Having Some Words
Featuring a demo of new song You Tell The Boys at the bottom
I was talking to a friend about lyric writing a few months ago. He said some things I haven’t been able to stop mulling around since. It was someone that I have a strong bond with so I’m confident their observations were coming from a good place. But it definitely forced me to drill down into how I see it all.
The thrust of his statement was “a lyric can’t just be on the page.” What I think he meant is that not only does a lyric depend on the accompanying music to give it context and dimension, but the meaning cannot be overly obvious or clear. He clearly likes it when you have something to chew on; something to get lost in. I agreed with my understanding of his first point about the accompanying music adding dimension, but in regards to how clear the meaning is or needs to be, my follow up question was, “well, what about country songs?” He kind of shrugged that off as simply not a style of music he likes. Which he’s entitled to. And it also helps give perspective on the statement he was making.
I swear I try not to make everything about me, but my impression was that he was gently criticizing an aspect of my own writing. At least the tunes like A Little Bit Of Everything and St. Augustine at Night. But not explicitly. Now I’m not writing any of this to shore up some sympathy or outrage because a friend MIGHT not like some of my tunes. I think it’s a perfectly reasonable position to take. I have spent good chunks of time disliking these (and all my other) tunes, myself.
I bring it all up because I liked how it made me organize my thoughts on the subject. I thought about writers like Joni, Randy Newman, Michael Stipe, John Prine and of course Bob Dylan. The songs that elude me, the songs that hold my hand, and the songs arrive at revelations seemingly accidentally. Or at least so it seems to my ears. And how there is a place for all of it, as far as I’m concerned.
Randy Newman felt like a great example of the role the music can play in the meaning of a lyric. If you just had a simple progression under Living Without You, you wouldn’t feel the depth of his loneliness. If you lost the disjointed, sometimes atonal string arrangement, you wouldn’t be as suspicious of the narrator in In Germany Before The War. His lyrics are conversational and economical, but combined with the music, the achievements are pretty outrageous.
John Prine is another “simple” writer in terms of how understandable the words are, but all taken together he seems to have a grasp of (and an unending patience for) the flawed human condition. His chords are so simple that, aside from a handful, the same mood/music can be applied to most of the lyrics. I like to think he wouldn’t even disagree with that statement. I even mean it as a compliment. His words do all the heavy lifting, making even the simplest of melodies and chord changes move mountains.
On the other side of the spectrum are the type of songs I have never been able to fully access. Certain moments from Dylan (see It’s All Over Now Baby Blue) or Joni (see Cold Blue Steel and Sweet Fire). Beck, Oberst, Bowie, Tweedy and so many other writers I love have a lot of tunes like this. Songs that provoke a rich and layered response from me without my knowing how or why. But unlike the greatness of a John Prine song that (I think) everyone is going to be able to recognize, there is a subtle distinction for me between these mindbenders being great and there being some kind of trickery involved. There’s a difference between the attempt to communicate an emotion that we don’t have the words to articulate and trying out a cut up method, or evading some feared commune with your listener, or just actively trying to confuse someone in hopes of garnering their respect. That’s the stuff that hits my bullshit radar. I know it’s a cynical attitude to take, but it’s been the impression some songs have left me with, perhaps unfairly.
I think this is the main realization that my conversation left me with. The one I wanted to share on here. That I feel the same generosity of spirit from a John Prine as I do a Michael Stipe. They both seem to want me to know them. To see them deeply. To find some intersection of world views with whoever hears their music. And I say this as someone who rarely knows what an R.E.M. song is about!
(I know that as I write this that I might be getting dangerously close to suggesting there is a right way and wrong way to write a song, the bewildering kind or otherwise. That’s not what I think. At the risk of being redundant, I don’t think it can be overstated that my rants like this are always entirely subjective.)
I realized through thinking about my friend’s seemingly arbitrary rule that I like any song that makes me feel like the writer is reaching out in a genuine way. I want a song to make me feel like I just shared a meal with whoever was singing to me - and while I might forget the particulars of the conversation, I won’t forget the impression I’m left with. And that can be positive or negative. Heavy or light. I just want to experience someone’s essence. How and why there is no one else on the planet like them. And I believe songs can do that.
So bring on all of Prine’s lines about how “convict movies make her horny” or Stipe’s “calling out in transit” (I guess I’ve gotten a little stuck on these two examples…I just feel like they really represent the dichotomy well). I don’t think a song is better or worse for being digestible after 1 listen or 100. And if my songs ever make me seem too available, or too sentimental, or too desperate to connect, or too anything, that’s because that’s who I am sometimes.
Some of my songs are going to be “just on the page” and some will never be…
Thanks for reading.
For the paid subscribers, here’s a demo of a new song called You Tell The Boys. It’s not on the new record. We didn’t even cut it because I was a little nervous about how direct it is. So it suits this post well. Maybe it will end up on the next next album. Maybe not.