Five questions with poet, singer-songwriter Marck Beggs
In my business, the ethical thing to do is disclose any prior relationships between writer and subject so that the reader can take these ties into consideration. So let me begin by saying that I don’t remember how I first met Marck Beggs.
But I have known him for at least three decades. He has published pieces of mine in various journals he has edited. We’ve shared stages a couple of times at songwriter showcases. When my dog Audi threw her back out, he let me use a pet stroller of his for about six weeks. I don’t just consider him a friend, but a good friend.
For 25 years, Beggs taught English at Henderson State University, commuting from his home in Little Rock. He doesn’t want to talk about that now, so we’ll leave the re-jiggering of academic priorities that saw 25 degree programs at Henderson State University — including English, mathematics and biology — and about 80 faculty positions (including Beggs’ and his wife, Carly Cates’) cut in cost-saving measures for another time and another page.
In addition to his academic career, Beggs is a fine poet and singer-songwriter who used to front a band called dog gods (sometimes known as Bohemian Sauce). I’ve been a fan of his music for decades; I have several different versions of a project he called “dog gods” in the small collection of CDs I still keep.
Beggs has just released a collection of songs, an album called “Negative Light,” that’s available through all the usual digital outlets. You can find it on Spotify and Apple Music. You can find videos on YouTube.
Full disclosure: He did this interview to, at least in part, promote that project.
Q. I believe — and I presume you agree — that there’s a real difference between song lyrics and poetry. I’m wondering how you might articulate this difference and whether you consciously find yourself shifting between the modes. Do you approach the writing of a song differently from a poem; does it start with a rhythm or a riff or an overheard line or with what? And is the music integral to the words or do melodies rise up naked and unbidden?
I consider poems and lyrics to be cousins within the oral tradition: close, but not identical. Song lyrics are the lazier cousin. First of all, they really do not have to hold up on a page the way poems do. And while poems have prosodic elements to push the words along the page, lyrics can rely upon (and hide behind) the heavy-handed pulse of the music. Songs have choruses — entire passages that can be repeated — and while there are poetic forms that also include repetition, it is usually not so blatant. And, seriously, you can just groan through parts of a song in place of words: whistle, hum, toss out a “hey, baby,” or an “ooh-ooh-ooh.”
In my experience, the writing of every poem begins with an image; not necessarily a visual image, but anything that registers physically. Lorca defined poets as “professors of the five senses,” and I take that to heart. Songs start in a wide variety of places: humming, snapping fingers, a voice pattern, a chord progression, a riff. When someone asks whether I write the music or lyrics first, I don’t have a definitive answer because I regularly write songs from multiple angles. Ultimately though, I love to romp, equally, with both of my cousins.
Q. You’re a late Baby Boomer, which means you grew up in a era when the album was cultural lingua franca and, if you’re like me, you might have some problems giving up on the form. I still think in terms of albums — in terms of more or less cogent, resonance collections of songs — rather than discreet songs. “Negative Light” is very much an “album” album, if not a concept album, and I wonder if you thought very hard about sequencing and dynamics, the way the songs play off one another.
Having grown up a Baby Boomer who purchased my first album (with my allowance money) at about age 10 (“The Kinks: Live at Kelvin Hall”), I have never quite gotten over the beauty and drama of taking a journey through an album. I still think in terms of Side A and Side B. So, to my mind, the first side of this album slows down with “Dead Bird,” and then the other side kicks
in with “Your Flight.” Even as a CD, there is an intentional flow.
This will likely be lost on the Spotify generation, though I hope I am wrong. But I feel sorry for anyone who has not sat down in a dark room and listened to all four sides of the Who’s “Quadrophenia” from start to finish, absorbing the story. Or Bjork’s new album, “Fossora.” Or Spoon’s “Lucifer on the Sofa.” Or Bob Dylan’s “Time Out of Mind.” Or Procol Harum’s “Shine on Brightly.” I could go on and on …
The point is that any decent album has more than just one good song, but you have to put in the time, as a consumer, to discover the hidden gems. Or not.
Q. Just a technical question — you play all the instruments here? How do you record? Where? Is there a ritual to it?
A couple of the songs were recorded on a Korg 8-track, but I really wanted to dive into Cubase, so I used this project as an excuse to learn the program. Cubase is not particularly intuitive, and it is not for beginners, but I got help from a friend and numerous YouTube instructional videos. I like it very much now, but it took a long time and there is still much that I don’t know or understand. But if nothing else, it allows me to lay down as many tracks as I want, which is important since I tend to juggle too many ideas at once. My sense of editing is similar to Ezra Pound’s “corrections” of T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland”: just cut away the waste. My wife, Carly, constantly tells me “you don’t need that organ-sounding thing in every song,” or 20 backing vocals, or whatever.
Anyway, among the most enjoyable aspects of recording are the happy accidents like the swampy lead guitar sound in “Arkansas Girls.” I switched on my tremolo pedal, unaware that the phase-shifter was still on, and the waves just synced perfectly. Also, Jonathan Riggan mastered two of the tracks for me and he mixed the lead vocals in “Negative Light” in such a way that it brought the higher-pitched voice up front for a softer effect. That had not occurred to me, but it’s better. Frankly, if I had the money, I would have hired him to master the entire thing.
You asked if I played all the instruments and the answer is, unequivocally, “yes.” Drumming is probably my weakest link, but I hate drum machines so much. I prefer the sound of a stick hitting a trashcan lid to the smooth boom of an overly processed drum-loop. All I can say is that I did my best, and that my admiration for drummers and recording engineers grew exponentially.
And, finally, while I love playing with other musicians, the challenge and joy of a solo album is to project the sounds bouncing around in my head into the studio to the best of my abilities. Building each part of a song is just immensely gratifying.
Q. What was the impetus behind “Negative Light” (the album) — and how long did it take for the songs to “emerge?” I’m especially interested in the genesis of “Sweeney Astray.” Thought you’d sneak an Eliot reference past us?
Most of the songs were written sporadically over the past several years, but all I had were crappy demos. Last December, I had time to attempt something more expansive with the goal of recording 10 songs in a month. However, it ended up taking three months, including two new songs written during the process. Basically, “Red Lines” was written because I put new strings on my mandolin, and “Crueler Than the Sea” came out when I tuned my guitar to an open D and then sat in the living room all evening trying to figure it out.
“Sweeney Astray” is the oldest of the songs and was initially included on my first unfortunate attempt at a solo album. Eliot’s “Sweeney Among the Nightingales” is a great poem, but Seamus Heaney’s translation of the epic poem, “Buile Shuibhne,” is my reference for this song. For those who don’t know, Sweeney was a king who got on the bad side of a priest who subsequently cursed him and turned him into a bird. His mind is both human and wild at once as he transitions into full birdness, so he is aware of what is going on below, regarding his wife and other people from his former life. Truly, it is a magnificent poem and, along with “Táin Bó Cúailnge,” it stands as one of the greatest works of literature to come out of Ireland.
Q. What’s the single? And do you have any plans to do these live? And would that entail getting the band back together?
I think “Arkansas Girls” would make for a decent single or, better yet, the official state song. I have never liked any of the hokey ones that supposedly represent Arkansas, so why not? Moreover, I have never quite understood why some songs are hit singles and not others, so I just shake my head and move on. “Dumb Love Go Away” is my favorite recording for a number of reasons, but no one who has heard the album ever mentions that song. *sigh*
Playing these songs live would be fabulous. Unfortunately, it’s become increasingly difficult to get together with the other members of dog gods (Luke Pittman and Craig Seager) because they have lives of their own and we are kind of scattered geographically. But one day I hope we figure out how to finish our second album since we have over 20 songs basically recorded. Beyond Luke and Craig, it is safe to say that I am a very solitary musician. However, if there is some Americana-type band around Little Rock (preferably Hillcrest) in need of a lead singer and songwriter, I’d be interested. I could even play some instruments.
Finally, I am also writing lots of new poems and even some fiction, but music seems to be taking over my imagination at the moment and I am now four songs deep into the next album, including my one and only pop song. So maybe that could be a single one day.
I think “Arkansas Girls” would make for a decent single or, better yet, the official state song. I have never liked any of the hokey ones that supposedly represent Arkansas, so why not?