A song is a portal to something I want to remember.
Sometimes, this "something" is an event or a person, but most of the time, it is an intense emotion that leaves an impression on me, like a tattoo on my face that no one else can see.
Generally, I do not follow a specific practice when I write a song. Sometimes, the music comes first and evokes a feeling that resonates somewhere in my memories. Other times, there is a specific story I want to tell, and the music shapes itself around the twists and turns I take.
There is no right or wrong way to write a song and no time limit. Songs are gifts that I never force into existence. (It's a gentle prodding at the most.) I have songs that have taken me a year to finish, and I have some that I left alone with a plan to revisit after some gestation. Once in a rare, magical while, I write a song in one sitting when the music and lyrics basically fall into my lap. This is a form of unadulterated bliss when it happens.
Today, I want to showcase a song I wrote years ago after I moved to Nashville and left the city of Charlotte, NC, for good back in 2006. It was a hopeful and scary time in my past. I had left an established life equipped with steady employment, a lovely queer community, and some of the dearest friends and mentors I have ever known. I packed up my belongings into a U-Haul and moved out of the 500-square ft., two-story walk-up on Frontenac Avenue that was the first apartment I lived in on my own
I left it all behind only to start all over again without any friends (outside of my family), a job, or my own place to live. While I was itching to become a performing musician, safety was a deeper underlying factor behind this upheaval. With my immigration status (and pending applications) endlessly languishing in limbo at the time, having family I could count on nearby felt necessary for my mental health.
I lived at my Mom's house in Hermitage (a suburb of Nashville) for a long while after this move, and I spent many afternoons hanging out at Starbucks nearby. I would go there to do some writing and have some time alone. One such afternoon, I was sitting inside by a window when a sudden gust of wind swept up one of the large patio umbrellas from its casing outside. It sailed high into the air before crashing into the parking lot next door. An employee rushed headlong out the door to retrieve it.
As the umbrella was getting scooped up, I wrote the following words in my little notebook:
"Lost my umbrella to the wind. "
Around then, I was thinking a lot about the life I left behind and grieving over all the loss that came with it. I wanted to write a song that embodied all my feelings. That phrase I wrote that afternoon was the gateway I crossed to find what I needed.
The song is called Swirl, and it is featured in the music player above. Find a quiet moment in your day and press “Play” to have a listen.
Here are the lyrics:
Swirl
Music and Lyrics by Roqué Marcelo
I tried my best not to cry
But my best was not enough
You whispered softly for a while
To be honest feels so tough
I tried to smile
But felt so sad
You were the best friend that I had
I could not bear to watch you go
To leave me here
All alone
Chorus:
Lost my umbrella to the wind
To this storm I stand in
You were never mine to hold
You held me close as I let go
Rain falls from my eyes
All I said was goodbye
You were never mine to hold
You held me close as I let go
They say we love what we set free
Maybe we don't know what we say
This only leaves us so empty
And aching for what flew away
As color fades from my face
Our shared past swirls with grace
To rise above these quiet streets
And fades to grey so forcefully
Bridge:
You're swirling away
Swirling away
Swirling away
Outro:
Lost my umbrella to the wind
To this storm I stand in
You were never mine to hold
You held me close as I let go
You were never mine to hold
You held me close as I let go
I tried my best not to cry.
Those lyrics came to me pretty quickly after finding that phrase, and I was lucky to have my piano trucked over from NC for the big move. It sat in my mom's living room, where I slowly pieced together the music for this song. I wanted the instrumentation to answer a simple question:
What does longing sound like?
Swirl's piano music, with its plaintive cadences in a time signature I have not quite figured out, is the answer that came. I was thrilled to have come up with it. As it ascends into a sweeping piano crescendo, the bridge gives me all the feels.
The song would eventually hold a place in future set lists and would be the hidden track off the first full album I ever recorded (called Seahorses).
I am toying with the idea of adding it back to my regular rotation of songs played live, but this time, to add drums, guitar, and all sorts of sorcery to it. (I would need to consult with my drummer, Joe, about the time signature. It's an odd one.)
Songs hold memories I never want to lose. Writing Swirl helped me to grieve and to let go in order to move forward with my life. Eventually, I started anew as a performing musician. I made new friends and experienced different heartbreaks. Other rhythms and lyrics blossomed out of more experiences and memories.
Once in a while, when I want to feel something real, I sing a song with a plaintive cadence about something I lost. I restore myself with the memories I keep.
Thank you for reading and listening.
I want to give you a heads-up about WPR over the next two issues. This Sunday, I board a plane for the first leg of my trip to the Philippines. I hope I will be able to post photos from this adventure as a two-part travelogue. However, not knowing how my internet access will turn out while I'm there, I cannot be sure that I will be able to do so. In case there is a lack of resources, I have a backup issue ready to go.
Otherwise, I will be writing to you next week from a small town in the Philippines!
See you then!
UPCOMING SHOWS:
Jane’s Hideaway
Nashville, TN
Tuesday, February 25, at 8 PM
Writer’s Kitchen: Solo Songwriter’s Round
This past Monday, I went with my Dear Husband to a Martin Luther King, Jr. march in nearby Murfreesboro, TN. This is an annual event that occurs on the holiday that marks his birth and legacy as a trailblazing civil rights activist in America. His skill as a mighty and captivating orator is something I have always admired.
Joining this march is how we wanted to celebrate this day instead of watching any of the inauguration ceremonies for the returning felon. A few hundred people braved the freezing temperatures to march over a mile through a historically Black neighborhood toward a beloved local community center. It felt good to join all these people to honor King’s work and the fight for racial justice in America. It was all smiles and singing as we walked in solidarity together. This event was a comforting reminder that many battles have already been fought and that we can keep fighting toward better days and more smiles to come.
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