Imagine Dragons
It’s tempting to say that song ideas emerge from unexpected places, but the better truth is to say that song ideas emerge from all places. There seems to be a correlation between the quality of a song and the degree of magnifying glass being used to zoom in. Smaller songs are, perhaps by nature, focused in a way that songs painted with broader strokes are not. As I look back on my catalog that now approaches 100 songs, I see the songs that have a centralized conceit stand above the others. Those songs are unified by something: a topic, ambiance, or scene. And while this correlation is not always true, if we’re talking percentages, and by extension, efficiency, then zooming in on a conceit is as close to a formula as I can conjure for something as mysterious and evasive as songwriting.
In 2019, my nieces and nephews were visiting. They busied themselves with various activities, but Theresa, age 9, was coloring at the dining room table, focused in that way that children get when they lean over the table and have their face approximately three inches from the paper, as they add the finest points of detail. Upon completion, she leaned back, took a sweeping look at her masterpiece, and declared, “Ugh, I just love dragons so much.”
“They are awesome,” I eagerly responded.
“They are. I can’t wait to see one someday.”
There is a better chance of me being crowned Miss Teen USA than me being the kind of uncle who will do anything to unravel my niece’s belief in dragons, or by extension, the belief that this world contains things equally magical. “That would be so cool, wouldn’t it?” I respond.
A little over a year later, I started working on “A Dragon Song.” It wrote quickly, remained understated and brief, and served as my attempt to encapsulate the awe and wonder of my nine-year-old niece that I hope she never loses. I don’t know if she still believes in dragons, but if she doesn’t, she didn’t hear it from me.