The Public Wants Cheese!

I have pretty bizarre dreams most nights. In last night's weirdo spectacular, the band Heart came round, with an entourage of about thirty that included, for some reason, identical triplet singers, who were really diva-esque and demanding. My job was to give each person a riff to develop into a song, and then give individual assistance where necessary. So far so simple; this is Heart we're talking about. I love 'em, of course, but no matter how hard I want to push the boundaries, we're not going to be wanting anything avant-garde here. The little parts of my dreaming brain that remain alert and detached, presumably to stop things getting out of hand, made the usual observations and comments, e.g. "That's a good riff; wake up and write it down" which elicited my usual (often regretted) response: "Naah, there's plenty more where that came from".
Suddenly, they all started demanding tea and and a wide assortment of sandwiches. (The triplets wanted a 'nut-free guarantee'. They didn't have allergies or anything, they were just being assholes). I was getting quite stressed trying to come up with thirty different sandwich recipes using only the ingredients I had to hand when the 'meaning' of the dream became clear.
Well-meaning people sometimes suggest to me that I should write stuff like Keith Urban or Tom Petty, to which I always respond "Why on Earth would I do that?! It's been done. It's a bit like advising aspiring authors to write stories about schoolboy wizards or magic wardrobes". So I suppose the lesson of the dream, if there really is one, is that songwriting is a bit like making sandwiches. Creatives will knock themselves out trying to come up with new recipes, but most of the time, the public only wants more cheese.