Writing Better Lyrics
Page 17
c
Lifts a happy face to thank her
c
And the fiddler fiddles something so sublime
b
All the women tear their blouses off
d
And the men they dance on polka dots
d
It's partner found and partner lost
d
And it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops
d
It's closing time
b
He keeps us dangling for two extra lines before giving is the -ime rhyme in a blaze of spotlights, spotlights created by building the structure carefully — raising our expectations, satisfying them, then raising them again. The second time is the charm. It's another great example of what expectations can do to make your journey through a series of ideas more interesting. Look at what the section could have been:
Rhyme
Well we're drinking and we're dancing
a
And the band is really happening
a
And my very sweet companion
b
She's the angel of compassion
b
Rubs the world against her thigh
c
The Johnnie Walker wisdoms' high
c
Every drinker every dancer
d
Lifts their face to thank her
d
And the women shed their blouses
e
And the men all dance around them
e
It's partner found and lost
f
And hell when the fiddler stops
f
'Cause he fiddles so sublime
g
But alas it's closing time
g
The relentless march of couplets sinks the whole enterprise. More has been lost than just some neat words and a couple of nice turns of phrase. The dance of ideas has lost its partner. When the interesting structure decides to sit this one out, the ideas stumble into a partner with two left feet. What was elegant and interesting becomes something almost embarrassing; rather than looking on with pleasure, we avert our eyes. Such is the power of the dance between structure and ideas.
Interesting structure isn't something that just happens. You create it. And usually out of the simplest of starting places: matched couplets and/or common meter. None of these techniques are difficult to use — you can create wonderful partnerships any time you choose to. It's always up to you. Just work hard. Pay attention. Write well.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PROSODY:
STRUCTURE AS FILM SCORE
Now that you have some tools for manipulating common meter and matched couplets, let's take a closer look at the power you have at your fingertips when you use your tools effectively. Look at this lyric, “Can't Be Really Gone” by Gary Burr (recorded by Tim McGraw):
Her hat is hanging by the door
The one she bought in Mexico
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
She'd never leave that one
So she can't be really gone
The shoes she bought on Christmas Eve
She laughed and said they called her name
It's like they're waiting in the hall
For her to slip them on
So, she can't be really gone
I don't know when she'll come back
She must intend to come back
And I've seen the error of my ways
Don't waste the tears on me
What more proof do you need
Just look around the room
So much of her remains
Her book is lying on the bed
The two of hearts to mark her page
Now, who could ever walk away
With so much left undone
So, she can't be really gone
No, she can't be really gone
Okay. How soon did you know that she isn't coming back?
Right. At the end of the first verse. Of course, that's only because we're smart, intuitive beings — we just know these things. Poor guy. He has no idea. While this poor slob is looking for reasons to prove that she's coming back, we, with our deeper understanding of life and the ways of the world, know the real truth.
Kinda like watching a movie where the beautiful couple is running in slow motion toward each other through a golden sunlit field, smiling. There's a soft lens. The film score is full of romantic strings, swelling in a major key. But as they float closer to each other and our chests swell in anticipation of the long-awaited embrace, an oboe cuts through the film score in a nasty minor second, and our bodies stiff en a little. We don't really notice the music, but something tells us that something bad is about to happen. Suddenly, the guys with the shotguns leap up from their hiding places and blow the couple away. We knew it! We knew something bad was going to happen! Of course, that's because we're smart, intuitive beings — we just know these things.
Of course, the film score, which is created to stand behind the action, gave it away. Most folks don't really notice it — they just react. The composer is pulling the strings and we, like puppets, react predictably, feeling just what the score makes us feel.
That's what's going on in “Can't Be Really Gone,” but this time it's not the music that creates the film score. It's the structure of the lyric, acting, just like a film score, on our emotions.
Look at the first verse:
Her hat is hanging by the door
The one she bought in Mexico
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
She'd never leave that one
So she can't be really gone
Though the character is giving us evidence that she's not gone for good, we don't believe him. Something just doesn't feel right. The verse itself feels funny — unstable.
PROSODY
Aristotle said that every great work of art contains the same feature: unity. Everything in the work belongs — it all works to support every other element. Another word for unity is prosody, which is the “appropriate relationship between elements, whatever they may be.” Some examples of prosody in songs might be:
Between words and music: A minor key could support or even create a feeling of sadness in an idea.
Between syllables and notes: An appropriate relationship between stressed syllables and stressed notes is a really big deal in songwriting — when they are lined up properly, the shape of the melody matches the natural shape of the language.
Between rhythm and meaning: Obvious examples like “you gotta stop! … (pause) … look and listen” or writing a song about galloping horses in a triplet feel.
The elements all join together to support the central intent, idea, and emotion of the work. Everything fits. Prosody: the appropriate relationship between elements.
Stable vs. Unstable
Looking at your sections through the lens of stablility or instability is a practical tool for creating prosody because you'll be able to use it for every aspect of your song: the idea, the melody, the rhythm, the chords, the lyric structure — everything. It governs the choices you make. Ask yourself: Is the emotion in this section stable or unstable? Once you answer that question, you have a standard for making all your other choices.
The Five Elements of Structure
Every section of every lyric you write uses five elements — always the same five elements — of structure. These elements conspire to act like a film score and, in and of themselves, create motion. And motion always creates emotion, completely independent of what is being said. Ideally, structure should create prosody — support what is being said — strengthening the message, making it more powerful.
The five elements of lyric structure are:
number of lines
length of lines
rhythm of lines
rhyme scheme
rhyme type
In “Can't Be Really Gone,” we'll look at the prosody — t
he relationship between its structure and its meaning. Let's take a look at each of these five elements and what they do in the first verse.
1. Number of Lines
Every section you'll ever write — verses, choruses, pre-choruses, bridges — will have (here it comes, get ready) some number of lines or other. Okay, not much of a revelation. But more specifically, every section you'll ever write will have either an even number of lines, or an odd number of lines. Wow. Even more of a revelation.
Let's talk a bit about lyrics with an odd number of lines. An odd number of lines feels odd — off balance, unresolved, incomplete, unstable. Let's say you're writing a verse where the idea is something like: “Baby, since you left me I've been feeling lost, odd, off balance, unresolved, incomplete, unstable.” Just theoretically, do you think this verse would be better with an even number of lines or an odd number of lines? Right. An odd number of lines.
This changes everything. You've recognized, maybe for the first time, that there can be a relationship between what you say and how many lines you use to say it. You're feeling unstable, and the odd, or unstable, number of lines supports that feeling. Prosody. Your structure (in this case, your number of lines) can support meaning.
An even number of lines tends to feel, well, even — solid, resolved, balanced, stable. Let's say that your message is something like: “Baby, you're the answer to all my prayers. I'll be with you forever. I'm your rock. You can count on me.” How many lines should you use? Odd or even? Right. Even. You want a solid feeling in the structure to support the emotion you're trying to communicate. “I mean it. You can trust me.” Prosody.
Now, for a really interesting case. What if you say, “Baby, you're the answer to all my prayers. I'll be with you forever. I'm your rock.
You can count on me,” and you say it in an odd number of lines? Do you trust this guy? I don't think so. Something doesn't feel right — there's a mismatch between what is being said and how it's put together, how it moves. Though the message promises stability, the motion creates instability, which pulls the rug out from under the narrator. It creates irony.
Let's look at the first verse again:
Her hat is hanging by the door
The one she bought in Mexico
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
She'd never leave that one
So she can't be really gone
This feels unstable, though the message is: “Look at the evidence — it proves that she'll be coming back.” But the feeling we get from the unstable structure (which is acting like a film score) is that he's wrong and perhaps a bit hysterical or, at least, in denial.
So the number of lines can make a big difference.
What if the verse had been:
Her hat is hanging by the door
From Mexico, that funny store
I know she'd take her hat along
So I know she can't be really gone
Since the section feels balanced, we'd probably be convinced — there's a sense of resolution, balance, and completeness that we feel here. Go ahead, have some breakfast. Take the dog for a walk. She'll be home when you get back.
So an even number of lines supports stability and resolution, while an odd number of lines support the opposite.
2. Length of Lines
Line length is the traffic cop in your lyric. Two lines of equal length, because they're balanced, tell you to stop. (Note, for future reference, that the length of a line is not determined by the number of syllables, but by the number of stressed syllables, because the number of stressed syllables helps determine the number of musical bars.)
Her hat is hanging by the door
The one she bought in Mexico
The two four-stress lines feel balanced. It feels like we're finished with one thing and ready to start something new. Of course, we would feel even more stability if the lines rhymed, too. More on this later.
Lines of unequal length, because they do not reach a point of balance, tell you to keep moving:
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
She'd never leave that one
Now we feel unbalanced and unresolved, and the traffic cop tells us to keep moving forward. Simple, but very effective.
The first three lines are equal length:
Stresses
Her hat is hanging by the door
4
The one she bought in Mexico
4
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
4
But then something happens:
Stresses
She'd never leave that one
3
The three-stress line leaves us short, creating an unstable feeling — making us feel uncomfortable, like something's not quite right. The following line:
So she can't be really gone
3
leaves us still feeling uncomfortable. With yet a second three-stress line, a new expectation kicks in: We'd like one more three-stress line.
Maybe something like:
She'll soon be coming home
3
Which gives us:
Stresses
Her hat is hanging by the door
4
The one she bought in Mexico
4
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
4
She'd never leave that one
3
So she can't be really gone
3
She'll soon be coming home
3
Read it through a few times. See how comfortable it feels?
And now see how uncomfortable this feels:
Stresses
Her hat is hanging by the door
4
The one she bought in Mexico
4
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
4
She'd never leave that one
3
So she can't be really gone
3
So there's a conspiracy between the number of lines and the line lengths to torpedo this guy — to expose him for the man in denial that he is. It's important to note that he isn't similarly exposed in the previous six-line structure.
There'll be a much more detailed treatment on the motion created by number of lines and line lengths in the next chapter, “Understanding Motion.”
3. Rhythm of Lines
First, let's acknowledge the difference between the rhythm of words and musical rhythm. Though they should match each other on the most important levels, they can also vary in many ways. For example, when we read, we normally don't extend a syllable for four beats, nor do we speed up parts of a line and slow other parts down significantly. Music does it all the time. What should remain constant between the rhythms of words and musical rhythm is this: Stressed syllables belong with stressed notes. Unstressed syllables belong with unstressed notes. This is called “preserving the natural shape of the language.” For our purposes here, we'll concentrate on lyric rhythm and leave musical rhythm for another time.
Let's look at the rhythm of our lyric. We've already marked the stressed syllables:
Her hat is hanging by the door
4
The one she bought in Mexico
4
It blocked the wind and stopped the rain
4
She'd never leave that one
3
So she can't be really gone
3
This moves along in groups of two (da DUM):
Da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM
Da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM
Da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM
Da DUM da DUM DUM da
Da da DUM da DUM da DUM
This is a mostly very regular lyric rhythm, with just a two variations, neither of which have much effect.
Okay, why, in a verse that feels so off balance (to support the off-balance emotion of the idea), is the rhythm so darn regular? Shouldn't it be off kilter, too?
Remember, this is a man in denial. He's trying to convince himself she's coming back. If everything in the verse were off kilter, there'd be nothing stable to rub against the unstable elements. Also, the differences in line length would become less clear and, therefore, less effective.
So the regularity of the rhythm, in this case, actually highlights the elements that throw it off balance.
4. Rhyme Scheme
Songs are made for listening — we hear them rather than see them.
Rhyme is a sonic event, made for listening. It provides our ear with road signs to guide us through the journey of the song. It shows us connections. It tells us when to stop and when to move forward. Look:
Her hat is hanging by the door
Her scarf is lying on the floor
This sounds finished. It stops us. It feels resolved, stable. But look at this:
Her hat is hanging by the door
She'd never leave that one
Her scarf is lying on the floor
Now we feel the push forward. Although, in this case, the line lengths also conspire to throw us off balance, leaning ahead, the rhymes can do it all by themselves: