Inside the song: “Fly”
My song “Fly,” a grand prize winner of the John Lennon Songwriting Contest, sounds simple enough—a three-minute blast of country/bluegrass with a carpe diem theme.
But as with so many songs, the process of finding the words and music was anything but simple, tapping into a range of influences and different sorts of creativity over the course of several years.
“Fly” made its debut on my 2008 album Humming My Way Back Home, and more than a decade later I released a new version, for reasons outlined below, on Live and Listening. Here is an attempt to trace the birth and growth of this sturdy little song. A story in six scenes.
Scene 1: Farmers’ market jam
Goshen, Indiana, winter 2003. On a Saturday morning in northern Indiana’s Amish country, the community congregates at a bustling farmers’ market. While shoppers mill around, a dozen or so musicians pull up chairs in one corner of the indoor market and crack their instrument cases—bringing out banjos, fiddles, guitars, mandolins, accordion, Autoharp. I’m there with my guitar, tagging along with a new friend, an archaeologist and banjo picker with a Santa Claus beard.
There isn’t much chitchat in the group, which ranges in age from teens to seniors. No introductions. After a short pause, one of the fiddlers launches into a tune, and within seconds everyone jumps in, joining the melody or laying down the rhythm. A raucous and joyous noise.
The repertoire is straight-up old-time/fiddle tunes—“Old Joe Clark,” “Angeline the Baker,” “Soldier’s Joy,” “Cluck Old Hen,” “The Arkansas Traveler,” and the like. Music that in many cases dates back hundreds of years to the British Isles and Europe, crossing the Atlantic to find new lives and new variations in rural America.
I grew up in New Jersey on pop radio—nowhere near a mountain holler. As an adult I’ve soaked in a good bit of bluegrass and old-time music, especially since my days as editor of Acoustic Guitar magazine, and I feel a connection to the music—maybe some kind of genetic memory from my ancestors in the British Isles. I don’t really know the tunes, but most are just a few chords, and it isn’t too hard to join in on rhythm. Since the same short sections repeat again and again, if I don’t get the changes right the first time, by the third or fourth repetition I probably do.
In any case, playing these tunes is a blast. I love the exuberant grooves, the communal feeling, the way anyone can pull up a chair and join—a stark contrast to song circles where everyone takes turns basically playing solo, or awkwardly tries to teach others unpredictable original songs or obscure covers.
I’m hooked, and the old-time jam experience gets me digging into a book of fiddle tunes for guitar. One called “Sally Goodin,” a dead simple little tune, lodges in my head.
Scene 2: First words
About a year after those farmers’ market jams, now relocated to upstate New York, I’m at home fooling around with “Sally Goodin” and start singing over the guitar groove. As usual for me, I sing mostly nonsense at first, but eventually the random syllables settle into words, and I arrive at a verse and chorus.
Fly away
Drop what you’re doing
Gray skies will soon be bluing
No doubt am I entertaining
No reason for explainingBeen too much anticipating
Fed up with contemplating
No more will I be waiting
’Cause we’ve got
Stones on our shoulders and steps to climb
We’re losing our breath in the crush of time
Gather the weight and the questions on your mind
And leave it all behind
The verse melody is a loose adaptation of the first part of “Sally Goodin,” while the chorus melody is something I made up. In between verses, I imagine using an instrumental version of “Sally Goodin” as an interlude.
I like what I have, but as so often happens, after one verse and chorus, the writing comes to a grinding halt. So I bring this fragment to a songwriting group I recently joined. I sing placeholder syllables where I need to fill in, and one of the other songwriters, Dana Cooke, has a great suggestion: what I’ve written is an invitation; he wants to hear the response from the other person. How about making my song a conversation?
The duet idea makes perfect sense and, back at home, I write some more, but I don’t arrive yet at a complete, satisfying set of lyrics. So I shelve the draft again.
Scene 3: Open mic night
Another year or two passes, and one winter night in Syracuse, I venture to an open mic at a place called the Lucky Moon. The host is a local singer-songwriter named Lisa Gentile, and when she steps up to do a few songs, I’m struck by her commanding voice and country/pop flair. More than that, I immediately know: this is the voice on the other side of my fledgling duet.
I introduce myself to Lisa, go home, and finish “Fly” right away, guided by her voice.
Singing with Lisa Gentile, 2010. Photo by Jack O. Bocchino.
So I have a complete song finally, around three years after starting. It’s a gut thing, but songs just have to feel right. They arrive on their own schedule. With “Fly,” finding the right words that felt as light and festive as “Sally Goodin,” that didn’t get bogged down with cleverness, took a while. One of the biggest challenges in writing is to be simple without being simplistic. I needed to get out of the way and let the emotion through.
Scene 4: Basement studio
The “Fly” drum kit: cajón, toy tambourine, Hot Rods.
In 2007, I’m holed up in my basement, recording what will become my real solo debut, Humming My Way Back Home, working with the most basic gear: a laptop, a two-channel Mbox interface, a couple of mics. For “Fly,” I lay down the foundation with bluegrass-style rhythm guitar, bass, and a homegrown percussion kit: a cajón for a kick drum, and a cracked, plastic toy tambourine that I play with Hot Rod drumsticks. An almost comical setup, but it works. It grooves.
For the “Sally Goodin” part, I call on Joe Cleveland, a friend and talented banjo picker, to come record. (As it happens, Joe was also present at the songwriter group meeting in scene 2, so he’d heard “Fly” in its very beginning stages.) And for the duet vocal, naturally, I invite Lisa Gentile.
Both Joe and Lisa deliver killer performances, as you can hear in the released version. (Also: Major props go to engineer Jocko Randall, of Syracuse’s More Sound, for working magic with my basement tracks during the mixing process.)
Scene 5: Onstage, a challenge
Performing “Fly” with Joe Cleveland and Lisa Gentile. Photo by Jack O. Bocchino.
Something about “Fly” strikes me as different from other songs I’ve written. It seems like a song others could interpret. It’s less defined by the idiosyncrasies of my style. That thought inspires me to submit “Fly” for the John Lennon Songwriting Contest—the very first time I’ve entered a songwriting contest.
Months later, my jaw hits the floor when I get the phone call saying that “Fly” has won the grand prize in the country category. I’ve never considered myself a country artist, but this song, no doubt, has deep roots in country/bluegrass. In fact, it is way more country than much of the sleek pop music that comes out of the Nashville industry.
As a grand prize winner, “Fly” goes on to compete in an online vote with the winner of the contest’s next round, a song by a talented young bluegrass trio known as the Lovell Sisters. And much to my astonishment, “Fly” again comes out on top, becoming the year’s Lennon Award winner.
The Lovell Sisters, two-thirds of whom later became Larkin Poe.
Fun fact: the Lovell Sisters eventually disbanded, and two of the sisters (Rebecca and Megan) reformed under the name Larkin Poe—and became stars in the realm of blues/rock, touring the world and collaborating with artists like Elvis Costello, Keith Urban, and Conor Oberst. I’m a major fan. (In 2021 I actually wind up interviewing Rebecca and Megan for an Acoustic Guitar cover story on Larkin Poe that you can find here.)
Bob Halligan Jr., photographed for the Acoustic Guitar Project by Jack O. Bocchino.
In any case, one night after the Lennon news, I’m hosting a songwriter show that features Bob Halligan Jr., a brilliant songwriter who’s written hits for Cher, Kiss, Judas Priest, Michael Bolton, Kathy Mattea, on and on. In my opening solo set, I do not play “Fly,” and Bob calls me out on it. How could I not play my award winner, my hit?
Well, I tell Bob, a central part of the song is an interlude with “Sally Goodin” played on banjo or another instrument, so it doesn’t really work on one guitar…
He shakes his head. “You’ve got to figure it out,” he says.
So I do, through a technical breakthrough on guitar. I discover that with a partial capo holding down a chord (A) for me, I can play the melody and keep the rhythm going. Not only does this make it possible to play “Fly” solo, but it cracks the song wide open as an improvisational vehicle. I can be a one-man bluegrass band.
If you want to try out this idea on guitar, here’s an in-depth lesson that shows you how.
Episode 17 of Guitar Sessions teaches how to play “Fly.”
Scene 6: Flying with the band
Armed with my partial capo, I not only start playing the new version of “Fly” in solo or duo shows but with my full band. And wow, is it fun to dig into that groove with Josh Dekaney on percussion kit, Jason Fridley on bass, and Wendy Ramsay singing the duet part. “Fly” takes on such a new life with the band that I want to release the 2.0 version.
Recording the album Live and Listening in 2019 presents the perfect opportunity. Onstage, “Fly” takes flight. Like this.
Flying lessons
When I consider its evolution of “Fly,” what strikes me are all the different factors at work. Some of the song is traditional, some composed. Some of it just popped into my head, out of the ether—like the opening lines. Other parts I worked on for long stretches, employing whatever analytical tools I had to create rhyme and structure.
Embedded in this song are many places and people: the farmers’ market jam, the banjo-playing archaeologist, the songwriting group and Dana Cooke, the open mic, Lisa Gentile, Joe Cleveland, Bob Halligan Jr., my bandmates… “Fly” changed through technology, too, in my basement recording sessions; and then again onstage.
The lesson I draw from all this is that songwriters need to be opportunistic. You find what you can, wherever you find it, through both inspiration and perspiration. You keep your ears open. And when the wind comes, you spread your wings and…fly.
—JPR
Fly
Words and music by Jeffrey Pepper Rodgers
Fly away
Drop what you’re doing
Gray skies will soon be bluing
No doubt am I entertaining
No reason for explaining
Been too much anticipating
Fed up with contemplating
No more will I be waiting
’Cause we’ve got
Stones on our shoulders and steps to climb
We’re losing our breath in the crush of time
Gather the weight and the questions on your mind
And leave it all behind
Fly away
Stop with the teasing
I got a bag of reasons
No way can I be going
No matter how it’s blowing
Been too long, too much dealing
Today I got a feeling
This moment is for stealing
’Cause we’ve got
Stones on our shoulders and steps to climb
We’re losing our breath in the crush of time
Gather the weight and the worries on your mind
And leave it all behind
Fly away
Drop what you’re doing
Gray skies will soon be bluing
No doubt am I entertaining
No reason for explaining
No doubt and no reason
No waiting, no teasing
No talk and no secret
Just spread your wings and fly
Fly
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The Complete Singer-Songwriter: A Troubadour’s Guide to Writing, Performing, Recording, and Business