Songs Never Heard
A craft podcast that spotlights some of the best songs you've never heard.
Songs Never Heard
S1E3: For a Plastic Man on a Paper Plane (Micah Shane)
An accidentally-tuned guitar that captured a moment of creative alchemy.
For a Plastic Man on a Paper Plane on SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/idiot-king-432598801/for-a-plastic-man-on-a-paper
More of Micah's music:
- SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/idiot-king-432598801
- Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/30zGw2M8zeACHqlBnvCCMm
Robert Howell:
My name is Robert Howell, and in this series I'll be sharing, and digging into, some of my favorite songs that I've come across during my time in the underground songwriting scene. Songs written by quietly talented people who are creating music on their own terms, in their own spare time. Songs that, more than likely, most of the world will never hear.
Welcome to Songs Never Heard.
This episode's song emerged from an accident that led to unintentional inspiration. What started as a guitar knocked out of tune in a car became what the songwriter calls "a singularity moment." Where he captured the magic of a song in a way that he's been unable to replicate since. Let's hear "For a Plastic Man on a Paper Plane" by Micah Shane.
Micah Shane:
Hey
Nothing bothers me now
Safe
Numb enough to breathe out
The taste
Almost bitter sweet how
Hey
Nothing bothers me now
Take a shape
Fall back apart
Baby face
Plastic heart
Hey
Nothing bothers me now
Safe
Numb enough to breathe out
The taste
Almost bitter sweet how
Hey
Nothing bothers me now
Take a shape
Fall back apart
Baby face
Bastard heart
Take a shape
Fall back apart
Baby face
Plastic heart
Robert Howell:
That was "For a Plastic Man on a Paper Plane" by Micah Shane. The title might be whimsical, but the song explores incredibly deep territory. Micah describes the plastic man as someone who's learned to cope through emotional detachment. Someone who can assume an emotionally numb, protective state when needed, but then falls back apart into his more vulnerable self when the numbness can no longer be maintained.
The song is about getting by with unhealthy coping mechanisms. The pros and cons of using detachment to survive difficult moments, but at the cost of missing out on so much of what's around you. " Nothing bothers me ,now," Micah sings, because a plastic man can't feel anything.
As for the paper plane, it represents the fragile vehicle we use to navigate life when we're not sure where we're going. It's about having no idea what we're doing and pretending we know where life is taking us.
As Micah puts it, " I am the sum of many broken parts, held together with cheap glue, traveling on this unstable vehicle of hopes, dreams, and ideals. You put all your trust into hoping it takes you somewhere, but it's a long way down if it ever falls apart."
"For a Plastic Man on a Paper Plane," or as Micah sometimes refers to it, "Plastic Man," wasn't recorded using expensive software or high-end equipment. Micah used an iPhone 11, a simple eight track app called Spire, and a basic pair of wired Apple headphones.
The density Micah achieves... multiple guitar parts, intricate vocal harmonies, those hooky lead lines... was built track by track on his phone. Showing impressive creativity and an inventiveness that expensive equipment can't provide.
What's remarkable isn't just that this approach worked, but how perfectly it serves the song itself. There's an intimacy and vulnerability in living room recording that mirrors the emotional territory Micah is exploring lyrically. The authentic unpolished edges don't detract from the song, they enhance it.
"Plastic Man" stands as proof that high-end software and professional gear aren't needed to create a song worthy of attention. That the most important songwriting tools are the ones we carry within ourselves.
So how did this singularity moment, as Micah puts it, actually happen? It started with a hectic week and a guitar bouncing around in his passenger seat.
"I had a busy week and was running all over the place with my guitar in the passenger seat of my car," Micah explains, " it got knocked around and outta tune over the course of the week, and when I finally sat down to play again, I noticed the open strings made some sort of near chord that I thought was beautiful."
Instead of returning to standard tuning, Micah followed his curiosity. He tuned each string to the nearest note, creating what he calls an accidental tuning D-G-C-F-A#-E.
From there, the song came together almost all at once. The initial progression emerged from those open strings. The vocal melody stuck out to him immediately, and even the lead guitar lines you hear in the second half were first takes that Micah layered with harmonies that just seemed to fit.
This discovery perfectly captures Micah's creative philosophy. He says he is not someone who can sit down and say, "I'm going to write a song," and have something good come out of it. In his words: " Sometimes I simply run into an idea on the way to nowhere, and these are the songs I end up being the most proud of. "Plastic Man" was a moment of pure inspiration I never meant to find."
What Micah built on that accidental foundation is a song structure that perfectly mirrors its emotional content. The verses have a hypnotic, almost mantra like quality. Those repeated "Hey, nothing bothers me, now" lines that cycle and soothe. This repeating structure was entirely intentional.
As Micah explains: "The repetitive aspect of the verses was definitely meant to serve the idea of talking oneself down or trying to convince oneself of something. Kind of telling yourself it's going to be okay, even if it's just how you trick yourself into getting through one moment."
But then the chorus arrives with a completely different energy. It doesn't jar you out of the verse trance, instead, it's like surfacing temporarily from a dream into reality. " Take a shape. Fall back apart. Baby face. Plastic heart."
Micah describes this contrast beautifully. " The verse is kind of like the view from the inside, and the chorus is more like an observation and acknowledgement of what really is."
The verses represent the internal mantra , the coping mechanism in action. That repetitive self-talk used to maintain emotional numbness. The chorus steps outside that bubble and observes the plastic man from a distance seeing him for what he really is: Someone putting up a protective shield to weather tough situations, but then ultimately falling back apart into his emotional feeling self when the shield becomes unsustainable. It is a brilliant musical metaphor for the song's central theme. The difference between how we feel inside our coping mechanisms, and how those mechanisms actually look from the outside.
The personal details woven into "Plastic Man" reveal just how autobiographical this song really is. Take the "baby face" reference in the chorus. Micah isn't speaking metaphorically. " I do in fact have a baby face," he explains, " I am 28 and get mistaken for 21 all the time. I've always been sort of clean cut on the outside and people make assumptions based on that, but my insides are a junkyard."
This contrast between outward appearance and inner reality perfectly embodies the plastic man concept. Someone who looks innocent and approachable on the surface, but carries the complexity and messiness that we all have hidden inside.
The choice to sing "bastard heart" instead of "plastic heart" in one variation of the chorus, adds another personal layer. It wasn't just a musical decision. It was what Micah calls a one-off snarky sting of sour attitude. Just a whining embrace of "I'm kind of shitty."
These aren't just intriguing lyrics, they're confessions. The baby faced exterior hiding a junkyard interior. The protective plastic shell that covers someone who feels fundamentally different from how he appears to the world.
This tension between surface and depth is one of the reasons why the song is so compelling. Micah isn't just observing the plastic man from the outside, he's writing from the inside. Sharing what it actually feels like to live behind that protective facade.
"Plastic Man" represents something deeper than just a well-crafted song for Micah. After initially struggling with the sound of his own voice, he considered finding a singer for the songs he was writing. But "Plastic Man" helped him realize that having someone else sing such intimate material would feel odd. So he embraced what he calls his "divisive sound" and decided expression was more important than perfection.
As he puts it "I see my sound as being raw and unapologetically honest. I'm not aiming for perfection, just expression. I am no virtuoso. Just a guy with some stuff to yell about shaking my fist at the clouds."
Micah has tried multiple times to re-record "Plastic Man," hoping to capture a slightly more polished version of what already exists. Every attempt has failed. "The song feels like a singularity moment for me," he explains, "I think it's the best it can ever be and there's just something that was in the air that isn't there anymore. I'm just glad I caught some of it on recording while it was."
Songs Never Heard is written and produced by me, Robert Howell. It's a tribute to all the seldom heard talent I've experienced over the years. If you're interested in having one of your songs featured, drop me a note at rrobhowell@gmail.com.
Until next time, keep writing.