian, amateur, professional, skeptic, expert, roommate, truth teller, mythmaker, content creator, pop artist, experimental artist. I’ve used many many many names, nicknames, and pseudonyms including perfectlmao, Dr. Fugazzie, Feel Good Fugazzie, Curly Fingers, Ty, Trusted Scroller, Neoweird, TVler VUgazzie, and more.
None of these matter as much to me as this following song.
One of the thousands and thousands and thousands of songs I’ve gotten lucky enough to hear that fills me with love, life, warmth and serves as a lifeline in my brightest days and my darkest nights.
I can’t reach a satisfying conclusion in this one essay. No one can, that’s not what essays are designed to do. What I want you to feel after reading this piece, is at least a little taste of how I feel the world. And I feel it all through music.
If you want some analytical thoughts on birds, you’re free to read an older piece of mine “We Wouldn’t Have Plans Without Birds”
If you want to explore more about birds, I suggest you search how pigeons are merely urban doves, look up “murmuration,” consider how birds relate to tweets and Twitter (the bird app), consider the phrases “Night Owl” and “Early Bird,” look up photos of flamingos, find the bird references in my poetry book Shiver, pontificate on what “duck pills” may be, find the rooster references in TRAPPED IN DEJA VU TV, look up rubber ducks, play around with tension and release, glance at the wikipedia entry for Human uses of birds.
I hear the birds flocking to my song 🙂