Story Behind the Song: Turn On the Light

Turn On the Light 

One of the great side effects of online dating, for me, at least, was that I met some really interesting people.  Although I didn’t meet the love of my life there, I made some long-lasting friendships through the platform, and for that reason, I am glad I at least gave it a shot all those years ago.  One of those people, I’ll call Jack, had a kind of a tough time being “just friends” with me, even though I had made it clear my feelings for him were platonic.  This went on for the better part of a year: he’d come to terms with it, and then a few months later, he’d bounce back with questions about why I didn’t have feelings for him.  The reasons why I didn’t have feelings for him had far more to do with me than him, as it turns out.  I was incredibly selfish and picky about my time and the people I would commit to spending time with.  There was nothing wrong with Jack, or anyone else– I just wasn’t ready to have any commitments in my life.  What I didn’t realize at the time was that in my lack of commitment, I ended up kind of stringing people along.  Even if we were going to be friends only, with no romantic ties, I would easily cancel plans, I would easily block them out and not be there for them as they had been for me.  Maybe I was trying to keep everyone at arm’s length because I was afraid of getting hurt, or afraid of hurting them, or both.  At any rate, I wasn’t exactly the best version of myself all the time, even if I was honest with them about my feelings (or lack thereof).

One night, we were having drinks at my house and Hank brought up the fact that I hold everyone at arm’s length, how I don’t let anybody in, how nobody can help me, but nobody could hurt me either.  For the first time in my whole life, someone was calling me out on being selfish and purposefully alone, and I gotta tell you, it was not comfortable.  He said these words to me, verbatim:  “You can’t tell me you never get lonely.”  In my defiance, I was like, “I never get lonely.  For real, dude. I don’t need anybody.”  He rolled his eyes, threw up his hands and said, “Whatever…”  We had another drink, he went home, and I wrote down that line.  Although I was defiant and faux-insulted at the suggestion, I recognize a good song lyric when I hear it.

I can’t remember if it was a few days or weeks later, but the song was somewhat frankensteined together from unfinished thoughts, bits and pieces of other lyrics.  On my phone, I had a voice memo of a piano idea that I really liked.  It was a 45-second clip of a New Orleans-y piano riff, but I didn’t have any lyrics to go with it at the time.  I have over 100 of these things, floating around on my phone and in my songbooks, waiting for the lyric or the music to find each them.  If anybody were to look at all the fragments, they’d think I have some severe ADHD going on, because it would appear I’m unable to finish anything.  But I digress…

The song came together slowly, one verse at a time (full lyrics here).  The whole premise is backwards from how I usually write songs, though; usually I write from my perspective, the way I see things, the things I think about what I see.  This song, though, is from the outside looking in at me, kind of telling myself that it’s okay to need people, that there are people ready to love and help me, if I’d just let them, that it’s okay to feel like nobody understands, and that I’m gonna be okay even if I feel permanently heartbroken.  It was a song to myself, and I hardly ever write those.  I was lucky to have the upbeat piano riff, as I think it’s the perfect pairing for the lyrics, and the feel of the song just fits perfectly.  This is generally a crowd favorite at my live shows– the chorus is simple enough that by the end of the song, even if it’s the first time you’ve heard it, you already know the words and can sing along.  I’ve had many different goosebump moments at my shows when I look out and see more than one person singing along to this song.  I love singing it, and I’m even happier with the way it turned out on the album.  I had the pleasure of working with Ross Martin for the guitar parts.  Side note– if you’ve never heard of Ross, you really gotta check him out.  As my usual guitarist, James Macklin, pointed out, there may soon come a time when I get to brag about working with the famous Ross Martin on my album.  He lives in New York, but tours and plays all over the world.  He’s a kind person, a good human, who happens to be one of the best guitarists in the country.  Again, I digress.  Ross added a lot to the rollicking piano riff, and the song came together in the studio effortlessly.  I instantly loved it.

Luckily for me, I figured out the message I was trying to convey to myself when I wrote this song, and all’s well.  Many people have often commented over the years that I seem to write a lot of sad songs.  It’s true, I do.  It’s easier to write when I’m sad in order to process my feelings, but I’m really happy that I wrote a song that is at least musically happy, and lyrically optimistic.  I hope you like it as much as I do.  Also, you can get this song as a single on itunes and other streaming platforms, but you can get the whole album here, with nine other songs!

-Lacey

p.s. I’m in California for some shows this weekend, and next week is Thanksgiving, so I’m going to take next week off of electronic gizmos like phones and laptops to spend some quality time with my family.  You can follow my California trip on instagram and facebook, @laceyblackmusic.  I’ll be back with the final story behind the song, “Brand New Car,” on November 30.  Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.  If you’re reading this, I’m grateful for you.