I'm in love with you, but it's all right.

By the way, I'm a songwriter! Here is the "casual love" blog post, in song form. It's brand new and hot off the proverbial presses.



If you like it, consider becoming a patron of my work, at www.patreon.com/carsieblanton. It's like sending me a "tip" every time I write a new song. I really appreciate the support - and the extra kick in the pants to finish my songs!

Casual Love

Friends, put on your flak jackets. It's time to drop some honesty on yet another uncomfortable topic: love.

We use the word "love" to mean a lot of things. Throughout this post I'll be referring to the romantic kind of love, the kind that usually involves sexual attraction, AKA "falling in love".

Love: The Shocking Truth 

 

The truth about love is: it happens. A lot. It happens at appropriate times (like, when you're in a long-term relationship with someone great), and also inappropriate ones (like, when you meet somebody at a party and have a weirdly awesome conversation and then make out in a bathroom). Love is just not all that concerned with appropriateness. 

We have a mythology surrounding romantic love that says it's a special, rare feeling, reserved for just a few people in your whole life. It says that love takes time to develop, and that the feelings you experience at the outset of a relationship are not love, but something else ("infatuation", "a crush", or my favorite, "twitterpation" (see Bambi)). It also says that love is generally constant and reliable, and that falling in love is A MAJOR LIFE EVENT, about which SOMETHING MUST BE DONE! 

In summation, the plot of every romantic comedy: if you fall in love with somebody, you better go out and get 'em - even if they're already married and they don't really like you and you're their stepsister and you're leaving for a six-year residency in Mongolia in the morning - because you'll probably love them forever and you might not ever love anyone else. 

We are so enamored with this idea that we tend to round some feelings up to love (when you first met the person you later married), and others down to not-love (your weekend fling with a Spanish dancer). The thing is, those experiences feel remarkably similar from the inside.

That Old Feeling

 

Love is a feeling. It's hot and fluttery and tingly. I get it in my guts and chest and face. The feeling is accompanied by a series of enthusiastic thoughts, such as "This person is the greatest person ever", "I wonder how I can make this person feel good", and/or "I want to climb onto this person and put my face close to their face and smoosh my body onto their body."

I have felt this way, to varying degrees, towards probably a hundred different people. Actually, that's a lie; it is way more. When I was a teenager, I felt it towards approximately three people per day. Lately, the torrent has slowed to once every month or three (I am a bit of a love-fiend, I know. I don't think such frequency is average.) And I'm married! 

And speaking of being married, yes, I do experience this feeling towards my husband. It feels different now than it felt when we first met: softer, warmer, with more comfort and less urgency. But the love I have for my husband is surrounded by a bunch of other feelings and thoughts that are much rarer than love, in my experience. These include: a deep mutual understanding of and appreciation for each other's personalities, values, and quirks (e.g.: he finds my love-fiendishness endearing); years of shared experience; a lot of conversations about the kind of future we're aiming for; and plenty of similar tastes and preferences (e.g. New Orleans, humor, dogs, dark chocolate, Ray Charles, The Daily Show, preferred frequency of house cleaning/travel/sex). 

But underneath all that is the same feeling: love.

Instead of trying to deny it, or ignore it, or call it something different in each different situation, I want to call it like I feel it: I'm in love. I'm in love with my husband, several of my friends, most of the musicians who move me (including some who are dead, such as Chet Baker, who would sympathize), and a handful of people I hardly know but have had good conversations/dances/make out sessions with. I fall in love all the time. 

And really, it's no big deal. It's actually kind of fun, once you get used to it.

I love you. NBD.

 

The kids today are having a casual sex revolution. "Hookup culture" is akin to "free love", but with more condoms and fewer hallucinogens. And I'm for it! In case you haven't heard, I like casual sex. It's my observation that as casual sex becomes more acceptable behavior (for men and women), it lessens the shame and anxiety associated with the sex that people are having anyway (and have been having since the dawn of time, and are going to keep having). I'm thrilled that young people are beginning to feel they have the option of exploring sex, safely and consensually, outside of the boundaries of long-term commitment. 

But why not have the option of exploring love, too, with or without a side of commitment? If we can agree that our bodies are not inherently dangerous, can't we do the same for our hearts?

I suggest we take a page from the casual sex book here. Let's lift some of the weighty grandiosity off the shoulders of love, and allow it to be what it is: a sweet, ephemeral, exciting feeling to experience and share.

Imagine if you could say to a casual partner, "I love you. It's no big deal. It doesn't mean you're The One, or even one of the ones. It doesn't mean you have to love me back. It doesn't mean we have to date, or marry, or even cuddle. It doesn't mean we have to part ways dramatically in a flurry of tears and broken dishes. It doesn't mean I'll love you until I die, or that I'll still love you next year, or tomorrow."

Then later, perhaps over brunch, you could tackle the question of whether there's anything to do about it. All of the aforementioned - dating, marriage, cuddling, etc - are options, and there are an infinite number of other options (Skee ball, sailing around the world, double suicide). These are all things you can now choose or not choose, as two conscious adult human beings. The important distinction is that none of them is implied just by saying the word "love".

The Point 

 

There are advantages to separating the wacky, butterflies-in-the-gut, unpredictable feeling of "love" from the ideally rational, cool-headed decisions and agreements of "commitment". For one: love is just not a good enough reason to commit to somebody (trust me, I've tried). You need a few other ingredients: mutuality, compatibility, and availability, for starters.

The big advantage for the lover is that falling in love will feel less scary, life-threatening, and crazy-making. As long as love is theoretically reserved for people whom you want to date and possibly marry, falling in love will be confusing and dramatic. If we interpret this particular set of feelings and thoughts as an epic, life-changing event, we'll have no choice but to get really, really attached to our beloved. We'll throw a lot of expectations at them ("Love me back! Love me only! Love me forever!"), and feel hurt and resentful if the feeling is not mutual. We'll imprint upon them like baby ducks, and resolve to stick with them through thick and thin, through hell or high water, through abuse and neglect and lies and bickering and frustration and mutually-assured destruction, whether or not it brings us (or anyone else) any kind of joy. 

The big advantage for the beloved is that being loved will feel less like an attack, and more like a gift. The little-discussed fact is that it's super uncomfortable to be loved when the feeling is not mutual (see my song Please). So uncomfortable, in fact, that many of us would rather act like callous, cold-hearted assholes than be in the same room as the person who loves us. We panic, we get distant, we deny any interest or care for the other person, we stop returning their texts. But that's not an aversion to love, or to the lover; it's the attachment and expectation being hurled in our direction with such intensity. If love was casual, we could take it as a high compliment, say "thanks!", and feel some warm fuzzies. We might also begin to feel some compassion for our lover (who, after all, has a stomach full of butterflies and can't eat or sleep very well), which might allow us to make better and kinder decisions about how to respond.

If love was casual, perhaps it wouldn't collide into our sense of identity or our plans for the future at such high velocity. It wouldn't feel so personal. If it's not mutual, so what? If it doesn't turn into a relationship, so what? I have feelings and desires all the time that go unsatisfied. Sometimes (okay, a lot of times), late at night, I want Chef's Perfect Chocolate ice cream, but Creole Creamery closes at 10pm. Do I panic? Do I call Creole Creamery and leave a series of desperate messages? Do I curl into a ball and lament that without Chef's Perfect Chocolate, I am a broken person who is not worthy of ice cream? No. I deal. I feel my feelings, whine a little if I need to, and go without. Like a grown-ass woman.

And here's my favorite part: if love is casual - not something rare and dramatic and potentially painful, but something common and easy and mutually enjoyable - we all get to feel more love, and share more love. 

Sounds lovely, right?

****

If you like this post, let me know! You can donate below via paypal, buy my music on bandcamp, and/or become a subscriber on patreon. To learn more about me, visit my website. 

Sexuality is a superpower.

Yesterday, along with about a million other people, I read this blog post. In it, "Mrs. Hall", a Christian mother of teenage boys, cautions teenage girls against posting pictures of themselves on social media wearing “skimpy PJs” or “only a towel”. And by “cautions”, I mean patronizes, berates, and shames.

The post, thankfully, was subject to a swift and glorious backlash. Some friends and I posted a series of photos on Facebook and twitter in protest (see below - then make your own - #solidarityselfie). 

I was pleased to see other bloggers writing thoughtful responses, many of which emphasized the idea that it’s not a young woman's job to keep young men from thinking about her in a sexual way; it’s a young man’s job to learn how to look at women without objectifying them.

Although I think that's a valid position, and certainly less damaging than the original post, I don’t think it addresses my biggest problem with this all-too-common worldview. I will attempt to do that here.

I think both arguments (“girls shouldn’t wear skimpy clothing” and “boys should control their lustful feelings for girls”) stem from a shared paradigm: “Sexuality is dangerous, and we must protect our children from it.” Here's how I hear it:

• Mrs. Hall: Women’s sexuality is dangerous to men. “Some young men are fighting the daily uphill battle to keep their minds pure.” 
• Nate Pyle: Men’s sexuality is dangerous to women. "Discipline yourself to see her, not her clothes or her body."
• Me: Sexuality is not dangerous.

Yes, I understand that bad things happen to people because of sex. Rape, sexual abuse and molestation, STDs, unwanted pregnancies, physical and emotional damage of every flavor and variety are real and present dangers of unchecked sexuality. I’m not interested in sugar-coating the issue.

I'm interested in this idea: the experience of ourselves and other people as sexual beings is not inherently dangerous. Nor is it shameful, or shallow, nor does it rob us of the ability or opportunity to engage with people in other ways. The act of expressing our sexual selves can be empowering, fun, and pleasurable. The act of experiencing someone else’s sexual expression can also be empowering, fun, and pleasurable. 

Furthermore: sexuality is a built-in part of the human experience, and there is no avoiding it. It doesn’t matter how conservatively you dress, how hard you pray, how much "discipline" you have, or how many teenage girls you block on Facebook. Sexuality is everywhere – within you and without you. 

So, here's what I want to say to teenage girls, and boys, and people of all ages:

Your sexuality is a superpower. It can be a force for good in your life, and in the lives of others. Just like your intelligence, your ambition, your talent, and every other aspect of yourself, it's one of the things that makes you who you are. It's not a weapon; it's a gift.

From there, we still need to do our damnedest to educate our children about how their actions affect those around them. Just like it’s wrong to use your intelligence to harm someone else, it’s wrong to use your sexuality to harm someone else. We have to teach our kids about kindness, compassion, and personal responsibility, and how those values relate to every area of life. 

I'm not saying these lessons will be simple; I'm saying just the opposite. Unfortunately for Mrs. Hall, these lessons will be messy, uncomfortable, and complicated - there are no shortcuts.

On jazz, my record, and Kickstarter

So, I just ran this Kickstarter campaign. It went well. I asked for $29k to make a jazz record, and I raised over $60k. I had nearly 1300 backers, many of whom were brand new listeners, who discovered me via the campaign. A huge number of these backers were international (holla, Aussies!). After hitting my "true goal" of $34k (that's how much I was looking for to fully fund the record), I added "stretch goals" to fund a PR campaign, a national full-band tour, and a solo tour in Australia.

In short, it was nuts. The likelihood of somebody in my position raising that amount of money on Kickstarter is quite slim. Thus, people have been asking me how I think it happened. Here are my thoughts.

1) I found an audience for my record, and I spoke to them directly.

Part I, The Record: This is a record I've been wanting to make for most of my life. I'm extremely passionate about jazz music, and relatedly, about the plight of jazz in contemporary America. Although it's hard to pin down accurate and up-to-date numbers (you can't believe everything you read on the internet), jazz currently holds around 3-5% of the American music market share. At the same time jazz has been losing listeners, its listeners are aging. The average age of a jazz fan in the US is around 50.

In short, jazz is going the way of classical music. It's becoming a genre for well-educated, high-class, mostly old, mostly white people to listen to in concert halls.

Now, obviously there are exceptions to this rule. Two of them are notable, considering the crowd that is probably reading this post: if you're a swing dancer, you probably love jazz. If you live in New Orleans, you probably listen to live jazz regularly. But let me gently burst the tiny bubble that we're all living in: if you took every swing dancer in the US, and put them in a room with every single man, woman and child in New Orleans, you'd have maybe 400,000 people. That's less than .2% of the US population. Add in every working jazz musician in the rest of the US, and you'd have - maybe - the population of Omaha, Nebraska.

So, regardless of your personal feelings about jazz, the amount of passion you have for it, or the amount of time you spend listening to it, dancing to it or playing it, you have to admit that it's got a problem.

As a songwriter and song-geek, I have a big fear that the art of songwriting is going the way of, say, basket-weaving. Like, within a generation or two, it will be a quaint craftsy thing that kids do at summer camp; and popular music will be written exclusively by machines and committees. The folks who are currently lauded as the "great songwriters of my generation" do not move me even 1/100th as much as a Gershwin, or a Dylan, or even a Costello. I think songs are getting worse, and I think the waning of jazz in contemporary culture is partly to blame. In other words, I don't think it's a coincidence that Dylan and Costello have both listened to plenty of Gershwin.

Every time I meet a young songwriter who's never heard of Billie Holiday (this happens more than you think), or who compliments me at a show on "that great new song of yours", and means "Sweet Lorraine", the fear grows.

So, the kind of jazz revival that I'm most interested in is not of the Esparanza Spalding variety (although I think she's great), nor is it of the swing danceable trad jazz variety (although I am a dancer myself, and I love a lot of the dance bands who are currently out there). Neither is it of the Norah Jones variety (which is accessible, clearly, but is not quite up to the Gershwin bar in terms of songwriting).

The jazz revival I want to see is of the tasteful pop variety (side note: I firmly believe that those two words are not mutually exclusive). I want to hear more jazz that meets a high standard in terms of songwriting, performance and production quality, BUT that anybody, from any background, can appreciate, enjoy, and get stuck in their head. The kind of record that your average thirteen-year-old girl might pick up, put on, and feel moved by. That way, when that girl starts writing songs, she'll have some Gershwin knocking around in her brain, along with Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift.

Whew. It feels good to get that off my chest.

Part II, The Audience: So, the way this all relates to the Kickstarter campaign is this: there's a demand for what I'm doing. Many of the backers I heard from said things like, "I've always thought that jazz was too complicated for me." or, "My Grandparents listened to this music, I haven't listened to it since I was a kid."

When I put my campaign together, I made a conscious decision to speak directly to the people who I am making this record for. I wasn't speaking to jazz musicians, or dancers, or anyone who's already part of the "jazz scene". I wasn't even speaking to the fans I already had - at least, not primarily.

I was speaking to non-jazz-geeks, who want an entry into the world of jazz. As it turns out, a lot of those people were listening.

2) I kept people involved.

I sent updates to my backers every single day. I made them videos, I recorded songs for them, and I wrote epic essays about each song I'll be including on the record (I plan to post some of those on this blog). I also answered every comment and email that I got over the course of the 30-day campaign. Thus, the people who backed my project felt like I was talking to them, and I was. 

At the same time, I posted on Facebook and twitter every day, and did my best to provide new content and/or information every time I posted. I had my friends make cute support videos. I tweeted at people with large fan bases who were also involved in Kickstarter (like Amanda Palmer (who tweeted the project) and Spike Lee (who backed it)). I ran silly contests on Facebook like "if we hit 1000 backers by 12pm I will make a video of myself rolling around like a kitten in a yarn factory." 

The risk of all this involvement was wearing people out, and I think some people did get worn out (sorry if you were one of them!). I was willing to take that risk because the advantage was huge: the people who did support what I was doing got really invested in the project. They became super-fans, shared my project with their friends, and made important suggestions about how I could better manage the campaign. 

In other words, I was working to make fans, not just money. 

3) I prepared. A lot.

Before launching my campaign, I spent about two weeks reading everything I could find about running a Kickstarter campaign. I also stalked other people's campaigns relentlessly and stole their ideas. Here are the best resources I found:

Launch and Release - This is a brilliant blog written by two musicians who also happen to smart, down-to-earth, mathy-type guys. They introduce a novel concept to the world of crowdfunding: statistics. In addition to a bunch of really helpful "case studies", this site offers a "fundability calculator", which tells you how much you can reasonably expect to raise on Kickstarter (as determined by the number of fans/friends/family you currently have access to.) *Full disclosure: after reading their blog, I actually hired these guys to help me with my campaign.*

This TED Talk from Amanda Palmer - If you have any feelings of guilt, shame, or hesitancy about asking people for money in exchange for your art, watch this video. OR if you have any inner conflict about asking for gigs, or help, or places to stay. OR if it makes you mad that people steal music and other digital content. Amanda has a revolutionary and brilliant grasp on what it means to be an artist in the 21st century. What she says in this video is absolutely profound.

Here are my favorite Kickstarter campaigns:

• http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1869987317/wish-i-was-here-1?ref=live
• http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/559914737/the-veronica-mars-movie-project
• http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/johnvanderslice/john-vanderslices-dagger-beach-the-new-album?ref=live

4) I am really, really lucky.

That's just a fact. I can't explain it, but I am extremely grateful for it. I'm extremely grateful to have friends like Vienna Teng (see below). I'm extremely grateful to have so many outstandingly caring, enthusiastic, and generous fans. Thanks for your support, with this project and all the others.

Post by Vienna Teng.

Safe Sex in Three Easy Steps

When you talk about having sex for pleasure, people like it if you also talk about sexual safety.  Like, they really like it, and they’d prefer if you did it right away. I have been hesitant to blog about sexual safety because I want to illustrate the point that we are allowed to say that sex is fun without immediately tacking on a precautionary statement. Just like I can say “cookies are delicious!” without following it up with “when consumed in moderation by people who are at low risk for diabetes!” Sex is fun, it’s a wonderful adventure, it makes me feel awesome, and I recommend it to most people. End of statement.

With that said, I would like to take a moment to talk about safe sex. I think American-style sex education tends to promote a false dichotomy about sexual safety, which then gets passed around guiltily for years like an inedible fruitcake. It goes something like this:

·      Option 1: don’t have sex.

·      Option 2: have crazy stupid thoughtless drunken unprotected rapey sex with someone you don’t know who will give you AIDS and syphilis and an unwanted baby and then skip town and post photos of your vag on the internet and never pay child support.

Luckily, here in reality there are more options than that. It is possible to have sex and also be reasonably safe. Here’s how, in three easy steps.

Step 1: Consent

Consent is the invisible fairy dust that turns scary things into sexy things. It’s the difference between hot rough sex and rape. It’s the difference between polyamory and cheating. It’s the difference between sex that makes people feel icky and shameful, and sex that makes people feel turned on and empowered.

It’s also the reason the Stubenville rapists are rapists, and deserve to be treated as such, regardless of how drunken or foolish or scantily clad their victim was.

Consent is not a lack of “no”, it’s an “absolutely yes”. It happens verbally and physically, and it keeps happening throughout every part of every kind of sex. Consent is an acknowledgement from your sex partner that they are a willing and enthusiastic participant in the encounter you’re having, or about to have. It’s an accepted proposition. It’s dirty talk. It’s a whispered direction readily followed.

Consent is the foremost ingredient not just to safe sex, but to great sex. Consent is sexy, it’s ballsy, it’s thrilling, and we could all use more of it. Go out and get yours today.

Step 2: Care

This comes up often in discussions of casual sex, and I’m excited to make it crystal clear: a person who doesn’t care for or empathize with their sex partner is not being “casual”, they are being a sociopath.

There is nothing sexy or charming or mysterious about people who don’t offer emotional resonance to their sex partners. In any relationship where someone is being vulnerable with you, the way to be deserving of that vulnerability is to treat them with consideration. Any other response is callous and disrespectful. Do unto others, etcetera.  

This doesn’t mean you have to LOVE everyone you have sex with, or even know them well. It means you should relate to your sex partner like you are both human beings, not inanimate objects. Consider their feelings and desires and try your best to respond to them. If you sense that they want something, offer it. If you sense that they don’t like something, stop and check in. If you want something from them, ask. It’s not rocket science, it’s the laws of human decency: they still apply when you’re turned on. 

If you are considering having sex with a person, and you don’t feel resonance/empathy/care for them, or from them, there’s a really simple solution: don’t have sex with them. Also probably don’t date them, or be friends with them, or spend any time with them at all, because that shit is creepy.

Step 3: Condoms & Contraception (okay, that was four Cs)

Condoms and birth control are the technology that makes safe sex-for-pleasure possible. Thank you, science! 

If you're having straight sex, you need to think about not one but two kinds of risk: STD prevention, and birth control. 

• STD Prevention

The best way to avoid STDs is to not have penetrative sex (in which case you can still make out, masturbate together, use your hands to get each other off, and/or experiment with the myriad of other creative solutions that the unmarried youth and cautious adulterers of the world have been perfecting for untold centuries).

If you’ve decided to have penetrative sex (wherein a penis is penetrating a vagina, butt, or mouth (the risk of contracting an STD from giving or receiving oral sex is small, but it's still there. Eg: high-risk HPV, which can be contracted from any kind of genital contact, increases the risk of some kinds of cancer, and for which there is now a handy vaccine!)), you are accepting the risk of potentially contracting an STD. As such, condoms are your friend. Use them every time, all the time, don't bitch about using them, and use them properly (click the link and an attractive Latin man will teach you how to put on a condom.) 

If you’re in a situation where you can confirm beyond reasonable suspicion that your sex partner is STD-free (ie: you have been dating them for a while, neither of you has been having sex with anyone else, you just went with them to get tested, and they are clean), and you are using a reliable method of birth control (gay sex counts, “withdrawal” does not), or you are hoping to get pregnant, that’s the only time it’s okay to have sex without a condom.

• Birth Control

Pregnancy is another issue. If you’re having penis-in-vagina sex, you should not rely on condoms to keep you from getting pregnant. They just don’t work that well. Here are some more reliable forms of birth control, to be used in conjunction with condoms, in order of effectiveness: the Progestin implant (Implanon or Jadelle), the ‘combined injectable’ (Lunelle), the IUD, the shot, the cervical cap, the Nuvaring, and the pill.

For people who are sure they aren’t going to want offspring of their own at any time in the future, vasectomies and tubal ligation (ie: male and female sterilization) are both highly effective and readily available.

Birth control is not a one-size-fits-all solution. Know yourself, do your research, and figure out what kind of birth control would be easiest to use and most effective for you.

Finally: if you fucked up, and you had some sex that wasn’t totally safe, you still have options. There’s the “morning after” pill, which will disrupt fertilization (ie: make you less likely to get pregnant) when taken up to 72 hours after unprotected sex. And after that, there’s everybody’s favorite Sunday dinner topic: abortion. It’s legal and available in this great nation, and it is an option to be considered (and a decision to be made) by the pregnant woman herself, not her boyfriend or her parents or her priest.

Want to know more about contraception? Start with this handy birth control effectiveness table from Wikipedia. Learn more about various birth control methods on the Planned Parenthood website.

And, voila.

That’s it. If you want to have safe sex, you’ll need consent, care, and condoms/contraception. Some notable absences from the list include: love, marriage, monogamous commitment, and approval from your parents, friends or church. You can use those, too, but only if you feel like it.

Have safe sex, but don’t stop there. Have pleasurable, playful, joyful sex. Have kinky sex. Have silly sex. It’s not just dangerous, it’s fun. Watch this video, and enjoy yourself.

This video is so great I had to post it here. I didn't make it, but I couldn't agree with it more. More on how sex is like music, from Karen B. K. Chan:

Why I’m Not Done Writing About Sex

(or, If You Thought That Last Video Was Too Risque You Better Brace Yourself)

I wrote my first blog about sex back in August. I made the decision, with that post, not to be private or coy about my sexuality, my interest in sex, or the sexual content of my work. I made the decision to “come out” as a woman who likes sex.

The reaction has been overwhelmingly positive. I got a bunch of fan mail in response to that post (only a very small percentage of it inappropriate or creepy). I got to have dinner with Dan Savage and Chris Ryan. I had women of all ages come up to me in person and thank me for writing about female sexuality. I got hit on a lot more often at my shows, and more directly (which is, of course, fine with me.)

Occasionally, I get a different reaction. A few people have told me that they’re “bored” of this topic, that I ought to write about something else. A friend told me that I should show less cleavage in my promotional pictures, or people might “get the wrong idea”. People have said that they “fear for my safety”, that I should probably “tone down the sex stuff”.

Well, I’m about to release an EP. It includes one song about sex, one song about sex and murder, and one song about sex and bravery. That last one is accompanied by a music video which features two burlesque dancers in their underwear, two very tall men in suits, and yours truly, dancing lasciviously and looking like I’m about to make some mischief. NPR just told me they wouldn’t post it to their website because it’s “too risque”.

So, for clarification purposes, I’d like to tell you why I won’t tone down the sex stuff.

Just Exactly What I Stand For

It’s not my job to sing pretty songs. It’s not my job to be cute, or to make people feel comfortable, or nice, or happy. My job, as I’ve chosen to define it, is to live vibrantly, and tell everyone about it.

I stand for aliveness. I stand for joy and pleasure and inspiration. I stand for human beings having a vibrant experience of their own lives. I stand for sex and desire and passion and lust because those things make me, and most other people, feel alive. For the same reason, I also stand for music, love, honesty, silliness, poetry, bravery, chocolate, parades, and painting things pink.

I will stop writing about sex, and music and love and honesty, when those things stop making people feel alive. So don’t hold your breath.

“I Fear for Your Safety”

Aliveness is inefficient, messy, and hard to control. It’s difficult to monetize, difficult to quantify, difficult to compete at. Aliveness does not increase GDP. What’s worse: everybody wants it more than money. In a society like ours, aliveness is automatically threatening to the status quo.

Sexual pleasure, being one of the most potent bearers of aliveness, is surrounded by a sort of gloppy, tarry, whiny puritan shame. That shame is society’s way of protecting itself – think of it like porcupine quills, or the fake blood that some lizards cry. Shame, and its attendant propaganda, floats around in the ether and pours out of other people’s mouths before they realize what they’re saying.

If you dedicate your life to aliveness, or anything that inspires it; be it sex or music or humor or painting-things-pink; people will tell you to get a job. They will ask you about your fallback plan. They will say, “I could never do that”. They will tell you they fear for your safety. They will tell you to show less cleavage and write about something else and focus and get serious and grow up and tone it down.

In essence, they will tell you that there are better things to do than run around feeling alive.

I’m here to tell you that there aren’t.

how to improve your sex life and save America

I was at a Halloween party on Saturday, sitting between two men whose entire bodies (including their heads) were covered in green spandex, when I reached this conclusion: all of us, in the company of our friends, families, lovers and co-workers, ought to spend much more time talking about sex.

I propose that talking about sex will help us to feel less shame, have better sex, and even weaken the influence of politics (and worse, politicians) on our personal lives.

Here’s how it works.

Waste less of your life feeling ashamed.

We feel ashamed when we think that we are doing or feeling something uniquely awful. You can’t feel ashamed of doing something that everybody you know and love is also doing. At least, in theory you can’t, but in practice you do: everyone you know and love picks their nose, poops, does not look like an airbrushed supermodel when naked, and has all kinds of dirty, dark, and deviant sexual desires. Just. Like. You.

Keeping the shameful stuff to ourselves keeps us isolated from each other. We are so afraid of each other’s judgment that we clam up, and forfeit the possibility of connection. The irony is that connection is the only thing that can alleviate our shame - when we realize that we are not uniquely dirty-minded, just plain old run-of-the-mill dirty-minded, the shame begins to evaporate. Of course, it may not be the case that your best friend shares your fantasy about being tied up. But guess what: there is only one way to find out.

Personally, I am sick of shame. I’ve spent enough time with it to recognize the depth of its uselessness. If you could also do with a little less shame, follow these simple instructions: 

1. Invite some friends over. 
2. Make a pot of tea. 
3. Pose this question: "What turns you on?"

Have better sex.

One thing I’ve often found perplexing is why competent, intelligent, fully-grown members of society so often turn into simpering weenies when things get sexual. They lose the ability to ask for things they want, and to say NO to things they don’t want. As anyone who has ever hung out with a toddler knows, these are not advanced skills – every one of us mastered them completely by the age of 2.

So what gives? It seems to me that our vast reserves of shame cloud our judgment and thicken our tongues. Whatever the reason, the fact is that most of us suck at communication when we’re turned on. Luckily there’s a really easy and reliable way to get better at things: practice.

Start talking about sex before you get into bed with somebody. Like, WAY before. At the party, on the date, in mixed company. Right after “what do you do?” and “where are you from?”, ask “what turns you on?” 

If you’re honest with yourself and the ones you covet, here’s what I predict: you may have fewer sex partners (having filtered out the incompatible and easily-offended ones right off the bat), but you’ll have much better sex. Your sex partners will know what you like before they have the chance to try all the things you don’t like. You’ll know what they like, too, so you can spend less time worrying about your performance. Even better: the more you practice talking about sex, the better you'll be at it; so when your desires inevitably change and develop, you’ll be more likely to get those satisfied, too.

And here’s the revolutionary part: when you talk about sex, the people around you will also have better sex. Talking about sex is contagious (that’s why I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my Christian homeschooler friends after I was about 13). It jumps from host to host, devouring their shame, connecting them to each other, and making their sex lives hotter. It’s a miracle drug. If I could make it into a pill I’d be a billionaire.

Kick politicians out of your sex life 

(unless you're having sex with one).

Part of the reason politicians and voters support stupid, counterproductive, dangerous legislation about sex is because they are under the influence of sexual shame. Remember how being open about sex and sexuality brings people closer together? It also weakens people’s opposition to no-brainer civil rights issues like marriage equality. In short: shame makes us stupid.

Sexual shame gives politicians and voters the selective-blindness required to support policies that are bad for them and their families. Shame allows closeted gay politicians to endorse anti-gay legislation. Shame allows parents of gay kids to keep mum about their support for marriage equality. Shame allows otherwise rational people to suggest that abstinence-only education is a good idea. Shame allows people with uteri (or daughters) to support a Presidential candidate who wants to de-fund planned parenthood and overturn Roe v. Wade - a lethal combination for women, regardless of your religious or moral position on those issues (HELLO SCIENCE: making abortion illegal does not mean that fewer women get abortions, it means that more of them die in the process.)

All of this is not to mention that oral sex is currently illegal in eighteen states.

In short, sexual shame is what a lot of people are smoking when they vote against there own interests. And what have we learned is the sobering antidote to sexual shame, friends? Or at least the morning-after, hangover-easing french toast and OJ? Talking about sex.

So turn to your neighbor, open your mouth, and say something sexy. For the good of humanity.

A couple things I forgot to mention about sex.

1) Sex is not that big of a deal.

Despite the fact that I love it, and I love to write about it, I firmly believe that sex, between consenting adults, is not that big of a deal*. I don't think it's worth falling in love, falling out of love, ending a friendship, breaking up a marriage, impeaching a president, or maiming or killing anybody over. 

I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately, and I'm starting to think that this sentiment is unusual. Somehow I keep coming across the type of movie where two people fall in love, have a giant conflict involving sex, hate each other's guts for a while, and then realize that love conquers all and get married. Or, in the tragic version: realize that said conflict has revealed their insurmountable incompatibility, and go their separate ways.

In other words, pretty much every American movie that isn’t about war, or a heist.

I can’t help but wonder whether these movies would be so poignant and popular if we all stood up, en masse, and said, WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL ABOUT SEX?

How about a movie where the boyfriend casually mentions to the girlfriend that once, before they were together, he had sex with her best friend/sister/nemesis, and she says “that makes sense, she’s a cutie”, and that’s the last we hear of it? How about a movie where the wife cheats on her husband, and then confesses tearfully, and her husband says “Well, that’s a real bummer, but I love you and I think we’re great together and we have all these great kids, so I’ll get over it.”? How about a movie where the heroine has unprotected sex with the dopey-but-lovable guy at the party, and then wakes up the next day and says to herself, “I don’t know this guy at all and this is a terrible time for me to have a baby”, so she takes the fucking morning after pill? Even better, how about a movie where the heroine has drunken sex with the dopey-but-lovable guy at the party, but she doesn’t get pregnant, because she uses birth control like any sane woman who has drunken sex with guys she meets at parties? 

I would love for sex to exist in pop culture, but not be central to the plot line. I would love to see characters who have other shit to think about. Perhaps if we all start living that way, Hollywood will follow suit.

So here's my advice: have some sex, or don't. Be safe, be honest. Above all: don't freak out about it.

2) There is no normal.

People, as a species, tend to be pretty concerned with whether we are "normal". Which is really too bad, because "normal" is not only impossible to achieve, in many areas it's impossible to identify. Normalcy is determined by your perspective. Louis CK brilliantly illustrates this point in the opening lines of his stand-up act: 

"Hello everybody. Actually, I shouldn't say everybody, because most people are not here. By a pretty huge majority, most people are not here tonight. In fact, most people are in China.
Actually, most people are dead. Out of all the people that ever were, almost all of them are dead."

So next time you ask yourself, "Do most people dress/eat/fuck/think this way?" Remember: most people are dead.

For example: is it normal to drink cow’s milk? If you live in North America or most of Europe, you might think ‘yes’. But the answer is: only if you don’t live in Asia or Africa. Considering the fact that most people (that's living people; about 5.2 billion of them) do live in Asia and Africa: no, it is definitely not normal. If you drink milk, you are a freak.

As Christopher Ryan observes in his brain-busting book on the topic, Sex at Dawn (I've mentioned it before and I will again - read the damned thing): cultural attitudes about sex vary at least as widely as cultural attitudes about food. Plus, our personal sexual desires seem to be affected not only by our culture but by our genetics, our epigenetics, our family dynamics, our formative experiences, and probably other things that we don’t even know about. Even our species' evolved sexual behaviors are not as you might expect. What’s more: the way all of these things affect our sexual interests and behaviors is complex, unpredictable, and extremely difficult to study.

In short, if there is such a thing as “normal” sexuality, we probably don’t know what it is.

But I can tell you what it's not: it is not normal for two completely heterosexual people to meet in high school, fall in love, get married at 20, lose their virginity to each other, and have mutually orgasmic missionary-position sex once a week, exclusively with each other, until they both croak. 

So if that doesn't describe you, congratulations: you're normal.

And if you're not married, but you're still having sex, congratulations to you, too. And if you're gay and married, gay and partnered, or gay and single. And if you're a transgendered bisexual sex worker who's into threesomes, or a super-femme housewife who's dominant in bed. If you need a lot of time to have an orgasm, or you need to use your hand to have an orgasm, or if you have orgasms at 'inappropriate' times, or if you don't have orgasms at all. If you need to be in love to feel aroused or if you can't get it up unless you're with somebody new. If you had sex when you were twelve or if you've never had sex at all. If you love giving head or hate getting head or love porn or hate porn or like being slapped or hanging from the ceiling or fantasize about animals or high heels or, actually, if you're only into missionary position once a week with your high school sweetheart:

Congratulations to all of you. You are just as normal as anybody else. Which is to say perfectly, blessedly, magnificently abnormal.

the first-sippers

The Pepsi Challenge is a marketing stunt wherein volunteers are asked to choose between Pepsi and Coke in a blind taste test. The results skew heavily in favor of Pepsi. In Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink, a new set of taste tests (some single-sip, some whole-can) suggest that although Pepsi (being sweeter) is preferred upon first sip, Coke (with its more complex “flavor profile”) is preferred in full-can form.

Lately, I’ve had a creeping suspicion that American culture (which unfortunately seems to be rapidly devouring most other cultures) has become first-sip obsessed. In many areas of life, we’re trading in quality for convenience, and experiential complexity for candy-coated immediacy.

Take music, for example. 

On my recent trip through Europe, I was plagued at every turn by the sort of hyper-emotive, autotuned, electro-dance-pop that much of the world is so enamored with.  I’m not saying “Somebody That I Used to Know” and “We Are Young” are bad songs, but I’ll tell you what: the dance remixes, which are being played not just in the clubs but in grocery stores, restaurants and radio stations internationally and at alarming rates, have been robbed of any element of soulfulness they once possessed.

What do I mean by soulfulness? Well, as Ray Charles said, soul is “when you become part of your song… so that the people really believe every word you’re singing”. A soulful song reaches out and grabs your attention, like a stranger talking directly to you about their personal, emotional life. I think Gotye was on to something when he originally recorded “Somebody That I Used to Know”, but whatever kernel of truth made it believeable has since been remixed, multi-tracked and autotuned right into oblivion.

So why do we love these shells of songs? I would venture to say that we don’t. We take pleasure in them, especially upon first listen, because they are sweet to the ears. They are emphatically, overwhelmingly in tune. They are devoid of all non-musical sounds, like breath, movement, or catches in the throat. They are agreeably inhuman, like airbrushed supermodels . They are so pleasant, so unobtrusive, that they can play in the background while we drive and text and drink Pepsi, and they do not demand our attention.

But I’ll tell you what does demand your attention: every song Ray Charles ever recorded. Ditto The Beatles, in spite of all the ear-candy. And how many great artists have demanded our attention in a way that wasn’t pleasant at all - at least not at first? Billie Holiday. Bob Dylan. Tom Waits. The more pressing question is, how many great artists did strike you as pleasant, within the first ten seconds of the first song of theirs you heard? I’d wager that pleasantness is a common feature of mediocrity, and an uncommon feature of genius.

Imagine you’re in your car, driving and texting and drinking a Pepsi, simmering in a not-unpleasant fog of caffeine and Facebook-induced narcissism, and Tom Waits’ “Picture in a Frame” comes on the radio. You’ve never heard him, or anything like him. The piano is out of tune. You hear breathing, a creaking piano bench, squeaky fingers on bass strings. His voice is like a thousand years of cigarettes and whiskey and unrequited love. How long does it take you to turn the dial?

Unfortunately for the first-sippers - the Blackberry dads,  the Real Housewives of Atlanta, and the whole eat-on-the-run, sleep-when-you’re-dead, one-stop-shop, party-in-the-USA generation – soulfulness, with all of its inherent sorrow and strangeness and black magic,  demands our full attention.

Upon posting this, I plan to turn off my computer, throw my phone in a lake, and allow the soulfulness of life to grab me by the hair and shake me, yawning spit and sound into my face. I suggest you do the same.

backseat video

Wow! People sure had a lot of feelings about that last post. Let's see how y'all feel about the video:

on women who like sex

Tomorrow, I am releasing a music video for “Backseat”, which is a song I wrote about wanting to have sex with a hot tattooed guy who unfortunately had a girlfriend. In said video, I will be dancing around in lingerie, drooling over my dear (hot tattooed guy) friend Dan, and singing some pretty thinly veiled sexual innuendo. (Update: see the video here.)

So, this seems like the time to make my confession. Confession might not be the right word, actually, considering my last album, Idiot Heart, was more or less an epic poem on the topic. But, for those of you who don’t know me, or who aren’t big on lyrics, or who are still nursing your vision of me as an innocent young folksinger, here goes:

I like sex. A lot. I don’t like it because it’s all about love, or because it’s some kind of spiritual journey for me. I like it, mostly, because it’s just so dang fun. Because it makes me feel alive, and it allows me to share that aliveness with other people. Because it helps me to learn things about my body and mind and heart that I otherwise wouldn’t. In other words, I like sex for the same reasons I like music and dance: it is a joyful, playful, fun, surprising way to connect with people, and to explore the human experience.

So why, when I’ve written and talked extensively about music and dance, haven’t I gotten around to writing about sex? Because I am afraid of what it will mean. I’m afraid of being judged, shamed, belittled, or reprimanded. I’m afraid my fans will either run screaming into the hills, hiding their children, or become creepy stalking phone-breathers. It’s only recently occurred to me that these fears don’t belong to me; they belong to a culture with a long history of wrongheaded, destructive views about sex, especially as it pertains to women.

In my own interest, and the interest of sex-liking women everywhere, let’s get a few things straight.

1. Sex ≠ love. I think the idea that sex and love are the same thing (perpetuated throughout the world for much of recent history by religion, art, literature and advertising) is responsible for many of our misconceptions about both, so let's get this one out of the way first.

Clearly, on occasion, people who aren’t in love have sex. Clearly, also, people love other people and don’t have sex with them. I’m not saying they’re mutually exclusive, but neither are they inextricably linked. Love and sex, like milk and cookies, pair well; but neither is required for the enjoyment of the other.

2. Women like sex just as much as men. Countless theories have been put forth over the past few centuries about why women don’t like sex. Without going into the tedious details, let me state my own opinion on the matter: they do.

If you don’t buy it, let’s do an experiment. Let’s start a new culture where women, from their girlhood, are told that sexual pleasure is a natural, fun part of being female. They are never told that sex is dangerous, dirty or weird. They are never badgered, shamed, pressured or forced into any sexual experience. When they become interested in sex with other people, they are encouraged to explore it in a consensual, safe, fun way, with whomever they find themselves attracted to. All of their sexual partners are caring, communicative, generous, and happy to take direction.

That will be our control group.

3. Women who like sex are not sluts. Let me try to sum up the meaning of the word “slut”, as I think it is commonly used, in a sentence or two. A slut is a woman who will sacrifice a lot of valuable things (her physical and emotional health, her reputation, her friendships with women) in order to have sex. It’s generally understood that sluts are not truly interested in sex; they just use sex to get other things they want (like attention, love, or money).

So, a slut is not actually a woman who likes sex. A slut is a woman who uses sex as a bargaining chip to get other things, which she does like.

A woman who likes sex, on the other hand, is just a woman who likes sex.

4. It is not “dangerous” to like sex. All people are vulnerable to rape and sexual assault. All sexually active people are vulnerable to sexually transmitted infections. I don’t believe there is anything about liking sex, or acknowledging it, that puts me in a more vulnerable position.

That’s not to say that there are no risks to having sex, but those risks are not higher than, say, driving a car. Driving a car is generally considered a justifiable risk, whereas having sex - colored by its cultural legacy of shame - is not.

5. Women who like sex will not necessarily have sex with you. This, my friends, is the clincher.

When I find myself in a conversation about sex, and mention that I am a fan of the activity, the men in the room tend to get very nervous, very handsy, or very surly. I think this is due to a common misconception: that women who like sex will “give it up” to anybody. Like, our brains will be so flooded with arousal endorphins that we’ll transform into some kind of pansexual nymph.

Women who like sex still have all our wits about us. Like most people, we only want to have sex with people who we think are attractive, and trustworthy, and with whom we have chemistry.

In conclusion: I just made a music video that is sexy, based on a song that is about sex. Why? Because I like sex. I like sex that is loving and profound, and I like sex that is fun and casual. I like sex as much as any man I know. I am not a weirdo, I am not a slut, and I am not in any excessive danger. I like sex, but that doesn’t mean I want to have sex with you.

Probably.  

Photo by Lauren J. Andrews

Recommended reading:

• Everything ever said by Dan Savage, especially his Savage Lovecast
• Sex at Dawn (by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha)
• This Amazing Study about gender differences and casual sex 
• New here? If you like this post you'll probably like my music. Check out my fan page.

on living extraordinarily

“We are human beings, for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery: the mystery of growing, the mystery which happens only and whenever we are faithful to ourselves.” –e.e. cummings

 As you might have heard, I packed up my lil’ pink studio and left Philly at the end of May. Currently, I’m taking in a pristine view of pines, poplars and blue sky in northern Maine. Later this summer, I’ll be ping-ponging around Europe. I’ll still come through the northeast on tour (don’t worry your pretty heads), but I’m not sure whether I’ll be living there. I don’t know where I’ll be living after September (but I have a hunch. I’ll give you a hint: it’s my favorite place in the world).

 Why? You ask. Well, let me explain.

The worst thing about being an adult, by far, is the sense of obligation. I think in most cases, we don’t have very many real obligations, and the ones we do have (loving our spouses, feeding our kids, paying off our debts) were freely chosen (even if it doesn’t always feel that way). I, for one, have even fewer real obligations than your average bear. But I have plenty of imaginary ones.

 Imaginary obligations create a vague, creepy feeling that you can’t possibly stay home from work/go skydiving/move to New Orleans, because of an imaginary jury of disapproving people. In my case, the imaginary jury includes my fans, my manager, my band-mates, and some of my friends and family members. I’m not sure what would satisfy them, exactly, but it seems to include a constant supply of new songs, an ever-expanding fan base, and a tour itinerary wherein next month’s gigs are always more impressive than last month’s. So we keep ourselves from doing things we want to do – for example, packing up my house, taking the summer off from touring, and bouncing around the world for who knows how long – based on a set of assumptions about what an imaginary group of people would find appropriate.

 So, although I’ve been hankerin’ for a move for a while now, I didn’t think my jury would be in favor of that choice. But I’ve gone and done it, because here’s the God’s-honest truth: I am obligated to only one person, and it’s myself.

 Let me clarify. My purpose is to live an extraordinary life. And by living extraordinarily, and being vocal about the joy and magic I stir up, I aim to inspire others to live extraordinarily (whatever their version of extraordinarly living might look like).

 My version of extraordinary living, so far, includes lots of songwriting, performing, and making records. But it also includes pointless travel, spontaneous adventures, creative fits, hedonistic binges, friendships and love affairs of many varieties and durations, periods of selfless giving, periods of extreme solitude, periods of extreme creative passion, and, apparently, the occasional hermitage in Maine. And I’ll be candid, blog-readers: it very likely includes a move to New Orleans.

 If the songs come, they come because I have been living extraordinarily, and I have some noise to make about it. So, Philadelphia, don’t be sad to lose me. Be thrilled for the mischief I’ll get into, the magic I’ll encounter, the music I haven’t yet made.

Levon Helm and musical joy

Levon Helm was a rare spirit: he radiated love so great you could hear it in his voice, feel it in his backbeat, and see it on his face.

Levon was a musical bodhisattva, and part of a lineage which stretches back into the centuries, and which I believe is still alive today. The Band's music fills me up with a kind of joy that is familiar to me, and that I absolutely live for. When music is beautiful and joyful and honest, and played with kindness, it speaks directly to your heart. You get a taste of enlightenment: the feeling that you are just a drop in an infinite ocean of human experience. That your pain and joy are one in the same as the pain and joy of the people around you.

I want to thank Levon for his life and for his music, and for the inspiration he provided for me and so many of my compadres. I also want to thank the musicians and writers in his lineage: those who have moved me, from the stage or the speaker, and filled me with musical joy. Those whose kindness is palpable, whose grace is evident in their voices and hands. Most recently and to name a few: Oliver and Chris Wood, Cary Ann Hearst, Devon Sproule, Chris Kasper, Seth Walker, Milton. I hear you, I feel you, and I thank you.

Levon: the business of music isn't easy, but thanks to you and those like you, music itself is very clearly a spiritual necessity. I feel grateful every day for the opportunity to make music: to make a joyful noise unto the world, and just maybe to move somebody the way you have moved me.

theory of songs

Let me start by crediting my friend and inspiration, singer/songwriter Milton, for much of the following theory. He didn’t coin it (and I wouldn’t be surprised if he disagreed with some of it), but it was born out of hours of conversation between the two of us, over which I’ve been mulling for the last few years. Let me add that I don’t pretend that anyone can be an authority on this subject, and I don’t mean to sound like I’m trying to be one. I just like talking about it. The following is my current theory of great songs.

Songs are like lovers: the best ones have a good heart, a good brain, and a great body.

The heart is the emotion: the melody and harmony, the shape and feeling of the song. The brain is the insight: the part that makes you think, usually it’s conveyed in the lyrics, but sometimes with fancy chord voicings or time signatures. The body is the physicality of the song: the rhythm, the primal, erotic force that makes you want to get up and dance.

In other words: a great song should break your heart, make you think, and turn you on.

Since I started thinking of songs like this, I’ve noticed that most songs (like most lovers) tend to be unevenly distributed. Most are heavy on one or two of these categories and lacking the third. Even whole genres of music tend to concentrate on one or two aspects. For example…

Folk music tends to be heavy on the brain and heart, and light on the body. Think about Joni Mitchell’s canon: sweeping, heartbreaking melodies, brilliant lyrics, but generally not much going on downstairs. The few times Joni brought in some eros - some sexy, powerful rhythm - she had a hit (think “Big Yellow Taxi”). Leonard Cohen has the same concentration: “Suzanne” is one of my very favorite songs, but you could sing it to a metronome, and not lose anything essential. It’s got a tempo, but no rhythm. It doesn’t move rhythmically. To think of it another way: Dylan was a folksinger when he played solo. When he brought in The Band, he became a rock star.

Pop Music, for most of the last hundred years, tends to have plenty of heart and body, but no brains. Don’t get me wrong, I am a huge fan of pop music. The hugest. But rarely does a pop song contain much insight. This spans the decades, from “Ain’t Misbehavin’”, through “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” and “What’d I Say”, all the way to Bruno Mars’ “F**k You”. Those songs are like smokin’ hot lovers, sweet and kind and passionate, but without a thought in their pretty little heads.

Think about “Dock of the Bay”, one of my favorite pop songs of the last fifty years: It moves you, and it makes you want to move. It’s sexy and sweet and full of longing. But what is it actually saying? This guy is sitting on a dock, thinking about life. He thinks to himself “looks like nothing’s gonna change”. Then he whistles. Again: I adore this song - and I think it has “meaning” in a sort of cosmic, big-picture sense - but it’s not going to change anybody’s mind about anything.

I don’t know rap and hip-hop well enough to comment much, but based on the heart=melody theory, rap seems to be light on the heart, and heavy on the body and brains. I could say the same about punk and hardcore. It would make some sense, because so many of those songs are conveying strength, anger, and toughness, and you don’t want to show too much emotion if you’re trying to win a fight. You want to show brains and brawn: words and rhythm.

All of this is to say that the greatest songs of all, of course, shatter the boundaries. They transcend genres by displaying, in all their beauty and vulnerability, the heart, the mind, and the physicality of the singer. They sing of the complete human experience.

My fans are currently nominating their favorites. Here are a few of mine.

Lean On Me (Bill Withers)

Still Crazy After all These Years (Paul Simon)

Brown Eyed Girl (Van Morrison)

Picture in a Frame (Tom Waits)

What A Wonderful World (Theile/Weiss)

Forgiveness (Patty Griffin)