My brain has music running in it pretty much all the time. Sometimes it's recognisable stuff I've heard before. Sometimes it feels like something new, like a melody, a rhythm, or a mood. And if it is new, it can be fragile. I can feel it there, but if I don't catch it quickly, my mind overwrites it with something else.
In theory, I could hum ideas into my phone, but I get self-conscious doing that in public. And even when I do, my memory can still be patchy. So most of the time, I don't pretend I'm going to "capture everything". I wait until I'm in the one place where ideas reliably turn into songs: my creative space.
My creative space is a container
I have a room in my house with my PC and my music gear. When I'm in there, I'm generally left alone. That matters more than it sounds like it should.
When my head is loud, writing music doesn't magically shut the noise off. It isn't a switch. But it does something else that's just as important. It pushes the competing noise into the background for a while. It gives the pressure in my head an outlet. It lets me aim my feelings somewhere.
A lot of the time, that's the real reason I start a song: not because I'm hunting a "great track", but because I need somewhere for the emotion to go. Once that starts happening, I can actually process things that would otherwise stay stuck as overwhelm.
Starting depends on where I am in the process
The "start" of a session looks different depending on what stage the music is in. But it nearly always begins the same way: I listen.
If it's a new track
The first hurdle is simply opening Maschine and choosing a kit and a couple of instruments. After that, I experiment. I try rhythms. I try melodies. I record as I go, knowing I can edit later. The important thing is getting past the start line while the idea is still alive.
If it's a half-written idea inside Maschine
I listen back to what I already have to pull my mind back into the "world" of the song. Often I'll have notes about what I wanted to do next, like the things I ran out of time for. Listening gets me back into the emotional shape of it, then I work out what the song still needs to say.
If it's already in Reaper
Again, I listen first. Then it becomes about balance and glue: what's too prominent, what's too far back, what needs to be held together. Are the dynamics telling a coherent story? Is anything missing? Guitars, vocals, a counter-melody? Reaper is where I start turning parts into a single message.
What I start with (most of the time)
If I'm building from scratch, I usually start with a drum beat or a bassline. Sometimes a chord progression. But underneath the "technical" starting point, it's nearly always led by an emotion or a story I'm trying to tell.
I also spend time tidying: tightening rhythms, aligning accompaniments, making things fit the way I want. And then sometimes I deliberately do the opposite, because sometimes I want things to sound busy or slightly misaligned to reflect how my brain can feel.
Do I use limitations to cut through the noise?
Sometimes I'll set a rigid goal, like exploring a time signature, and that can help. But in general, I'm careful with limitations. Music is an outlet for me. If I limit myself in the wrong way, I'm not sure it would be as therapeutic, even if it got me to a "finished song" more quickly.
I'm not trying to win efficiency. I'm trying to translate what's happening in me into sound. The rules have to serve that, not fight it.
A real example: Half Built Cathedrals
Half Built Cathedrals started because I had a specific part in my head and everything else in my mind was trying to drag my attention away from it. I had a rare opportunity to write, and I didn't want to lose the idea. So I captured it while I could.
Once I got past the start line, a lot of other ideas came quickly. It felt like the act of writing had cleared my mind, at least enough to let the track grow. And while I was experimenting, I discovered new ways of working with the sounds I get from Maschine, including the Jacob Collier Choir sample pack, which became part of the palette for that song.
What starting really is, for me
When my head is loud, starting isn't about inspiration arriving on a schedule. It's about building a small doorway into focus. Taking a kit, a beat, a bassline, or a hook, and stepping through it.
Sometimes I arrive with a melody I've managed to keep hold of. Sometimes I arrive with nothing but an emotion. Both are valid starting points. The important thing is this: once I'm making something, I'm no longer just carrying the noise. I'm shaping it.
Previous writing: When a song feels finished.
Next writing: Why Maschine Is the First Thing I Touch.