I’ve created all my life. As a kid, I sculpted pine straw labyrinths on the forest floor, scraping down to the dirt with my bare feet, carving paths through the woods. Drawing, writing novels, painting, performance art, murals, poetry, sculpting, refurbishing antiques, throwing pottery, on & on. If it’s creative, I’m probably into it.

Music is my current passion.

I never saw it coming. Never took music lessons, or studied music theory, or participated in school choir, or learned to read music, or insert-any-&-every-other-excuse rattling around my skull when that trusty ol’ impostor syndrome interrupts reality. In reality, poetry, words, chose me many moons ago. Crafting words? Alright. But crafting music? Say what now?

My first real poem came late one thunderstormy night, hammers, head & whole body crackling open, bones, pounding, migraine, falling, the worst, short of death, short of breath, flying, thunder & wind & rain pelting, lightning, hail against sheet-metal, pounding, singlewide trailer, flying in a circle, energetic bones, falling, flying in a circle, made of hammers, made of stones.

So the words & rhythms came. And kept coming, even in the headache-free daylight. Since that pivotal night, melodies would occasionally drift through, too, but they weren’t nearly as insistent as the words. Nowadays, the words rarely come without orchestration. Or at least a sick beat. The only thing I know to do with an inspirational fountain like that is drink from it.

Toying with some music one day, a convoluted, but nevertheless pregnant, thought came to me. Something like: Melody and words all mixed together form the most ubiquitous form of poetry, poetry slipping into even those who declare they “hate” poetry: lyrics. Expressed a little more succinctly:

Lyrics are the most ubiquitous form of poetry.

I’ve been tinkering with music for years. Jaw harps & harmonicas, digital looping, layered & altered vocals pushed to where they sound like a strange-yet-familiar instruments you can’t quite place. Like with all learning, most of those earliest pieces are ragged attempts at best. They exist in hard drive only. (Although, confession, years ago I did release a few under pseudonyms.)

Then one day an old friend, who at the same time became my luthier, gave me a ragged banjo he had lying around. He’s left-handed, so the banjo was strung left-handed. An unusual gift for a right-handed person. I played. Strings. Many vibrating strings.

Some magic happened. The tuning really matters, and it can be anything. I found I preferred an open tuning, playing stringed instruments lying flat in my lap. Lost myself for hours, days, in the beautiful, effortless flow of discovery, playing, recording, listening, refining, repeating. Melody, chords, rhythm. TA delectable challenge, along with a growing skillset, to push, stretch, grow & create richer music.

And just like that, poetry transitioned to lyrics.

Songs come to me nearly every day. Snippets, unforgettable phrases, a run of notes, catchy hooks, chord progressions.

My life is a musical. I’ve written love songs to the water flowing out the faucet & pissed-off protest songs & silly ditties about trashbags & luscious blues & songs combining aliens and depression & untethered syllables surfing on tinkly strands of light language & I am even more in love with music now than ever.

Experimentation continues.

When I touch an instrument, my soul resonates with it. That’s a sweet relationship to find. I’m currently in love with a specific 6-string guitar with a rich, warm tone, played in an open tuning, in my lap of course. But I also vibe with the simplicity of a lone metronome, the atmospheric hum of a 12-string guitar, the twang & grit of a banjo, the freedom flowing out of a harmonica, the aching heartbeat of a djembe.

Anyway, it’s that time again. When, after working pretty hard in isolation for awhile, my intuition whispers: hey, alright, okay, it’s good enough for now, the fear is a liar, besides, you care way more than anyone else does, so let it loose, it’s time, share your soul.

So, I’ve been working on songs. I believe I need to share them. Whatever that impulse is, I’m going with it as I always have. Yet another experiment. The cool part, to me, is that the act of creating & sharing music also led me back to writing in this format. Alright.

I released my first song earliest this month. I’m letting “demo” versions out into the wild now, with a plan to re-record & release them as an album later this year. I also plan to detail that process & what I’ve learned about self-publishing music in future posts. (It’s a lot.) Hopefully, what I’ve found, the process I’m still baby-stepping through, is also worth sharing.

The first single from my forthcoming “Latest Grits Vol iii” is available on all major streaming platforms: Spotify, Apple Music, Pandora, etc. It is the test run, to work out the kinks of the very involved release process. As always when I’m in this mode, the very process of preparing a work of art for sharing publicly informs the process for the next work of art. That excites me.

If you dig the poetry, I’d love you to check out one way I hear this example of the most ubiquitous from of poetry.
Simply click here: “Part Of It” or search the song & artist on your preferred streaming platform.

Song: “Part Of It”
Artist: Lucas Hargis

Mary Go Round & Jungle Jim
BB Guns & Army Men
World is coming to an end
Yeah, what of it? You’re part of it.

Ballsy Gals & Handsy Guys
This & that pack of lies
See the strain behind my eyes?
Yeah, what of it? You’re part of it.

I said put away your toys

Red & blue, Left & right
Right & wrong, Black & white
See the light on the horizon
Yeah, what of it? You’re part of it.

I said put away your toys

Mary Go Round & Jungle Jim
BB Guns & Army Men
World is coming to an end
Yeah, what of it? You’re part of it.