My blood still belongs to me
Words on old skin and a demo I maybe wish I never recorded
Sometimes I forget that writing a song, if done effectively and honestly, will preserve a moment in time. That sounds like a very warm and fuzzy sentiment, but it’s not always. It can backfire.
It did for me the other day, when I found a 2018 demo while digging through folders.
Going back in time is always dangerous; brushing shoulders with your former selves and catching up on old times. It’s akin to visiting your parents over the holidays and sleeping in your old bedroom. It sticks to you and it’s tough to wash off.
I listened to this demo made by one of these prior versions of me, and honestly it sounded like this kid knew what he was doing. Some neat little production techniques…sampled a phone conversation or something. His drums were raw, likely in a small space as they were very dead sounding. He worked with the limitation. And the kid clearly had a vision and I had to respect that.
But despite all that, the song felt like a weight. Not on me, but on him. And I found myself feeling sorry for him. Like maybe he should have taken whatever time he spent capturing this moment and instead did something to change it.
It’s easier said than done, especially in retrospect. Even if he had options at the time, I know he probably couldn’t see them. It’s so easy to look at someone who’s in a shitty place and say, “why don’t you just change it?” It’s so easy to see the path and the necessary steps, but when you’re in the middle of it, you’re riddled with blind spots.
Pain is good. All of my most significant moments of growth and learning have come to me in the wake of pain. There are negative emotions that are necessary, and they make for beautiful colors, but there also exists a pool of negative emotions that serve no use on my palette. These were the colors he chose to paint with.
I knew why he didn’t put it out. Why he never finished it. Never even added a second verse, which almost feels intentional now. Because if he did finish it, he’d have to live it. So, it got shoved in the box and pushed to the back of the closet.
So why share it now?
First, because I’ve never shared anything this raw (not emotionally raw, but just the early stages of the demo process) and I’m morbidly curious to do so. But also because I know there’s more in that box in the closet. And I feel like there’s some sort of peace in sharing these prior selves I was too fearful to reveal to anyone during their lifetimes. In some strange way, sharing feels like burying, and that might be what I need.