When a song feels finished, but isn't ready
There are two different moments when a song feels finished to me. They are related, but they are not the same thing.
The first is when the song itself feels complete. The arrangement is there. The orchestration makes sense. The recording captures what I was trying to express. At that point, I usually have a demo that I am unlikely to change in any fundamental way. Emotionally, it tells the story I wanted it to tell.
The second moment takes much longer.
Two kinds of finished
The first kind of finished arrives fairly quickly once I get going. I often struggle at the very start, then the middle part of songwriting happens fast. Melodic and harmonic ideas recur and start to talk to each other. Towards the end of that phase, I focus on dynamics. Making sure the music stays interesting through change, sometimes subtle, sometimes not.
Lyrics usually slow things down. I am more comfortable communicating through music than through words, so it can take time before I am willing to live with the lyrics and vocal performances. But even then, I often reach a point where the song itself feels right.
That is usually when I change tools. I export the stems from Maschine into Reaper. Sometimes I add more guitar or record the final vocals there. Structurally, the song has crossed a threshold.
And yet, it is still not ready.
Living with the mix
The second kind of finished is about comfort.
Mixing and mastering take longer because they ask different questions. Not whether the song works, but whether it sits well with everything else. I spend a lot of time listening back, noticing what pulls me out of the experience. Too much guitar here. Too much compression on a particular part. Something jarring that makes me lose focus as a listener.
This process is gradual. I adjust things, learn what works for the Fauhn sound, and carry those lessons forward into other tracks. The songs start to relate to each other sonically, not just emotionally.
Sometimes a song feels not ready because it is boring. Sometimes because it is oddly paced. Sometimes because it has an idea that has not been earned yet.
Complexity and feel
I like songs to have a little complexity. Odd time signatures. Multiple parts. Subtle shifts. If I find myself not absorbed as a listener, I take that as a sign there is more to do.
There is a mechanical side to this, and an emotional one. I know what I am trying to achieve structurally, but that has to be married to how the song feels. Blue Screen of Life is a good example. I was determined it should be in 19/8, but I also needed it to pour emotion smoothly. That took work.
Sometimes the song is nearly ready before I am. I need to step away and let the ideas settle before I can come back and give it the final attention it needs.
Resisting speed
I do not respond well to pressure to release quickly.
I write music in bursts. Sometimes two or three songs arrive in a couple of weeks. Sometimes nothing happens for months. It is not a lack of inspiration so much as my head not being in the right place to deal with the mechanics of committing a song to software.
If I wait until everything aligns, I can be very productive. If I force it, the work suffers.
Holding back is usually intentional. I have chosen not to rush things. SoundCloud helps with that, because I can overwrite demos if I realise they can be improved. None of the tracks there are first versions anymore. That flexibility makes me more comfortable sharing works in progress.
An album release will feel different. There will be more pressure for things to be right.
Distance and interpretation
I do not usually need emotional distance before sharing a song. Writing it has already done most of that work. Early on, I worried about how people would react, but the feedback I have had has been generous and grounding.
I still sometimes worry that a song might not land the way I intend. I have to remind myself that listeners are allowed their own relationship with the music. Their reading does not invalidate mine.
Time does not change much about how I hear the songs, aside from helping me hear mixes more clearly. What changes is my confidence in letting them go.
Noise as honesty
I am not sure how ADHD affects my sense of when something is finished. I do wonder sometimes if I overdo things, adding too much, missing an earlier stopping point.
At the same time, these tracks are meant to represent how my mind works. Noise, complexity, distortion, competing rhythms and sounds are part of that experience. Novelty-seeking pushes me to keep things dynamic. I might jump to a bass line when I should be developing the drums, but that new element often gives me something richer to return to.
Sometimes I have to force myself back to the part I left incomplete. That back-and-forth is part of the process.
Easter Rain, and the moment it clicked
Easter Rain is probably the clearest example I have of a song that felt finished, but was not ready. The first iteration had all the right ingredients, but it was not pulling me in as a listener. Something about the movement of it felt unresolved, like it could not quite lift itself. I left it alone, came back, and made a few small changes, then focused properly on getting the bassline right. Once that fell into place, everything else started to make sense around it. The dynamics worked. The repetition stopped feeling like a loop and started feeling like intention. It became symbolic of what this whole process is for me. A track can be structurally complete and still need time before it becomes itself. And then, almost suddenly, it arrives, like spring does. Quietly at first, then unmistakably.
A pause
This piece is not advice. I am not suggesting a correct way to work. What I hope is that it gives a sense of why these songs are built the way they are, and why they take the time they do.
For me, making music like this is a way of emptying what is in my head. Telling stories, sometimes without words. Processing things at my own pace.
This feels like a pause. A moment to look at how the songs become themselves before moving on.
Previous writing: Blue screen of life: emotional overload.
Next writing: How I start songs when my head is loud.