🧠 where your instincts come from

Hey music maker!

When a song stalls, do you picture a version of yourself who would know what to do next?

I do. There's a producer in my head who hears a drum groove and knows exactly what to play on bass to catch a vibe. They're the best version of me, and they don't show up when I'm stuck, right when I actualy need them most.

That instinct has to come from somewhere. I think it comes from the notes I keep on songs I love.

Quick update first, then I'll show you one of mine.

In today's issue:

Key: C# minor in the verse, E major (the relative major) in the chorus

Time Signature: 4/4

Progressions
Verse, two main phrases:

Chorus: 1 - 6mi - ♭7 - 5/7 (E, C#mi, D, B/D#)

Listen for how the verse is built from two short phrases. They start the same way and only the last chord changes.

My guess is that Kevin Parker created the bass riff first and the chords were chosen to fit around it, so the groove established the vibe.

The verse puts us in C# minor, and then the chorus opens into the brighter relative major key, E major. We also get the ♭7 (the D) as a surprise. This is a borrowed chord from E mixolydian.

Also notice how the bass in the chorus walks chromatically from C# to D to D# to E.

I picked this one for a reason. It has a catchy drum groove and a bass line that’s very memorable. The chords feel familiar, with one surprise in the chorus. That's my sonic fingerprint.

I used to think a producer was someone I had to become. I was looking past myself. The sounds that shaped me were there the whole time.

When I'm in a rut, I try to remember to go back to a song I already love.

I listen for the things I like about it. Those things trigger ideas, and the creative engine starts up again.

It doesn't always work, but I often get some momentum back.

That's kind of how I get that producer to show up. Their instincts are what I've stored from songs like that, and rut or no rut, I can only pull out what I've put in.

Hearing a song a hundred times feels like knowing it. Dr. Dominic Ng, a neuroscientist, writes that the brain mistakes familiarity for understanding.

He says learning has two stages: taking something in and digesting it. He compares skipping the second stage to writing in wet sand while waves wash each line away. The details of a song can wash away the same way.

His rule is to process what you take in before you move on. For us, that's writing down a few sentences about what's happening in a song before pressing play on the next one or going about our day.

In college, I struggled to write notes on records for my history of jazz class.

Mine said things like “piano stopped... okay, now it's back.”

That told me something happened, but it didn't tell me where it landed in the song's structure or what I could do with it.

Compare that to the note I made on Tame Impala's song:

“The verse uses two short phrases that smoothly support a memorable bass riff. The chorus shifts to the relative major key with a surprise chord. The bass plays a new, bouncy rhythm that contrasts the riff, making room for the chromatic movement and keeping the chorus danceable.”

My college note says something happened while my Tame Impala note covers what precisely happened in the song, and where. I can open this note when I'm in a rut and try something similar.

Writing down what I like is how I stop looking past the things that get me going. A note is easy to find when I need ideas, and Dr. Ng says adults learn by connecting new things to what they already know. Each note gives the next song something to hook onto.

So the next time a song stalls, I want a note waiting for me. That's how the producer in my head gets to show up more.