About That Song: Clare Doyle
Hi! I’m Sarah Morris. I’m wildly in love with songs and the people who write them. There have been a few songs in my life that have been total gamechangers—songs that made me want to be a songwriter and songs I’ve written that made me feel like I am a songwriter. About That Song is a space where I can learn more about those pivotal songs in other writers’ lives.
In the 28th edition of this series, I connected with Clare Doyle, an emerging Twin Cities singer-songwriter who’s released three songs with more on the way. I wanted to learn more about the music that’s had an impact on her songwriting.
Sarah: Hi Clare! It’s so nice to meet you! Your name has been buzzing on the lips of many of my favorite people, and I’ve so enjoyed listening to your recent singles. Congrats on a stellar 2023, and on starting your 2024 with a bang of some FANTASTIC shows (First Ave mainroom! Turf Club with The Cactus Blossoms!). As you prepare for your new year, I wonder if you’re willing to look back on some of the pivotal songs that have brought you to this moment in your musical journey. Do you remember the song that you heard that made you want to be a songwriter? Tell us about that song.
Clare: This is a tough but fun one, because now I’m mentally scrolling back to parts of my relationship with music that I don’t think about often. Honestly my first thought was that I decided to start writing songs out of necessity because I’d wanted to be a singer since I was a little kid and at some point in late high school/early college I realized I’d need to write my own songs. I don’t know if it occurred to me to pursue songwriting for its own sake.
Sarah: I had a bit of a start like that in my own journey. I wanted to sing, and when I was preparing to move to Nashville, people kept saying “you have to write your own songs.” So I called up a friend who I knew had already written and asked if she would co-write. It was the desire to sing that was stronger for me, initially.
Clare: I always loved writing and language, and always felt deeply connected to and impacted by lyrics. I think when I heard music I thought “I want to sing like that” or felt “I want to express myself like that” as opposed to “I want to write like that.” I don’t think I realized I was a writer.
I do remember being obsessed with every goddamn line in The Shins’ “Gone For Good” in high school. The lyrics were kind of intoxicating; I remember being sort of hypnotized and stunned by how someone could string together words and metaphors like that. Like watching those circus performers wrap themselves up in the hanging silks and then unravel from the ceiling.
In particular: “Untie me, I’ve said no vows / this train is getting way too loud / I gotta leave here, my girl, get on with my lonely life / Just leave the ring on the rails for the wheels to nullify.” I mean come the f*** on. That’s so good.
And:
It took me all of a year
To put the poison pill to your ear
But now I stand on honest ground, honest ground
You wanna fight for this love
But honey you cannot wrestle a dove
So baby it's clear
Sarah: I don’t know that song yet, but thanks for the recommendation! I love lines that are so perfect I have to unpack my swear words about it. YES. Once you began writing, did you feel like a writer immediately? It took me a few years of writing before I believed it, for sure. Was there a song that gave you that “a-HA! I AM a songwriter!” moment? Tell us about that song.
Clare: Nope! Hah. I still don’t really believe it, I guess. When I first started writing I was like 19 or 20. I wrote maybe three or four songs and I think during that time there were periods where I really believed I was a writer and an artist because it would just come pouring out and I didn’t overthink or judge it. I quit writing for a long time and since I started up again, I basically have to have a daily come-to-Jesus with myself about how I am, in fact, an artist and a writer. I spent a long time denying that so I think it just takes time to undo.
There’s not one song in particular that made me feel like a writer. There are a few lines in my songs that I’m really proud of—where I wonder how the hell (or if??) I wrote them. If I’m having a tough time writing I’ll think of them and be like “That came out of me. I’m capable of that. There’s probably more, I just have to keep writing.”
Sarah: Yeah, I think there is something so beautiful in the act of noticing something like that. In honoring the fact that those lines/lyrics/words came through you/from you and affirming them. To me, it’s like an invitation to Song to keep on coming.
Listening to your song “The Catch,” that hook “It’s a lightning bolt, not a band of gold”—was there a lightning bolt of inspiration that brought that song to life?
Clare: Haha, that one actually did kind of strike like lightning. When I got the first couple lines of the song I had to roll off a mattress on the floor of an ex’s place and fumble around furiously in the dark looking for a pen and paper and start scrawling before they disappeared. It was an “aha” moment about the relationship that basically came to me in lyric form.
I wrote the first verse that night, and it took a few more sittings to get the pre-choruses and chorus, but looking back at that notebook … It often takes me pages and pages to work out lyrics, and that one came out pretty much as-is except for some rearranging of the second verse. That’s not typical for me—and now I’m looking at those pages wondering how I managed to just let those lines flow out. The feeling I was writing about felt pretty clear and intense, which usually helps me work quickly. And the car metaphor might be overused but for good reason—it’s simple and playful and easy to riff on, so I think that helped keep things flowing.
Sarah: I’m so glad you found the pen and paper in time! Can we talk a bit about “You and My Guitar”? Oy, that’s a gorgeous capturing of a moment. What can you tell us about that song? How did it come to be?
Clare: Well, I remember getting the urge to write this one listening to Rick Rubin interview Sturgill Simpson on the Broken Record podcast. It wasn’t necessarily related to what they were talking about but something just struck me.
The moment I write about in the song had happened a few months earlier, right before I quit drinking and right before I started writing again. I think I was looking back and seeing that moment and that person as a catalyst for a huge shift and a return to myself and to music.
Honestly the lyrics fell short of the idea I was trying to capture—the “You” in “You and my Guitar” is more me than the other person in that moment. But ultimately that was too complex for me to write, haha. I couldn’t figure out a way to address both myself and another person in the same song so it made more sense for it to be about the other person instead of clumsily mixing the two. Occasionally it still bugs me that I couldn’t find the perfect way to nail that song, lol.
Sarah: Where might you be singing that song live in the near future?
Clare: I’ll be singing that song on the stage of the First Avenue Main Room on January 12, which is absolutely wild. Then again at Turf Club on January 29 supporting The Cactus Blossoms!
Sarah: Wonderful! So many chances for audiences to hear you this month in some truly fantastic rooms. Have so much fun!
Get tickets to see Clare at Best New Bands of 2023 at First Avenue on January 12 and opening for The Cactus Blossoms at Turf Club on January 29!
Listen to “You and My Guitar”
“You and My Guitar” Song Credits
Credits for
Music and Lyrics - Clare Doyle
Drums and Bass - Sean Hoffman
Guitar - Dan Lowinger
Organ - Tom Rasulo
Instrumental tracks recorded at Floodzone Studio
Vox recorded at The Patch Studios
Mixed by Tom Rasulo at The Patch Studios
Mastered by Chris Bethea
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Morris is a superfan of songs and the people who write them, and a believer that certain songs can change your life. A singer-songwriter / mama / bread maker / coffee drinker who recently released her fifth album of original material, she’s been known to joyfully sing with people in her Big Green Bathroom.