With all this, it gets easier all the time to make the choice to consume… instead of to create. Creating is work; mental labor, at least. It requires energy and focus. You’ve got to give to get.

Some music, books, films do require a real commitment for comprehension, real mental energy, but much of what we take in doesn’t require giving a whole lot. Our ears or eyeballs, maybe, and some minimal attention. If I’m in the mood to check out, I’m coaxed to do so from every direction.

Alternately, there are the rewards of creating, producing. Often not as immediate, quite often frustrating, but still… it’s satisfying to create something that does more than get me through the next hour or two.

For me the battle is between checking in (produce, create)… and checking out (consume someone else’s creation). This conflict goes on with some regularity. (Of course it’s essential to be thrilled and inspired by the great work of others… but not at the expense of neglecting my own efforts).

I remember realizing many years ago that I wanted to be a creator far more than I wanted to be a consumer. But just because I knew what I wanted didn’t make it easy to follow through.

My days have been a struggle between, on one hand, the forces of inertia leading to entropy and, on the other, the drive to create, to make something of my emotions and inner life as well as what I see around me.

Which side comes out ahead?

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Another way is with our bodies. The rhythm. The way a song makes us move. The below-the-neck response.

One more is the heart – mainly in the beauty of the melody or the harmony, or both, but also the poignance of the voice or instruments.

All of this and more contribute to what I think is the deepest way we take in songs – as sheer pleasure in their sound, the way children do. We love sounds, both vocal and instrumental, that create a pleasing, joyful overall feeling. And children’s songs always have a lot of repetition – because most humans of all ages tend to like that in songs.

I don’t think this basic level of childhood song-love changes much for us as we age. We just build on top of it. The lyrics and the music we love might get more complex, but most of us still want that core rush underneath the complexity.

The other day I was reminded of this in a strange and random way. I came across a song which I’ve heard on and off for many years – Redbone’s ‘Come and Get Your Love’, a big hit from the mid-1970s (listen below).

There’s a connection between ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm/ee-i-ee-i-o’ or ‘The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round’ and ‘Come and Get Your Love’ that also runs through to much more sophisticated and complicated songs. If something works as a song, it almost always has some element of that childish singalong.

‘Come and Get Your Love’ popped up to me as an example of the kind of lyric – catchy, dumb, fun to sing with and listen to – that’s been used in thousands of songs and has been a staple of American popular song for at least a century.

’Come and Get Your Love’ is a pretty crude, direct song. Therein lies its power.

A couple of guitars, a bass, and drums play a bouncy, infectious 4 chord vamp (||: Eminor A | D Bminor :||) in a rock and roll groove, with these deathless lyrics:

Hell (Hell) what’s the matter with your head yeah
Hell (Hell) what’s the matter with your mind
And your sign an-a oh-oh-oh
Hell (Hell), nothin’ the matter with your head
Baby find it come on and find it
Hell with it baby ’cause you’re fine
And you’re mine and you look so divine

Come and Get Your Love
Come and Get Your Love
Come and Get Your Love
Come and Get Your Love

You can’t say the Verse lyric makes a whole lot of sense (‘What’s the matter with your mind? And your sign‘?). This doesn’t matter much, for 4 reasons:

1) Without a printed lyric it’s hard to figure out what he’s singing anyway. Could be almost anything.

2) However unintelligible the words are, they’re sung with great conviction.

3) The lyrics, as sung, sound good and feel like he knows what he’s talking about.

4) The verse is followed by a catchy repeated one-line Chorus in which the lyric (Come and Get Your Love) is not only clear, it’s impossible to misunderstand. As I’ve said many times, a simple, truly catchy one- or two-line Chorus, repeated, can balance out almost any sins or complications in the Verses (though I’m not recommending writing incomprehensible Verses).

I celebrate this kind of song when it’s done well (this record, though far from the apex, gets the job done, at the very least). Words that sound great and don’t make much sense. A functional and feel-appropriate melody that sounds right. A groove that feels good. Add a committed vocal performance, topped off with a repeated simple Chorus that’s impossible to miss and hard to forget.

It’s not that this is the right way, or the best way, to approach writing songs. It just illustrates a basic principle of songwriting.

Love it or hate it, ‘Come and Get Your Love’ works. It’s a clear example of what’s discussed above and what’s present in almost all successful (in the largest sense) popular songs.

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I’ve found, though, that there are frequently two distinct stages to writing a song. It can be helpful – and freeing – to know which stage you’re in.

In Stage 1 you’re playing in a sandbox. You’re a kid, even a baby. Even if your ideas are themselves quite serious and adult, you need to give that kid freedom. Don’t judge. Let the ideas roll. Doesn’t matter if they’re mostly or all bad – you’ve usually got to write the bad to get to the good. You can figure out the distinction later, when you’re in Stage 2.

For now you just try to get in a flow and let whatever happens happen. Have fun; feel the joy of writing (not necessarily writing well; just writing.)

Then, when that’s over… the adult comes into the room. The Editor. That’s Stage 2. (Usually for me this is on a different day than Stage 1.)

This is the time to go over everything carefully and ask the hard questions: Is there anything good here? Keep that, put the rest to the side. What’s promising and can be improved?

I think this is a key part of writing that’s underemphasized. That is, being truly rigorous with the inquisition of what’s already written. It can be so hard to be honest, to listen to that voice I don’t want to hear tell me that something can be better (even if I don’t know how – yet) and to keep at it.

Sometimes you’re wearing the Writer’s hat – fun-loving, fancy free, impulsive, let it all hang out. Then you put on the Editor’s hat – tough, no-bullshit, do whatever it takes, squeeze as hard as you have to to make it as good as it can be.

Of course, you can and probably will go back and forth between one stage and the other as you move along. You don’t often do Stage 1 on a song and then never have to explore again. And don’t make the mistake of thinking that the ‘editor’ part isn’t also creative. It is; it’s just different.

I’ve found it useful to be aware of where I am in the process.

When I’m freely wandering… keep the critical adult out of the room.

When I’m rigorously evaluating… don’t pay too much attention to the kid who’s fascinated by and attached to something unhelpful to the song.

Ultimately, past all ‘stages’, listen to the song. It’ll usually tell me what it needs… if I’m willing to listen.

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I have a relatively new song called ‘Please Wait’. I’ve performed it with my band a few times and it’s gone over very well. Here’s one of the things in it that I struggled with (honestly… I”m still struggling with it!).

The lyrics of the second half of the Chorus – a pretty long one – are:

Wait
I’m not gonna disappear
I’ll come running when you’re near
Don’t you feel (fear) what is our fate
It’s not too late
Please Wait

The fourth line – feel or fear? – is the dilemma.

At first I liked fear. It had the rhyme with near and disappear, and its placement in the melody worked with the rhyme. Arguably it sang a little better, and fear seemed like a stronger idea than feel.

However, as I sang it, something else became clear. In a song where you’re pleading with someone to wait for you because of your devotion to them, “Don’t you fear what is our fate’ started to feel, as I continued to sing it, uncomfortably like an instruction or a command. Not a request. And the song is one of supplication, of asking.

So I went back to ‘feel’. “Don’t you feel what is our fate”. Still very much to the point… and harder to misunderstand. In the midst of what I think is a strong Chorus, it doesn’t benefit me or the song to confuse the listener.

I wouldn’t have discovered this if I hadn’t, in preparation for performing, rehearsed the song many times. This has become an essential ‘final stage’ of my writing – singing the song over and over, trying to make the words and melody sing and feel as natural as possible, along with conveying its meaning.

Sometimes there are trade-offs. This is one that came up recently… I have a pre-chorus lyric for my song ‘Here In America’:

It’s a pan to fry your brain in
Some things defy explainin’
Everything is entertainment
Here In America

Originally the third line was “Everything is entertainin’” (not ‘entertainment’). It rhymed better (perfectly, actually) with explainin’ and brain in, and even sang better.

But… what I wanted to say was “Everything is entertainment here in America”, NOT “Everything is entertainin’ here in America” (which isn’t a bad line; just not what I was going for). So this time I sacrificed the perfect, more singable rhyme for a more distant rhyme that said exactly what I wanted it to say.

I don’t care about a perfect rhyme as an end in itself, but I don’t like to sacrifice singability, I’m always trying to get the song as right as I can. I mean feeling right, not technically perfect, whatever that is. But sometime trade-offs come up and a choice has to be made.

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If you’re considering a Bridge for your song, it’s likely that you’re writing a song in a more traditional form (Verse/Chorus or Verse/Pre-Chorus/Chorus) than in contemporary hit song forms, which are similar but more splintered and often already have additional sections (such as a Refrain or a Drop).

Bridges are a lot less common in hit songs now. The Bridge is traditionally a break from the body of the song. Current pop songs are more hook-oriented than ever, creating less interest in taking that break. Also, often modern pop songs already have enough variations to make an actual Bridge (with new music and lyrics) expendable.

Another reason for less Bridges is that pop songs have gotten shorter – in 2021 on average hit songs are almost a minute shorter than they were 15 years ago (going down from app. 4:20 to app. 3:20). So, generally speaking, there’s just less time available.

No matter what type of song you’re writing, time – song length – is a major factor. Most songs come in around 3 to 4 minutes long. Keeping in mind that there are few things worse in songwriting than a song that overstays its welcome, if you’re 2 plus minutes in and you’re just finishing your second Chorus, odds are you don’t need a Bridge.

It’s important to keep that big picture in mind. After running the main sections through twice, if there’s time for a variation (the Bridge) and then a return to the main themes (usually at least the Chorus, often with repeats), without going too far over 4 minutes (and even that’s pushing it, imho), writing a Bridge could be a great idea.

Although I’ve pointed out some reasons why Bridges are not as common as they used to be, I don’t mean to be discouraging. I love Bridges, love writing them. But I dislike overstuffed, overwritten songs even more than I love Bridges!

One option I keep in mind, one I think might be considered more often, is the short Bridge. What if it’s just a line or two, maybe around 4 bars long? Why not? Sometimes it’s great to have a little palate cleanser and then get back to the main business.

As I’ve written before, Bridges, like basically everything in songwriting when you come down to it, are a ‘feel’ thing – the writer’s decision. Does it feel right as part of a unified whole? I hope I’ve given you some ways to think about answering this question.

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Barry said they wrote it for Otis Redding. Although Barry’s vocal on the record is very good, it was easy to imagine how gut-wrenching it would’ve been if sung by Otis. An instant classic. Unfortunately he didn’t live to sing it.

Still, contextualizing it in that way made me hear it with fresh ears, appreciating what a strong song it is.

Also, for my purposes here, it illustrates a basic but all too easy-to-forget principle of songwriting. Simply put… It’s good – it’s important – to repeat stuff.

Let’s use an alternative-universe version of ’To Love Somebody’ to illustrate this point.

(If you’re not familiar with the song, listen below.)

At the Chorus, they sing:

You don’t know what it’s like
Baby you don’t know what it’s like
To Love Somebody
To Love Somebody
The way I love you

If you want to play and sing along with this Chorus (I suggest you do), the chords are:

|| A | E | D | A | E | D | A | A ||

Now try to imagine what less skilled songwriters, coming up with this Chorus idea, might have done. For starters it’s very possible they might’ve left out the repetitions of the first two lyric phrases, making it,

You don’t know what it’s like
To Love Somebody
The way I love you

Try this. The chords would be:

|| A | E | D | A ||

Once you get used to it, it’s valid and viable to sing. Not bad. A simple statement of the main idea. Many writers would’ve left it there.

But it’s so much more powerful with the repetition (and the melody variation in the repeat of the first line). Singing those lines twice each –

You don’t know what it’s like
Baby you don’t know what it’s like
To Love Somebody
To Love Somebody
The way I love you

– truly resonates and makes the Chorus exponentially better.

I’m not suggesting that The Bee Gees ever thought of writing the Chorus without the repetitions. But there is a principle here.

Many writers I’ve worked with worry that they’re repeating a Chorus or a Title too much within a song. But think about it – when’s the last time you were listening to a Chorus you really liked and said to yourself, “Damn! Why don’t they stop repeating this thing I like!” Not often, I’ll bet. (Never?)

I find that the problem of not repeating a good idea, a main idea, as much as it deserves – that is, repeating too few times – is a much more common problem.

When it comes to songs, don’t be afraid to repeat. It’s more likely you’re underdoing it than overdoing it.

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I’m not recommending being lazy or not trying to make a song as good as it can be. But, to pick an example almost at random, it’s like a car… If you’ve got a motor, transmission, steering wheel, axles, wheels… the thing’ll run, even if it’s dented, the paint’s chipped, the fender’s falling off, etc.

I’m suggesting that focusing first on the essentials is a good habit to get into. Get those right and you can color in the rest around them.

So what are the most essential aspects of a song?

(Keep in mind that there quite a few songs out there that don’t get all of these right and are still great because the elements that are good about them are GREAT.)

• Title/Chorus. Having a strong central idea, a phrase or section of words and music that the song is organized around.

Often I don’t start with this; many writers won’t start without it. But it’s something that I’m always keeping an eye out for as I wander through the writing process. When I find it, other things tend to snap into focus. Or the opposite – it becomes immediately clearer when things don’t fit.

Many an otherwise great song has fallen short of its potential due to a weak central idea.

• Structure. This connects directly to the Title and/or Chorus.

Am I supporting it with the right structure? Should it be a Verse/Chorus song or an AABA song; or something else? Should it have a Bridge, a Pre-Chorus, a Tag? Is the length of the Verses and Chorus right, as well as the amount of Verses? Is it the right structure for the story that’s in the lyrics, and vice versa? Too long, or too short?

This also has to do with the momentum of the song. Is it moving along at the proper pace? If not, does something need to be shortened, cut, or extended?

• Melody. The not-so-secret (but too often ignored) weapon of great songwriting.

Remember, melody has two aspects – pitches AND rhythm. Does the melody have motion in the notes AND in the rhythm? (Don’t forget that the rhythm of the notes needs variety too!) Without movement, things quickly get static and boring. Does the combination of short notes and longer, held notes feel right?

* Harmony. This starts with harmonizing the melody, which creates its emotional subtext.

But it doesn’t end there. It also includes riffs or chord progressions that go beyond harmonizing, musical signatures that can be so important to the character of the song that it’s hard to imagine it without these trademarks.

* Lyrics. Why do I put this last? Lyrics are obviously crucial to a good song. But I’d venture to say that there are more good songs with weaknesses in the lyric than good songs with weaknesses in the other areas we’ve discussed.

This isn’t true for extremely lyric-focused songs. But a song with a great Title or Chorus, appropriate structure, powerful melody, great harmony and key riffs… can get away with a mediocre lyric. Again, I’m not advocating this as a writing strategy. It just seems to me to be the case… generally speaking.

But I still include lyrics as essential. Not just the content of the words. I include the sound of the words, which in songwriting is just as important as the content. (In fact it’s the main reason why sometimes lyrics with weak content can work – because they just sound right – even if they’re not!).

So, in getting your car to run, think first about the engine, the wheels, etc. When those are in place you can spend as much time as you want on the paint job and taking the dents out of the fender.

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