Yoke Lore on the power of the written word

Writing is dangerous. When the technology was first invented, it was feared and sometimes outlawed because it held such awesome power.

The transference of information through an external medium seemed like magic in the beginning. One could, in a sense, implant themselves -- their thoughts, feelings, and memories -- onto a two dimensional piece of papyrus. It sounded like sorcery.

But today, we don't experience that. We take it as matter of fact that we all have the ability to put ourselves down in words. When we forget to bow to the power of the written word and all it has enabled humanity to accomplish, we also forget the traps to which writing has often led us.

When we write for ourselves and create art with words, we are referencing the history of the movement of knowledge that blended traditions and enlightened thinkers across oceans and deserts and centuries and that now allows us to participate by giving us literary traditions to exist within and colloquial moods to move through and ancient ideas that help us navigate modern life. Writing is a privilege and an obligation, and to respect this craft is to acknowledge and resist the pitfalls that come along with it.

We are creative beings. That is what makes us human, not thumbs or spleens. Making art is a way to create the world around you. It has always been one of the ways that we can proclaim our humanity, our individuality, our devotion to life. But it's natural and organic, and it's got a dark side. It's dangerous to write yourself down because now there is part of you that's "out there." Undefended and abridged. And this isn't just true with art. It is so with all human creation.

There's the famous example of Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite, who was so guilt-stricken about the violent uses of his invention that he established a peace prize in his name going to individuals who dedicated their lives to the cause of nonviolence. Now that's a really big jump to make, I get it. Here's another, less tragic example of someone's work being co-opted for something it was not designed for. The musician Rodriguez became a South African sensation while writing American protest songs in Detroit in the 1970s. His songs "Sugarman" and "I Wonder" became anthems for an end to the apartheid system that segregated South Africa's white and African populations. While people were singing his songs in the streets to fight their oppressors, Rodriguez had no idea and is still singing folk songs in downtown bars making money on the side as a construction worker. That's the best case scenario for interpretive co-opting. Alfred Nobel didn't get off so clean. Will I?

I want to write with the specificity of someone confiding their deepest darkest self to you. I want to offer my most acutely articulated idiosyncratic insights so that people can have words for things they didn't have before. I want to detail my direction, and with a fine pen illustrate any landmarks I can find so that people can come with me as I move through versions of myself and the different truths that I find along the way. If I want you to come with me, you need to be able to participate. A meaningful conversation can never be one-sided. I want a listener to take my words to better their own lives how they feel they need to. That's where we come together.

One of the most wild and rewarding things is when my music takes on a meaning for someone that I never would have thought of. People hear my words and immediately connect them to a narrative that I know nothing about. While that is beautiful and somewhat necessary, it falls on me to balance that with a degree of meticulousness so that the words can be driven forward through other people's identification, but never coopted to a purpose that is in opposition to my intended one. It's not enough to say "I love you" anymore. That phrase can be used to sell anything from cars to watches to kitchen appliances. You have to go into it. What do you love? Is it that drop adrenaline in your veins or is the lack of weight in your feet? Why do you love it, what does it do to your stomach, how does it change temperature, what color is it, and when you think about it is there a door that opens, and where do those stairs lead?

When we get specific, it allows us to make the personal universal. It allows us to be specific in order to reach more deeply into the general consciousness we all share that allows us to have similar feelings and experiences. Choosing those words carefully and trying to find more words that capture us more specifically ends up giving us as artists clearer messages to send out, and it gives a listener a bigger playing field to explore. I don't want to turn out like Alfred Nobel, forcing myself to regret my creation that wasn't designed specifically enough to what I intended it for.

So I guess this is a call on all of us who write and make music and give it to the world to hear to be conscious. Now more than ever, consider being more scrupulous in your syntax. Don't be vague in your diction. Don't be lazy. Write words that people can both learn from and find themselves within. We are creating the world around us with every word and note we put into it, so let's be productive and build something useful and gorgeous.