The bulk of my writing is done at night. There’s a calmness to having dark blanket the world; no one needs me for anything, work is most definitely over, I can exist, just exist, in peace. It doesn’t last long, the peace, because my brain starts asking questions, questions like: why aren’t my fingers typing, or why am I wasting perfectly good writing time? It always wins in the end — no rest for the wicked, as they say. But with my digits in motion and half an idea in mind, what do I drown the uneasy silence out with? Music, of course.
Imagine, if you would be so kind, a library. Just a bog-standard, local, public library. Now imagine that, instead of books, said library’s shelves are filled with music, with each genre held in its own section. Pop and Trending are at the front where the librarian sits at her desk; makes it easier for most audiences to access. Indie and Rock are a little further in, though not completely out of the way (perhaps where you’d find classic literature). There’s a section by the windows for Easy Listening, a section under the stairs with comfy armchairs for Jazz, a section at the back shrouded in shadow for Metal and its sub-genres. Then there’s me, in the basement, huddled in a darkened corner with my hood over my head, stroking at the vinyl in my hand as Gollum would his precious; “The Best Of,” the sleeve strewn by my feet reads, “Jordan Reyne.“
Forgive me for sounding like a hipster, I’m not (or maybe I am?), but I listen to some weird shit. A lot of it probably reflects back in what I write and choose to write about; traumatised detectives and adolescents gunning for revenge, no-less. There’re a few artists that stand out in my mind: Jordan Reyne (as mentioned above), Tom Waits, King Crimson, Messa, Mick Flannery, Soap&Skin, Royal Thunder, Cellar Darling, Oceans of Slumber, Emma Ruth Rundle, Death and, finally, Banshee. Now, that’s not to say that those select few are the only artists I listen to, oh no. As I said before, if the tune resonates with me it’s a winner and that means anything could be a winner.
Still, I often wonder how I came to be like this?
As if it were a dream I had, I remember being sixteen a long, long time ago and, like most sixteen year-old boys, I had only three things on my mind: acting cool, dossing in school and members of the opposite sex (in hindsight, dossing was the only thing I made any progress with). In an effort to achieve coolness, and to blend in, The Black Eyed Peas, Timberland, Ke$ha and Usher filled the three-or-so Gigabytes my phone had to offer. Then, as I started my first year in college, I was freed from the social construct school imposed and was forced to find my own musical path. It started with Fleetwood Mac and would eventually end in my second year with Metallica.
That… that was when I found Jordan Reyne.
Despite being chosen to sing on the trailer music for Resident Evil 7, Jordan Reyne has remained relatively quiet since I first listened to her. Don’t let that be an indication of her quality, though, because Jordan (according to me, anyway) is good, very good. Pagan Vocals? Yep, that’s her. Celtic Folk vibes? Yep, also her. One woman band? That’s her alright. Of all the songs, of all the artists, of all the genres I listen to while writing, it’s Jordan Reyne that provides the soundtracks to the movies playing in my mind’s eye. As I think on it now, the reason as to why that’s the case becomes a little clearer, like the windscreen of your car defrosting in the morning.
Most people I introduce Jordan to describe her as witchy. I’d agree with that; pagan vocals and sounds will most-assuredly lend a witchy vibe to anything. But that’s the answer, the reason behind why I always come back to her when I’m writing, when I’m hammering out descriptions of eldritch monsters, when I’m introducing Wiccan mentors to coach my protagonists along, when there’s a potion to be brewed or a salve to be applied in order to mend a wound, when there’s cosmic knowledge to be imparted upon a mind not ready for it, when that same mind breaks at the revelation and spirals into the void… Jordan’s tone, her words, her timbre, the instruments she uses and the melodies she creates with them; it all compliments my writing perfectly.
It reminds me of that odd synchronicity between 2001, a Space Odyssey and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon; despite being two completely different projects made by two completely different sets of people, if you lay one over the other they just work, just go together… Kubrick and Pink Floyd — man. I bet Jordan Reyne is counting her blessings that she’s got me synchronising my work to hers. Sometimes you get lucky, other times you get AJ Carney, I guess.
Auf Wiedersehen.
AJ Carney 