To me, unwritten songs, are like rooms with vanishing doors. When a door vanishes, it means the song is either complete or lost. Sometimes I can step in and out of a room as many times as I’d like before its door vanishes. This can go on for months or even years. Other times I think I’m finished in a room but the door remains.
Some doors stay open for a few hours, sometimes only minutes. But I’ve learned that how long a door stays open doesn’t determine a room’s value. It’s up to me to enter and discover something inside. I open as many doors as I can. I don’t always know what’s behind them and I’m not always prepared.
One thing I’ve learned is to spot quickly vanishing doors. It’s not that hard, they’re doused in screaming flames with big count-down clocks nailed to their knobs that shriek like car alarms.
“Who Is This Guy” was behind a flaming door. Inside was a psychotic squirrel in an antique shop. When I listen to this demo, I hear fine china and crystal chandeliers crashing, and a little-old-lady gasping while I destroy her entire shop trying to catch the hairy little creature with my bare hands.
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