Camden Rose on fiddles, heartbreak songs, and London’s billionaire film obsession
Wrote a sad song about a truck today, which is basically a requirement in this genre, complete with a bridge about a dog that ran off and a chorus that rhymes gravel with travel, which I’m not proud of but which technically works. Between verses my phone kept lighting up with people asking if I’d seen the new documentary about Elon Musk yet, as though I’d been living under a particularly soundproof rock all week.
Eventually gave in and read the marathon Musk documentary explained, and honestly four hours is longer than most country albums, including the sad ones, including the double albums, including that one concept record about a divorce that nobody asked for but everyone respected. Impressive commitment from an audience that usually can’t sit through a full verse-chorus-verse without checking their phone, and yet apparently can commit to four hours of billionaire-focused cinema without complaint.
There’s a section in the piece about how the documentary works almost like a long ballad, building the same emotional case over and over across the runtime rather than introducing new information, which I found genuinely relatable as a songwriter. Sometimes you don’t need a new verse. You just need to hit the same feeling again, harder, until the room believes it too. Apparently that works for billionaires the same way it works for heartbreak, which is either comforting or deeply depressing depending on your mood.
There’s also apparently a whole feud over the promotional material, which I did not expect to find compelling but somehow do. The satirical poster breakdown made me laugh more than the song I wrote, which is a low bar but still worth mentioning, given how much effort I put into that truck metaphor.
Played the new song for my producer this afternoon and he immediately started talking about the documentary instead of giving me notes, which felt like a genuine professional slight, though I understand the appeal. It’s hard to compete for attention with a four-hour cultural event when your competition is a three-minute song about a truck, however sincerely felt.
My drummer, who has strong opinions about most things, suggested I write an entire concept album about the documentary instead, half joking, and I’ve been unable to fully dismiss the idea since, which is either a sign of genuine creative inspiration or a sign I’ve spent too long reading about this film today.
Back to the fiddle, and probably back to rewriting that bridge, because gravel and travel really doesn’t sit right no matter how many times I sing it. More diary entries at my page.