Hello, all. Some folks here thought that I was a bot because I posted across more than one Community. Call me Reddit-inexperienced. I do apologize.
Even though I use technology to flesh out my compositions (I'd use flesh and blood musicians if I could afford studio musicians), I am a songwriter and composer. I read your posts for experienced tips and advice. Thank you for your work.
Hello again. Worldbuilding has been my interest since my writing began as a novelist many years ago. Extending that interest into lyrics and song composition became an extension. After some of you responded to yesterday's post, I followed up on your thoughts and recommendations. Thank you. Now, I will drop back and listen (read) to you for a while. Jee
I've spent several years building a long-term music project called Void Mourning.
One thing I didn't expect was how often a composition would resist the genre I originally imagined for it.
Some pieces remained progressive metal.
Others became atmospheric works.
Some turned into narrative compositions.
One eventually expanded into a multi-part science-fiction cycle.
Over time, I stopped asking, "What genre should this be?" and started asking, "What does this composition need?"
I'm curious whether other songwriters have experienced something similar.
Have you ever started with one genre in mind only to discover that the song itself wanted something entirely different?
The Moderator asked me to share some story lyrics for you to read, so you can better understand and see that I am human, not a bot.
The First Vigil, by Jee for Void Mourning
The First Vigil I - Arrival Under Two Suns
We step out beneath two suns
That no longer belong to memory
For years we saw them on screens
Studied their spectra
Calculated mass and orbit
Now they burn against the curved glass of our respirator lenses
One amber and heavy
The other white and sharp
Thin clouds stretch across the sky
Pulled long by heated wind
Far over the plain
Other descent pods cross the light in controlled descent—
Brief silver arcs, then gone
Thruster flare fades to vapor
The sky closes over their fall
Respirator seals lock at jaw and cheek
Spore filters hum
We take the first measured breath
Mineral salt
Resin
The ground releases its chemistry
Crystal grit shifts under our boots
Fracturing both suns into narrow bands
Each step sends brief rainbows through the sand
Blue stems rise from the soil
Fluid moving visibly inside them
Not decorative
Working
The entire plain is working
Heat thickens distance
We know the mathematics of refraction
We know dense air bends a line
Still, the horizon lifts and settles in slow vertical bands
Heated layers stacking
Then thinning again
Inversion
Physics
And yet it feels alive
Warm currents rise in sheets
Dust lifts, hovers, falls
Twin shadows form beneath us
And divide when we shift
Light splits edges
Color separates at the rim of sight
Breath steady inside the mask
Heart steady
For now
The First Vigil II - Fauna
Something moves between us.
At first I mistake it
For dust in thermal rise
But the shape holds
Against the moving air
Semi-translucent
Bell-like
A thin membrane
Stretched over a circular frame
Floats toward him
The membrane contracts
In quick pulses
Drawing air inward
Expelling it in bursts
Each contraction gives slight lift
The thicker atmosphere sustains the rest
It does not flap
It does not strain
It regulates buoyancy
Through small internal shifts
It pauses near his shoulder
He sees it
Does not move
Through the lens I see
Faint internal structure —
A denser ring circling its center
Tightening and releasing
Then the mouth opens
The lower edge splits
Along a seam
Revealing narrow teeth
Set in cartilage
Inner tissue flexes
The creature drifts closer
The teeth make contact
With his shoulder plate
A light tap at first
Then pressure
The ring tightens
The teeth begin to move
Small
Rapid strikes
Against the suit seal
Before the hover-thing can saw into him
A blue-stemmed plant beside us snaps toward it
Its outer casing splits apart
Along a pre-formed seam
A filament ejects
Driven by stored tension
Thin as wire
Faster than sight
It does not wander
It targets the drifting body
The line strikes it once
Wraps
Tightens
And pulls
The membrane collapses
The bell contracts in reflex
But the filament holds
The stem reels it inward
With controlled force
The opening widens
The hover-thing's teeth
Are still working
As the plant draws it inward
The plant encloses it
Closes around it
Seals
The base thickens
The air resumes
Its layered motion
But I am already moving
His shoulder distorts
In refracted light
A red line appears
Where the teeth struck
His jaw bends
Out of alignment
For a breath
Then the air settles
The image corrects
My hands are already on him
I check the seal
At his collar
Run my fingers
Along his shoulder
Searching for heat
Breach
Damage
He is intact
The First Vigil 3 - Past and The Watch
Amber sun
Sliding toward the horizon
White star
Lowering overhead
The sight of two suns still unsettles us
The burning suns were not stars
They were weapons we built
They turned cities to glass
And poisoned the air
The memory lingers
But this planet expands around us
Heat settles into the surface
Nothing moves against us now
We mark the ground in straight lines
Equipment set by angle and shadow
Tools kept within reach
We inventory water
Check seals
Recalibrate perimeter sensors
Distance now means supply
Distance means exposure
Distance means time before response
From the pod we release the dome frame
It is heavier than it looks
We carry it between us
We measure distance by what we carry
It unfolds in ordered segments
Carbon ribs locking to titanium joints
Pre-set curvature finding its shape
We anchor it to the marked ground
Seal the lower ring
Inside our masks
Readouts flicker
Air shifts
Near us
Not heat distortion
A break in the pattern
Movement
Something living
Approaches
It does not rush
It seems to listen
The first creature moved by instinct
This one moves slowly
About the weight of a medium-sized dog
Multiple limbs working in quiet sequence
We start calling it the bug-dog
It circles the camp in smooth increments
Each advance precise
It studies us
One of us turns
Not enough to signal fear
Enough to confirm position
We shorten the watch
No one speaks of it
At the edge of camp, it stops
Not retreat
Not attack
Recognition
We understand
Inside the dome
We remove the masks
Shake out our hair
Small lights at the crown of the dome engage
casting a dim perimeter glow
Inside, low footlights activate
Enough to move without stumbling
Night arrives in stages
The white star follows
Dark gathers in layers
From the plants
Faint luminescence rises
Outside the dome, the bug-dog circles once more.
Closer now
A limb brushes the lower seam
A faint scrape along the base
It seems to listen
We remain still
It lingers a moment longer
Then turns
The limbs work in quiet sequence
It moves back into the dark
The plant light swallows its outline
Inside the dome, the air is steady
The long crossing through the stars ends here
We watch
Then fall asleep
One of the strangest things about working on a long-term progressive music project is realizing that genre descriptions eventually stop being useful.
My project, Void Mourning, started in progressive metal territory, but over time it absorbed atmospheric pieces, narrative works, industrial textures, spoken-sung compositions, and a three-part space-opera concept cycle.
Some tracks are heavy.
Some aren't.
Some are songs.
Some are closer to stories set to music.
At some point I stopped asking, "What genre is this?" and started asking, "What does this composition need to become?"
For other progressive music listeners and creators: have you ever reached a point where the composition itself became more important than maintaining genre boundaries?
I'm genuinely curious how others think about that balance.