If it was the early 16th century and I was hanging out with Michelangelo (the sculptor, not the ninja turtle), I would've been far more intrigued watching him actually sculpt David than seeing the finished product, with that epic, confident look on his face in spite of his tiny, tiny genitals. Watching someone work, seeing the edits, the erasures, the tiny, subtle changes that are made: that's what's interesting. Which is not to say that I wouldn't have wanted to see the end result Biblical underdog after watching three years of chiseling. It just means something more when you see the ten ton chunk of marble in the first place.
Here in Birdmonster land, the song-writing process is really never the same twice. Sometimes, songs are born spontaneously (Ball of Yarn for example) or someone will bring in the chords & melody for an entire ditty that simply needs to be arranged, ordered, and practiced endlessly (All the Holes, perhaps). Other times, they're based a single chord progression or little riff that someone's been noodling with at home and then six months later, viola, it's a song (Cause You Can, por ejemplo). In other words, there's no Steven Tyler-esque overlord.
I mention this because last night we made serious progress on a new song with, ostensibly, three different parts. Now, since none fit the technical definition of "chorus" or "verse" or "outro" or what have you, we had to name them in order to arrange the song. You can't just sit there calling every part "that part" or poorly humming the melody while Dave sits in the corner shredding like Yngwie Malsteen for his own sick amusement. It just doesn't work. So we named the parts. For reasons incomprehensible to all concerned, we named them Tiger Woods, John McEnroe, and Davis Love III, even though Davis Love III is the 1st section of the song, which means you end up saying things like "let's try Davis Love the third first, six times." Asinine? You betcha. But it worked. And now, when our studiomates see the white board listing various professional athletes who play sports for old people, they'll be really confused.
Which got me thinking: I wonder if any one else does this. Like, I wonder if William Faulkner called certain chapters of As I Lay Dying "Crazy Dead Bitch Won't Stay Dead" or if Beethoven's pet name for his Ninth Symphony was "I'm Sorry I Slept with Your Sister." Man, I hope so.