The Making of Is It Well

The Making of Is It Well

I love the creative process. I love how art can be unpredictably and spontaneously beautiful. But the songwriting process is not always glamorous, especially when you’re in a time crunch. George Floyd was murdered on a Monday, and the following Thursday I was supposed to record “It Is Well” for a church service that Sunday. The problem was, it was not well. Nothing was well. That is what prompted me to write this piece, but time was not on my side so this process had to happen quickly. Here is how it went down.

This song did not come easy. My starting point was an arrangement I made years ago of It Is Well, a timeless hymn that brought me hope and comfort during dark times. I wrote countless verses to the familiar tune, and figured I’d have something that would fulfill what my soul needs to say during this time. But as I began searching through my material, I realized the foundational message of the song didn’t ring true right now. The only way I could actually sing that song is if I rewrote it as a question, ‘IS it well?’ with a musical answer: no, it isn’t. There were layers of risk because of how fresh the event was and people were still deciding where they stood (how was it even up for debate, I wondered) but with the support of my music director, I got to writing.

Monday night, I grappled with this song. The concept was strong, but the delivery offered endless avenues to explore.  How do I want to use it to reach people? How will it make them feel? How much do I leave up to interpretation, and how much weight do I put on *my* opinion and how *I* feel? 

Some questions were easy to answer. I knew immediately that my audience was not for the people who agreed with me. This song is aimed at people who don’t get it yet. But because I’m speaking to the opposing side on such a touchy topic, how bold should I be? Initially, I decided to be sensitive. I truly want them to listen and understand, and people tend to close their hearts when they’re being offended. Later in the process, it became obvious that I couldn’t be gentle without sounding apologetic and mousy about what I was saying. Thus, I took a more forward approach. But it took me a few days to get there. 

The early versions of this piece are precious to me. I wanted to incorporate Dvorak’s New World Symphony because it seemed fitting. More specifically, I wanted to quote the English horn solo in the 2nd movement that has become known as “Going Home.” This yearning melody is influential and transformative, I think. It’s the kind of song that will redirect your train of thought. That is the vehicle I wanted for my piece. 

The problem was, it did not align with what I wanted to say. My message was not nostalgic and lonely. I wrestled with it endlessly, but still, it would not fit. I tried taking the chord colors and redefining the melody. I tried keeping the melody, altering the rhythm, and changing the foundational harmony. I even tried keeping it exactly as it was, flat out stealing it, and seeing if it would work. No matter which way I asked it to bend, it resisted. Finally, I gave in.  

It was Tuesday night and I was back at square one. I texted my music director and told him it was not going to happen and we needed to figure out something else for Thursday’s recording. Defeated, I clicked my piano off and turned to leave. My phone lit up. “You can do it. Don’t give up,” he texted. I stopped in my tracks. I don’t know why, but this hit me different. It wasn’t just encouragement or nice words. It was empowerment. It re-energized and motivated me. I turned around, rolled up my sleeves, and got back to work. 

I worked through the night to come up with a new concept. I free journaled for awhile, spilling my thoughts out of my messy brain and deciding what was most important to me to say with this song. Part of the problem was there’s endless angles to talk about, and the paradox of choice paralyzed me from choosing one. I could touch on the riots, police brutality, white privilege, anti-racism, the problem with All Lives Matter. I could be logic-based, factual, blunt, or I could speak to the emotional side of this. In the end, I decided that what was closest to my heart right now was allyship and choosing to do what’s right. I was sick to my stomach, seeing people be dismissive of racism. It shook my bones to see friends say we need to stop talking about it, because talking about it is what makes it a problem. And my blood boiled, seeing friends post 3-minute long Instagram stories about their review on a freaking donut yet not a word about the real-world issues we are all collectively dealing with. This is happening whether you like it or not. You can’t just plug your ears and say “la la la!” waiting for it to go away. 

Journaling these feelings helped me get them out, but no musical content would come. I went home to sleep, wake up, and try again. 

It is Wednesday now. The second wind I got the night before has worn off, and even though I still have the passion for this project, pushing through this lack of inspiration is difficult. I work through the morning, coming up with several stanzas but not being able to set them to music successfully. With music and lyrics, you can “make it work,” forcing the lyrics to fit into the musical setting, but they sound like an awkward couple on a first date rather than happily married. When I was little, I’d sometimes get frustrated with puzzles and force pieces into the wrong holes. I didn’t want to do that with this piece. The topic is so pressing and so important, I didn’t just want to “do it” for the sake of doing it. I wanted to do it right. If this song was going to come to fruition, it couldn’t be because I’m strong willed. It needed to come naturally or not be born at all.  

I texted back and forth with my music director, expressing my concerns and bouncing ideas off of him. He listened patiently and offered the advice he could. I still had one foot out the door, expecting this idea not to work out, but the more we talked, I began to feel more and more determined. At 2:06PM, I texted, “I will have something by tomorrow. I’m committing to it now.” He wished me luck. I had to leave at a quarter to three to teach a voice lesson, so I had to work fast.  At 2:41PM, I sent him a full page of lyrics. I had done it.  

I wrote nearly the entire song sitting on my bed, in complete silence. As the ideas came for the lyrical footprint, it was not “light bulb moments” of creative genius. It was subtle “duh, of course” realizations. It’s like the answers were right there all along, waiting to be noticed. When I started listening, they kept flowing.  

The musical footprint was not quite as effortless. As always when I write, I hear the accompaniment as an orchestra. There were deep and endless colors to this composition in my head. But in the back of my mind, I knew I only had two little hands and VERY limited piano skills. I wasn’t sure how these complex sounds would translate to a simple piano part. I shoved these concerns aside to finish the outline of the piece, but it came at a cost. The first time I played it in real life, it became apparent that the melody in the voice part had to be altered from the vision I had with the orchestra. This troubled me, but what choice did I have? I bent the integrity of my original melody and continued on. Looking back this wasn’t a big deal, but in the moment I was heartbroken.  

At 2am on Wednesday night, I decided the song was done. It was far from perfect, but I decided to be gentle with myself, given the timeline. It’s okay that sometimes the melody is unpredictable or doesn’t fit the rhyme scheme. It’s okay that I exhausted my voice to a point where I couldn’t do the “vocal acrobats” I wanted during peak moments. It’s okay, it’s okay, I told myself. Go to sleep. 

I went home and rested my head on my pillow. As soon as my eyes closed, new ideas came pouring in like a waterfall. I tried to slow my thoughts because I was so exhausted, and I was able to silence a lot of them, but some provoked me to listen. Siri had a big job that night, taking notes of the ideas I was too tired to even open my eyes to write down. Some of the ideas were so big and powerful, I thought there was no way I’d forget them. I didn’t write those down. It’s like forgetting that Jesus died for our sins and rose three days later. No one just “forgets” that. It’s too powerful. These ideas were here to stay, I was sure of it. (Do you hear me foreshadowing? Yeah. I’m still mad at myself.) By 3:45, after much begging, the ideas were swallowed by my snoring. Sweet sleep had come at last. Looking back, I wish I’d sacrificed rest for that creative inspiration. I kept asking it to leave when most days I beg it to stay. It was strong that night, and I hadn’t appreciated what it was giving me. If not for this project, it provided ideas for other projects. I could have gotten more out of it if I hadn’t been so stubbornly sleepy. 

The next morning, I awoke to write the bridge. I was devastated to learn that the undeniable, perfectly packaged bridge that I had in my head the night before was gone. I still had some of the solid ideas, but it needed lots and lots of editing. I kicked myself for being so stupidly arrogant, thinking I could remember everything. Just another lesson the spirit of creativity was trying to teach me. 

I wrestled with my ideas that morning, knowing the bridge needed to be inspired by action and the Methodist values: Do good, do no harm, and stay in love with God. I eventually came up with something that would work. With 30 minutes to spare before we were to begin, the piece was finally finished.  

I couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. I actually fought a lot of demons, both during the recording process and the days after knowing it would soon be heard by others. It’s an understatement to say I was terrified of how it would be received. I am so thankful for the support I received from my music director, my sister, and my best friend. I also sent it to my mom the night before it aired, and was so encouraged by her words. These people kept me grounded and made me feel supported. They were honest about the weak points and put into perspective that the shortcomings of the song were not the end of the world. I would be okay. 

Sunday morning came and I could hardly watch. We had been recording our services for weeks now due to COVID and any time I was in it, I would avoid watching. It’s uncomfortable to see yourself on screen, to analyze and pick at everything wrong with you. But this time, I felt the opposite. Instead of scrutinizing all of my insecurities, which I assumed everyone else would be doing this week, I was building myself up. Through the imperfections and tiredness of my voice, I heard emotion, rawness, realness. With the stutters in my piano playing, it added human artistry. I was not embarrassed to exist, for once. I was proud of what I was seeing. 

I was still anxious about what other people would say. The thing about writing a piece is you never get to “hear it for the first time” like your audience does. Since it is born with you, you can still hear the awkward, ugly fetus it once was. Your melodies don’t sound fresh because they came from your own head. But this is why, when you share it, it is valuable to receive others’ opinions. I know the hip and cool thing is to not listen to what other people say…but that simply isn’t the case for me. I am grateful for what I heard people saying about it. I’m grateful for the texts and private messages thanking me for my music. I’m grateful for the strangers who took two seconds to comment on it. It gave me perspective. Only then could I breathe that sigh of relief I was waiting for. Did everyone love it? No, of course not; at a church in Florida, of course there was a divide on this issue.  I would be stupid not to expect that. But my goal was not to please everyone with this piece. My goal was to give voice to what I believe is right. The murder was unjust, and it is time to open our eyes and support all people of color, to be active allies instead of passive. This is what I believe, and this is what I will sing about.

So what’s next? This song has struck a chord with people, and I wasn’t expecting that. People from both sides of the argument have asked me if they can have the song, share it, get it out there for the world. I am currently working on a studio recording, which I hope to sell and donate all proceeds to the cause. This isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’m inexperienced with audio editing, but getting better each day. If I ever finish it, I will link it here.

I hope as the BLM movement continues, that we don’t stop at just listening to a song. We need to take action. We need to help our brothers and sisters of color until the oppression cannot return. The goal is equality and justice. This should not be such a radical idea. I urge you to reflect and think about what you can do to help. What would make it well with your soul? What, in good conscience, do you feel called to do? What feels right? Listen inwardly. Then take action outwardly. We are in this together.