I’m not talking here about songs that have only one word or phrase in or at the end of the Chorus (like ‘Tequila’, ‘Soulfinger’, ‘Do The Hustle’, etc). I’m talking about songs that actually have lyrics… just very few of them.

A friend of mine recently suggested I listen to Nirvana’s ‘School’ (Cobain). The whole song has only 3 lines, repeated a lot, each line in its own section. 14 individual words total.

Wouldn’t you believe it
It’s just my luck

No recess

You’re in high school again

This got me thinking of other songs that are similarly stingy with words. There’s Beck’s ‘Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime’ (Warren), a real favorite of mine (listen below). This bloats all the way up to 21 words.

Change your heart
Look around you
Change your heart
It will astound you

And I need your lovin’ like the sunshine

Everybody’s gotta learn sometime

Then there’s The Beatles’ monumental ‘I Want You/She’s So Heavy’ (Lennon/McCartney). I count 12 distinct words. (Listen below.)

I want you
I want you so bad
I want you
I want you so bad
It’s drivin’ me mad
It’s drivin’ me mad

She’s so heavy

Another classic, weighing in at 14 words, is ‘You Are So Beautiful’ (Preston/Fisher).

What makes this interesting to me is that these songs let the music carry the weight, using the obsessive urgency of repeating the same words over and over (and not minding that some listeners will just find the whole thing annoying…).

Obviously this is not going to work in most songs, but when you have a simple lyric message that you really want to drive home, combined with the right musical setting… less can actually be more… big time!

Any others under 20 words that I missed?

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The narrator takes offense and gets defensive because he’s being hustled by a hustler not unlike himself, as he used to be… when he was poor.

He admits to faults and flaws, he exposes his vulnerability and lack of empathy, but still he reacts with aggression to the threat to his identity that the beggar represents. There’s no happy ending. It’s a confrontation between a Have and a Have-Not… which is not resolved.

It doesn’t matter if the narrator of the song is Lamar or not. What matters is what is revealed in his monologue, interspersed with quotes from the homeless man.

The words are hard to separate from Lamar’s skills as a rapper. The lyrics are tremendous but his flow, his phrasing and rhyming, the way he places the words rhythmically and uses his tone and timbre, along with the evocative music, brings his saga to a high level.

The song starts with a haunting chord progression that underlies most of the song, played by piano, bass, and drums (listen below). The piano and bass play 8th notes… but when the drums enter, the beat turns into a mournful shuffle, as the 8ths rub disquietingly against the shuffle triplets.

||: F | Gbmaj7 | Ab6 | Gbmaj7 :||

The 1st Verse asks the question, ‘How much a dollar cost?’, and sets the scene (‘Deep water, powder blue skies that crack open’). He’s feeling ‘big as Motombo’ in ‘this luxury car’. The man begs him for a little money – ’10 rand’; less than a dollar. The narrator, who immediately sees the beggar as a crackhead, simply turns him down. (‘I told him I ain’t have it and closed my door’)

How much a dollar really cost?
The question is detrimental, paralyzin’ my thoughts
Parasites in my stomach keep me with a gut feeling, y’all
Gotta see how I’m chillin’ once I park this luxury car
Hopping out feeling big as Mutombo
Twenty on pump six dirty Marcellus called me Dumbo
Twenty years ago, can’t forget
Now I can lend him a ear or two how to stack these residuals
Tenfold, the liberal concept of what men’ll do
Twenty on six, he didn’t hear me
Indigenous African only spoke Zulu
My American tongue was leery
Walked out the gas station
A homeless man with a semi-tan complexion
Asked me for ten rand
Stressin’ about dry land
Deep water, powder blue skies that crack open
A piece of crack that he wanted, I knew he was smokin’
He begged and pleaded
Asked me to feed him twice, I didn’t believe it
Told him, beat it
Contributin’ money just for his pipe, I couldn’t see it
He said, ‘my son, temptation is one thing that I’ve defeated
Listen to me, I want a single bill from you
Nothin’ less, nothin’ more’
I told him I ain’t have it and closed my door
Tell me how much a dollar cost

Then follow close harmonies (sung by James Fauntleroy) over a shockingly lush chord progression, almost Brian Wilson-esque. These sections – the first two identical, the third one different – happen after each of the three Verses.

|| F | Db | Bb/C | Gbmaj7 ||

The lyrics, repeated the first two times, are a counterpoint to the harsh raps that surround it:

It’s more to feed your mind
Water, sun and love, the one you love
All you need, the air you breathe

The encounter doesn’t end with the shut door. The homeless man stares the narrator down (’Starin’ at me’, repeated – brilliant – six times)… and he takes the bait.

He’s starin’ at me in disbelief
My temper is buildin’, he’s starin’ at me, I grab my key
He’s starin’ at me, I started the car then I tried to leave
And somethin’ told me to keep it in park until I could see
A reason why he was mad at a stranger like I was supposed to save him
Like I’m the reason he’s homeless and askin’ me for a favor
He’s starin’ at me, his eyes followed me with no laser
He’s starin’ at me, I notice that his stare is contagious
‘Cause now I’m starin’ back at him, feelin’ some type of disrespect
If I could throw a bat at him, it’d be aimin’ at his neck
I never understood someone beggin’ for goods
Askin’ for handouts, takin’ it if they could
And this particular person just had it down pat
Starin’ at me for the longest until he finally asked
‘Have you ever opened up Exodus 14?
A humble man is all that we ever need’
Tell me how much a dollar cost

He responds defensively and angrily, with thoughts of violence. He can’t stand that this fool, this crack-smoking beggar, is disrespecting him. He can’t let it go. And to top it off the guy throws a Bible quote at him… about humility.

Guilt trippin’ and feelin’ resentment
I never met a transient that demanded attention
They got me frustrated, indecisive and power trippin’
Sour emotions got me lookin’ at the universe different
I should distance myself, I should keep it relentless
My selfishness is what got me here, who the fuck I’m kiddin’?
So I’ma tell you like I told the last bum, crumbs and pennies
I need all of mines, and I recognize this type of panhandlin’ all the time
I got better judgement, I know when nigga’s hustlin’
Keep in mind, when I was strugglin’, I did compromise
Now I comprehend, I smell grandpa’s old medicine
Reekin’ from your skin, moonshine and gin
Nigga you’re babblin’, your words ain’t flatterin’, I’m imaginin’
Denzel but lookin’ at O’Neal, Kazaam is sad
Thrills, your gimmick is mediocre, the jig is up
I seen you from a mile away losin’ focus
And I’m insensitive, and I lack empathy
He looked at me and said, ‘Your potential is bittersweet’
I looked at him and said, ‘Every nickel is mines to keep’
He looked at me and said, ‘Know the truth, it’ll set you free
You’re lookin’ at the Messiah, the son of Jehova, the higher power
The choir that spoke the word, the Holy Spirit,
The nerve of Nazareth and
I’ll tell you just how much a dollar cost
The price of having a spot in Heaven, embrace your loss, I am God.’

At first he reacts with honesty about his own vulnerability; his guilt, his resentment, his frustration.… but he immediately turns that into aggression (‘I should keep it relentless… My selfishness is what got me here’). He goes back and forth with the dude, who finally tells him he’s the son of God. But… is he nuts? Or is he just saying that, crackhead or no, he’s a child of God?

This last declaration, in terms of the sound of the words and the rapping (listen!), may be the most intense section in the song – the rhyme of ‘word’ and ‘nerve’… and ending with ‘Embrace your loss’!

There is a coda to this, sung by Ronald Isley, which feels like a closing prayer, a hopeful benediction (‘Help me change, right my wrongs’).

I wash my hands, I said my grace, what more do you want from me?
Tears of a clown, guess I’m not all what is meant to be
Shades of grey will never change if I condone
Turn this page, help me change, to right my wrongs

This final section also contains a different 4 bar chord sequence, unrepeated:

|| F | Eb (no3rd) | Db | Bb/C ||

In most songs you can only artificially separate the words from the music. It can be valuable to get a temporary look into any single aspect of a song, just as you would if you focused on a melody or chords. But in many songs – and this is one of them – the words can’t really be pulled out and have justice done to them.

Lyrics are not poetry – though some, like these, are quite poetic. They’re words that are inextricably blended with music.

(For a song about an encounter with some similarities to ‘How Much A Dollar Cost’ – including a wealthy narrator’s frank – though not as corrosively honest as Kendrick’s – self-examination of their encounter with a Have-Not… who may actually have something the singer hasn’t got, and needs – check out my take on Joni Mitchell’s song ‘For Free” here.)

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Songs always fascinated me, so I paid attention to the lyrics of the songs I played. At the same time I noticed that, though some musicians listened closely to lyrics, most didn’t. Yet many of them were able to play the songs just as ‘sensitively’, with as much awareness of the song’s nuances, as I did. Often more so.

I’ve been at many rehearsals where the songwriter painstakingly explained their lyric… why, for example, the music had to get very quiet in a certain section to follow the words… Sometimes this was helpful. Often I felt it was unnecessary, for reasons I’ll go into below.

When I started my own band about 14 years ago, I was lucky enough to enlist some of New York’s finest musicians, people I had played many sessions and gigs with, to perform and record my songs with me on a regular basis. Unlike the aforementioned bandleaders, I rarely brought up the particulars of a lyric to my band. And I never felt the music suffered for it.

After having the band for a while I started to realize that most of my musicians truly had no idea what my lyrics were, other than the song title at the top of the chord chart. Even though of course I wouldn’t’ve minded hearing something from them along the lines of, “Heavy lyric, MAN!”, I not only didn’t mind their inattention to the words of my songs; overall I considered it a plus.

Why? Well, I should reiterate that these musicians have played for some of the greatest songwriters of our time… without a doubt they know how to interpret a song! I always felt that they were taking in the essence of the songs at a deep level, a level where most of the time it wasn’t necessary to ‘know’ the lyric.

On top of that, I usually prefer to not have my songs interpreted literally. To not have the tom toms roll when I’m singing about thunder, to not have the guitar ‘cry’ when I sing about heartache, to not have the organ play circus music if I sing about a carnival, etc… Hey, that’s fine with me!

To my taste it’s frequently better to have the musical arrangement provide what you might call subtext. Think of examples when music and words work well together. I believe you’ll find they frequently don’t ‘match up’ literally.

To me the literal interpretation tends to be more superficial… I think listeners take in songs in a more holistic way… and that’s how these musicians hear and play mine – in a deeper, more intuitive way. Songs themselves aren’t literal… it’s all sound. Ideally, as important as lyrics are, there’s much more to a song than can be put into words… or lyrics.

So the fact that my band members might fail miserably at a quiz about my lyrics doesn’t bother me a bit. That said, it would amuse me greatly to give them such a quiz.

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(Sorry we haven’t had a new blogpost for a month or so. I had a nasty case of bronchitis. All is well now.)

When you write a Verse/Chorus song that is somewhat traditional (being very broad about that definition) you’re writing music for two or three song sections – a Verse, a Chorus, sometimes a Bridge. Once you’ve got a basic melody and chords for each of those, the musical bones of the piece are in place, however you might change the details later.

As for the lyric, once you have your Chorus words you’re pretty much set for that section. Although you may have some variations within it, every repetition of the Chorus lyric tends to be mostly the same.

The Verse lyric? That’s where the extended labor comes in. The Verse music is set… but words usually have to be written for two or three (or more) Verses, different ones for each, in addition to a Bridge, if any.

Also, the words for each Verse require almost the exact same rhythm, stresses, and rhyme scheme as all the others, so as to fit with the same Verse melody (the ‘crossword puzzle’ aspect of songwriting). Not to mention that they have to develop the story, character, and/or situation.

Who said songwriting was easy?

in AABA songs (‘standards’, aka Great American Songbook songs), the basic issue is much the same. The music stays the same for each ‘A’ section but the words (other than the Title) are almost all different. There are more new words for the ‘B’ section as well.

That’s several times the labor on the lyric side (unless musical words come easily to you!).

Writing music isn’t in itself simpler or harder than writing a lyric. Or vice versa. Almost all writers will have more facility with one or the other. With words, though, there’s usually more writing to do.

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These of-the-moment themes, usually with a lot of emotion behind them, will tend to pop up in our current song lyrics. Sometimes their fit is exactly right – our mental talk perfectly coincides with what our song is about. Maybe at the time of writing we’re angry, happy, jealous, full of desire, full of ideas, feeling isolated… and that’s what the song’s about too. Great.

But more often than not the thoughts and emotions directly at hand don’t exactly fit the song. And it’s easy to see and hear that most great songs are extremely focused, using every single one of a song’s limited number of words (and notes) to contribute to or amplify the main point (and sound good too).

This is where songwriting discipline – the craft – comes in. It’s easy to get lost in the weeds – to get confused regarding what a song’s lyric is about. It can be easy to convince myself that this point I want to make really belongs right here, in this song (even if it doesn’t).

But good songwriting usually rewards the discipline of holding out for what fits, not just what’s at hand. Yes, I may have a good lyric… but it may not belong in this song. I have to have the courage to let it go (or save it for another song) and trust that if I keep chipping away there’s something out there (or in here) that will truly fit.

It’s not so hard to write lyrics that are in the general vicinity of the song’s idea. What can be quite hard is to insist that the general vicinity is just not good enough and to do the labor of finding the right word, line, Verse, Title… whatever is needed to make the song as good as I can make it.

“Does it belong here… in this song?”

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Though less so now than in the past, most songs still work this way. Looking at it crassly, but not inaccurately, if my song was a jingle for a commercial, the Title phrase would be where the product name would go. It’s the takeaway.

I want that Title phrase in the most advantageous place possible, which means putting the most important words in the song at the most memorable spot in the melody, and vice versa.

The Title usually goes at or very near the beginning of the Chorus… or at its end… or in both places. As journalists say: ‘Don’t bury the lede’. If the Title is ‘buried’ in the middle of the Chorus it’s harder to remember.

If I already have a Title I need it sitting at the most conclusive part of the melody. I want it at the same place, usually with the same words and music, every time around. If that’s not working out I usually have to either change the melody or the Title lyric to fit (I’ve done both, many times).

For maximum effect, the high point of the melody (by no means always the highest note) and the words of the Title need to peak at the same moment.

(ps Please remember – the Title I’m referring to here is the phrase we want the listener to walk away singing. It’s not the words at the top of the lyric sheet, those words being, technically, the ‘Title’. This line can be anything and have nothing to do with the lyrics of the song or what the listener hears and takes away.)

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This is a big part of why lyricists are often less well-known than their musical partners. People talk about ‘a Gershwin song’ (meaning George), ‘a Bacharach song’, or ‘an Elton John song’ often not realizing that there was an Ira Gershwin or a Hal David or a Bernie Taupin who wrote the lyrics that played an indispensable part in the success of the songs. Words that sat perfectly with the melody… not too heavy, not too light… but just right.

I’d like to discuss another example (victim?) of this ignore-the-lyricist syndrome – Gerry Goffin. Carole King is deservedly one of the most famous and successful songwriters who’s ever lived. And yes, she wrote music and excellent lyrics for her classic songs from the 1970s on. But the foundation of her success was songs written before then, songs that are still well-known today, with her writing partner and then-husband, lyricist Gerry Goffin.

Goffin was a great lyricist. As Carole said after his death in 2014, “His words expressed what so many people were feeling but didn’t know how to say”. He was a skilled and inspired craftsman, an artist whose soulful musical words were the perfect match for Carole King’s music (and others’, later on).

Goffin/King’s first hit was ‘Will You Love Me Tomorrow’:

Tonight you’re mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But Will You Love Me Tomorrow

Come on. That’s perfect (down to the tonight/light inner rhyme).

‘Up On The Roof’:

When this old world starts getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just drift right into space

‘(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman’:

Looking out on the morning rain
I used to feel uninspired
And when I knew I had to face another day
Oh it made me feel so tired

Gerry Goffin’s lyrics don’t draw attention to themselves so they’re easy to take for granted. You don’t think about how clever the words are, you just feel the thought. Which is what another great lyricist, Yip Harburg, said songs are supposed to make you do.

This is also because the words are so musical. Read any of the first verse lyrics above. Most of us have heard the songs, so of course they come to mind. But even if we hadn’t heard them, those lyrics cry out for music. Any pop song composer would salivate at the opportunity to be the first to get their hands on them – even now, some 50-60 years later.

There’s always too little of this level of plainspoken yet deeply expressive and musical lyric writing around, and those of us who practice the songwriting craft would do well to attend to the art of Gerry Goffin and the few who can write them like he did – simple, direct, with deep musical feeling… just right. Musical words.

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He asked them what was the most important element of a hit song. They each gave the same answer. To me and others, a surprising answer.

That answer? The Title.

That was it. They said the most important element in a hit song was the Title.

You don’t have to agree with them. But it’s hard to argue with how important a song’s Title is. It’s easy to underestimate its value, and we do so at our peril.

(I’m not talking about the song name at the top of the lyric sheet. I’m talking about the phrase that gets repeated in the chorus that you remember most after hearing the song. This may not be the actual name of the song, which can be literally anything.)

Thinking now of Gamble & Huff – For The Love Of Money, If You Don’t Know Me By Now, Love Train, I Love Music, Me and Mrs Jones, Now That We Found Love, Break Up To Make Up, Back Stabbers… The stories are in the titles and, combined with their melodies and rhythms, are hard to forget.

How does this apply to me? I’ve written too many songs that I thought came out well but were sunk by a weak Title. I try not to do that anymore, because many songs will only go as far as their Title. If it’s what I call a Title-based song, a strong Title is mandatory.

(Remember that I’m discussing Title-based songs, not the minority of songs, some very good, where a Title, or a hook, is incidental.)

In spite of my best efforts, sometimes I still end up with a song I like in which the Title is the weakest link. Taking into account what I wrote above, there’s only one option (other than junking the whole tune): Find a new, stronger Title – a more resonant word or phrase that fits comfortably and naturally on the existing melody.

(I keep a Title notebook – or, more honestly, a box with scraps of paper containing Titles – partly for this reason.)

Since changing the Title will usually involve rewriting all or most of the lyric, it’s a real commitment.

But if the alternative is a good song strangled by a weak Title… Don’t be afraid to change the Title.

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Our obsessions seem to embed themselves in our songs no matter how we try to guide them otherwise. This can be part of having an identity as a songwriter, a ‘style’, a ‘voice’. 

If the songs are products of my obsessions – themes that haunt me, taunt me, and insist on being written about until they’re out of my system – then that’s good, maybe inevitable. I need not fear them, or be ashamed of them… whatever they may be. I can welcome them.

Most great writers seem to have their obsessive themes.

But some themes repeat out of mere habit, which can lead to a boring repetitiveness and predictability. These lyrics get written because they’re the first thing that comes to mind, because they’re the path of least resistance. Anyone who knows your work can practically predict the next line.

If this is the case, if your habits are unproductive and lead to dullness, you can begin to push past them to write songs outside your comfort zone.

At the other extreme, you can commit to your obsessions – double down and ride them until you lose interest and you’re ready to move on.

Most of us spend the majority of our songwriting time somewhere on a spectrum between those two extremes. Occasionally, though, we may find ourselves at one end or the other… which can offer a challenge… and also a great opportunity for growth.

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When writing I often find myself with an apt lyric… but it just doesn’t fit the melody. What I used to do was keep chiseling away at the lyric until I got to the best solution I could find, leaving the melody alone. Often that’s still what I do.

But sometimes now, if I like the line of lyric, I think, ‘Rather than carving up the lyric to fit the melody, what if I change the melody instead?’.

Why? Because a lyric that ‘doesn’t fit’ can sometimes take my melody to a place I wouldn’t get to otherwise, to a melody that’s out of my comfort zone… if I’m willing to let the words change the melody, not vice versa.

The lyric line in question will probably have more or less words, syllables, or sounds than originally planned; it’ll make the melody longer, or shorter, with more or less notes. Maybe it’ll create more variety and contrast with the preceding and following melodic phrases. And its scan will dictate a different, perhaps pleasantly unexpected, rhythmic flow and emphasis.

This strategy doesn’t solve the problem of fitting the words to the melody. It just kicks that can down the road. If I change the melody, I usually still have to make the words of the other Verses fit the new melody.

But, when ‘change the melody to fit the lyric’ works, what it often does is move my melody writing in a less predictable direction. And that’s a good thing.

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What should I say?

Now, I wouldn’t have even begun writing lyrics if I didn’t feel strongly that I had ‘something to say’. But ‘having something to say’ is a very general idea or feeling. Writing a lyric for a particular song is not general at all – it’s incredibly specific. If it’s good, a lyric will fit its song – and no other. Every job is custom.

Say I’m writing a song… I have a Title, maybe a Chorus, maybe some idea for a story or situation, a part of a Verse that kind of makes sense… in other words, I have a long way to go before I have a real song on my hands. That’s a pretty familiar situation for me, and for a lot of songwriters.

Most good songs are still Title-focused. This is not as prevalent as it used to be, but still – most. 

Most of my songs end up being Title-focused. And, although I don’t usually start with a Title, once I’ve got one, I believe that the DNA of my lyric is usually encoded in that Title. My job is to crack that code.

This is where paying very close attention to the Title can pay off. Every word of it (even if it’s only one) contains ideas and clues that can, in the rest of the song, be worked with, against, and around; in every way from directly to abstractly.

Kind of a good news/bad news situation here. The good news is that I believe there is a code in the Title… and if I can crack it, I’ve got a map that will point me towards my goal – a complete and satisfying lyric.

The not-so-happy news is that, just like science, this takes a lot of experimenting – let’s just call it work. This can be fun; don’t get me wrong. But it can also be quite laborious – getting it right, that is.

In a Title-based song, when it works, everything leads to the Title, like a road leading home. And there are as many different roads as there are songwriters.

For example, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Gerry Goffin, Carole King, Hal David, Marvin Gaye, mid- and late-period Springsteen, Adele, and Max Martin usually take a direct approach to the title (as did most 20th century songwriters). Some, like Joni Mitchell and Amy Winehouse, use an approach you might call, ‘direct… but surprising’.

Bob Dylan often takes the direct route but, protean as he is, he also doesn’t hesitate to approach a title from many different angles in the course of a single song. But he always keeps its centrality in mind.

Eminem and Frank Ocean use, and use well, a lot of poetic freedom. David Bowie, Elvis Costello, Jeff Tweedy, Kendrick Lamar, Sam Beam, or Thom Yorke might be considerably freer and sometimes abstract in their approach, depending on the period in which they wrote a particular song.

For me, sadly, useful ideas don’t fall from my pen like rain from the sky. But there are ideas in me if I keep after them.

I think about the Title and various ways I might approach it, trying out different angles. What does the Title mean to me? What are its possible ramifications? How many different sides does it have, and which one(s) do I want to work with? What are different ways to get to the Title, oppose it, contrast with it, interpret it? Sometimes the lines come quickly and instinctively; other times, not so much.

I need to choose words that fit this song only – hopefully ones that make it as interesting and fresh as I can – and leave out everything else. 

For the songwriter, unraveling the strands of DNA found in the Title can answer a lot of questions about what other words belong in a song.

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There’s nothing wrong with these approaches, and a lot that’s right. By their nature words that rhyme tend to feel like the most important words in a line (or a section) – rhyming naturally confers emphasis. Giving more focus to the rhyming words and working forward or backwards to or from them makes a lot of sense.

Lately, though, I’ve been leaning towards something slightly different. In the line in which I’m going for a rhyme – that is, the second half of the rhyme – at first I don’t concern myself with the rhyme at all.

Instead I think of what I might want to say, what thought comes to mind. I leave myself free from worry about the rhyme, for a while anyway, and see what happens.

What sometimes happens is that I come up with an even better idea for a line… but one that doesn’t rhyme with my original word. The new line’s idea or sound goes in an unexpected – and possibly better – direction.

I then re-rhyme the previous line to the new line.

By the way, this can work with line length too. Sometimes by freeing up the process in this way I come up with a different phrasing that might be more interesting and exciting, and might even warrant changing the melody, if there is one yet.

I don’t have to write a section in a chronological way – first line or two first, then rhyme back to that; letting the first line(s) narrow the possibilities of what comes after – though that’s not a bad thing.

The other approach is to keep the possibilities open and if something good happens work backwards to a different rhyming word and what might be a better result.

There’s no ‘right’ way to do anything in songwriting.There are a lot of different approaches. Whatever works!

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When I have a basic idea for a lyric, a starting point, I’m just scrambling around for ideas. I’m trying different approaches, putting down anything that comes to mind that might lead me somewhere interesting or simply be relevant (and sometimes not even that – things are loose at that point!).

Then – and this happens most frequently when I step away from the lyric for a day, a week, or more – I revisit what I’ve written and don’t find much… but there is a line or a couplet, and sometimes only a line or a couplet, where the lyric springs to life.

In that line or lines it feels like the personality of the singing narrator, or the song itself, has come to life for a moment. Or it feels like the song, which previously was just a receptacle for random flavorless ideas, now has an attitude – for just that moment.

That’s what I’m looking for. Something that feels like it belongs in this song and no other. That’s when I have a real starting point. That’s what I build around and flesh out.

I’m not talking about the Chorus or the Title. They are essential and sometimes the attitude, the character, the angle, to get to that Chorus is immediately apparent, inherent in the Title or Chorus. But sometimes, many times, it isn’t clear, and that approach (usually in the Verses) must be found.

For me that’s often discovered by writing freely, then coming back at a later point to find that some weird flower has worked its way up through the concrete and is trying to point the way.

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You usually want the Verse to bring the Chorus, and especially the Title, into focus. Ideally in a way that’s special or interesting, or at least sincere and believable.

Let’s start with a common Title. Say, ‘You’re The One’. Let’s assume you’ve got an exciting Chorus and this Title’s working for you. (Though at this point in time, with many ‘You’re The One’s’ out there, you’d need a pretty great Chorus!)

The challenge is then to find a Verse approach that enhances the Title.
What’s the angle?

Is it simply a straightforward declaration of devotion? ‘You’re The One’.

Or – it’s a difficult relationship… but we’ll work it out; because… ‘You’re The One’.

Or does it compare the loved one to other lovers who are seen in a positive way? ‘She was great in this way… He was great in that way… But you… You’re The One.’

Is it a moment of realization? ‘I took you for granted… but now I realize… I know You’re The One’.

How about a list? ‘You’re (this)… you’re (that)… you’re (something else)… and (or but), most of all, You’re The One’.

Or… a series of lines about the singer’s life, having nothing to do with the relationship… AND (to top it off) ‘You’re The One’.

And on and on… until something clicks.

These ‘You’re The One’ options are mundane (to be kind), as is the Title, but I hope you get the idea, which is important. One way or the other you have to find an angle, and usually you need to stick with it for all the Verses. So it should be a good one, one that resonates for you.

Especially with a common Title like ‘You’re The One’, finding that angle is what can make the whole lyric come alive. And even with an uncommon Title, finding the angle is a big part of making a song work.

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Something I’ve found useful, once I have the lyric done or mostly done, is to revisit the order of the sections, couplets, and lines. Setting rhymes aside for the moment (they will often suggest or dictate where a line needs to be), the order in which information or images are presented can make an enormous difference.

As with melodies, we can often have too much allegiance to ‘this is the way (the order in which) it came to me’. But sometimes that initial arrangement is not optimal. We may have all the right words… but not necessarily in the best places.

So I like to fool around with this organization. To start, is the order of the sections the best it could be? For example, let’s say a song has three verses that lay out like this:

1 – Childhood
2 – Young adult
3 – Old age

That would be an obvious and sensible chronological order. But what if it started in old age, near death, went back to young adulthood, and ended up back in childhood? More challenging to write, probably, but poignant in a different and perhaps even more effective way.

Once I resolve that the overall order of the ‘chapters’ works, I look at the lines that make up the sections. If I have 4 lines, sometimes exchanging the first two with the last two is actually better. Or trading one line with another. Is it better to reveal this piece of information before that piece? Or vice versa? When I revisit the lyric I try to bring a fresh eye and ear to these questions.

There aren’t any right answers. Storytelling, in song or otherwise, is not a formula. But it’s worth the time to carefully consider the order in which I’m revealing the words and what might be imagined by listeners in the spaces between the lines (here).

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Weighing in at over 17 minutes, it’s monumental. I believe it’s the longest song Dylan’s ever released. He starts out, over dirge-like music, singing a story about John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1963. He quickly expands out from that crime to a long wander through American culture (and especially popular music) since, from the sublime to the ridiculous.

What I’d like to discuss here is how he uses his rhymes. I counted 81 (!) couplets – that is, two adjacent lines that rhyme – in the song. Of those 81 rhymes, only 3 are not ‘true’ rhymes. All the rest, all 78, are true rhymes.

(A true, or ‘perfect’, rhyme is when then last syllable(s) of the rhyming words match exactly; with the preceding syllable on each, if any, being different. For example, from the song: ’surprise/eyes’, ‘coat/throat’, ‘clown/down’ are true rhymes… and there are 75 more.)

Two points here. This high percentage of true rhymes is extremely unusual these days. At this time (it was recorded in 2020) almost no one but Dylan writes using only true rhymes.

Dylan, as against the grain as ever, almost entirely resists the current ‘trend’ of looser rhyming (it’s actually more than a trend. I don’t think things will ever go back to what Bob D. is preserving). He may be the last great songwriter who has held onto true rhymes to this degree.

I can’t stress enough how uncommon this commitment is. It’s almost ironic that the most revolutionary songwriter of the last 60 years, the man who broke lyric writing wide open, would be the last of the traditionalists – in this way.

In other ways he’s still busting barriers – by how he uses his rhymes. Which brings me to my other point.

I can’t prove this; it’s speculation, but it sounds to me like he often grabs an intriguing rhyme first, counting on his stupendous craft and creativity to see what comes to mind, and then fills in around the rhyme something that’s both interesting and thematically relevant (and he doesn’t do it just on this song).

How else do you account for couplets like:

Play Etta James, too, play “I’d Rather Go Blind”
Play it for the man with the telepathic mind
Play John Lee Hooker, play “Scratch My Back”
Play it for that strip club owner named Jack
Guitar Slim going down slow
Play it for me and for Marilyn Monroe

(Note the Kennedy connections he filters in – Jack Ruby, Marilyn Monroe)

Play Oscar Peterson, play Stan Getz
Play, “Blue Sky”, play Dickey Betts
Play Hot Pepper, Thelonious Monk
Charlie Parker and all that junk
All that junk and, “All That Jazz”
Play something for the Birdman of Alcatraz
Play Buster Keaton, play Harold Lloyd
Play Bugsy Siegel, play Pretty Boy Floyd
Play the numbers , play the odds
Play, “Cry Me A River” for the Lord of the gods
Play Number Nine, play Number Six
Play it for Lindsey and Stevie Nicks
Play Nat King Cole, play, “Nature Boy”
Play, “Down In The Boondocks” for Terry Malloy
Play, “It Happened One Night” and, “One Night of Sin”
There’s twelve million souls that are listening in
Play, “Merchant to Venice” play, “Merchants of Death”
Play, “Stella by Starlight” for Lady Macbeth
Play, “Love Me Or Leave Me” by the great Bud Powell
Play, “The Blood-stained Banner” play, “Murder Most Foul”

He uses the rhymes to anchor his structure, as he always has, and from there lets his mind wander into a surreal dreamscape of singers, musicians, entertainers, fictional characters, and songs. Like in a dream, one gets the feeling anything or anyone might pop up. And often they do. The song is full of connections of all kinds – shocking, funny, absurd, strange, trivial, tragic.

He doesn’t make any point other than the assassination was ‘murder most foul’. He makes associations, somewhere between a collage, a reverie, and an elegy, concerning the history that was lived by him, by us, since the epochal day Kennedy was shot.

Give it a listen.

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But generally I avoided them. I guess I thought using a RD was cheating. I thought my words should come off the top of my head, from my own everyday vocabulary, which I too-confidently thought was pretty good. That would be more authentic (even though I don’t write in a directly autobiographical way, and some of my songs are sung in the ‘voice’ of characters very different from me.)

Well… lately I’ve been using RDs more… and I expect the usage to grow.

Why? Two reasons, neither of which are new to me, but which I’m coming to more fully appreciate.

One is that the more I use a Rhyming Dictionary the more I notice how many words and rhymes are available that I can comfortably use, but that never would have occurred to me.

How do I know? Because by the time I turn to a RD I’ve already spent a good amount of time trying to think of appropriate rhymes myself. I’m usually surprised, if not shocked, by how many good rhyme words I’ve missed.

The other reason is that rhymes I wouldn’t have thought of also generate ideas and lines I wouldn’t have thought of.

My process in using a RD, probably no different than most, is to look through possible rhymes (anything from perfect rhymes to distant rhymes, depending on the context) and write down the words or phrases that seem like they could possibly relate to the subject matter at hand.

Then I go through that list – sometimes it’s short, sometimes long – and pick out what’s most relevant to the song in sound and/or meaning. These words, if they feel like they might fit, often suggest, sometimes immediately, possibilities for the entire line or section in which they’re contained. Again, ideas that never would have otherwise crossed my mind.

A rhyming word is usually the most significant word in a line – rhyming itself gives any word emphasis. So it’s only natural that they would lead one down new avenues.

Though I still work without rhyming dictionaries more than with them, my use of a RD continues to grow. For now I still use a print hard copy.

Some years back I was offered an endorsement deal with MasterWriter, an online product that takes RDs way beyond the print versions, including a lot of slang phrases, place names, and many other innovative ideas about what can rhyme (and we are in an innovative rhyming era).

I didn’t endorse and hawk songwriter products back then, and still don’t (and I’m sure there are other similar expanded RDs out there). But I’m probably getting closer to opening up that online Pandora’s Box.

How about you? What are your experiences with Rhyming Dictionaries? If you use them, which do you like best?

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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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Some consider it a problem to use words that aren’t in most people’s vocabulary or to make references to a person, place, thing, or slang term that your ‘average listener’ (?) doesn’t know about and that isn’t explained in the song.

There’s nothing wrong with writing songs using only words and references that almost everyone understands right away. Many great songs fit in this category.

But there’s also nothing wrong with using words and references that many listeners don’t understand… at first. Done well, it can create a feeling of place, time, and personality… a feeling that we are somewhere unfamiliar and with someone unfamiliar (to us)… and we’re intrigued. That mystery can be interesting and make us want to know more (the music is part of this; often it’s new to us as well).

Examples? Bob Marley is one of the world’s greatest and most beloved songwriters. Yet his songs all came from his corner of the world… which then became part of the music of the entire globe.

You grooving Kingston 12, grooving, Kingston 12
Grooving woe, woe, it’s Kingston 12
Grooving it’s Kingston 12
(Trenchtown Rock)

We gonna chase those crazy –
Chase those crazy bunkheads –
Chase those crazy baldheads out of the town
(Crazy Baldheads)

Where is Kingston? (Not upstate New York.) What’s a ‘crazy baldhead’? Marley opened up a new world to the uninitiated.

Jay-Z has been one of the world’s most popular songwriters and artists for decades. He made his name singing about living and hustling in a relatively small subculture of America – the urban ghetto. But his lyrics contain all sorts of references and nuances. He challenges you to keep up with him.

Need a Personal Jesus
I’m in Depeche Mode
They say it’s celestial
It’s all in the stars
It’s like Tony LaRussa
How you play your cards.
(American Dreamin’)

Depeche Mode wasn’t exactly one of the most popular bands in the world. Does everyone know their song, ‘Personal Jesus’? Did every listener know who Tony LaRussa is? (Some did.) Or that he was the manager of the St. Louis Cardinals (cards)?

From Amy Winehouse’s biggest hit:

I’d rather be at home with Ray
I ain’t got seventy days
‘Cause there’s nothing
There’s nothing you can teach me
That I can’t learn from Mr. Hathaway
(Rehab)

If you know something about addiction, you might guess that ‘seventy days’ refers to sobriety. But who is Ray? And who the hell is Mr. Hathaway? We never find out… but we can guess. It’s the world of the narrator of this song, and we’re overhearing her talk about it. It feels real. Maybe more real than if we did know the answers to these questions.

I could go on with many more examples but hopefully I’ve made my point, or at least got you thinking about it. Consider how this holds true in literature and film too. As long as it’s done in an interesting way, we love being exposed to and fascinated by worlds different from ours, where – at least at first – we don’t know what everything means.

This isn’t about getting away with being vague. Quite the opposite. It’s about being extremely specific about a corner of the world that maybe most people don’t know about (yet). It can be about your corner.

To listeners already in the places, physical and imaginative, and subcultures from which these songs emerge, the lyrics (and music) are no mystery – it’s their life. But to those outside, in most cases the majority of listeners, these kind of songs can do one of the things art does best – open us up to other ways of life, other ways of thinking about life, and other people.

It may sometimes feel counter-intuitive, but seeing and feeling these differences… also makes it easier for us to feel our commonalities.

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In other words, an otherwise good song is written. It has a strong Chorus or (depending on the song’s structure) placement for the Title. But whenever that crucial spot in the song comes around… there’s no definitive Title to be found. No single phrase of words and music that we take away from the song (as we do with most great songs).

This applies in what I call ‘Title-based’ songs. These are songs where either the song’s genre, or the song itself, leads a listener to expect the payoff of a strong Title. If you write a song in a traditional genre, especially anything based stylistically in the 20th century, the listener is going to anticipate that payoff.

If you’ve got a cool or clever way to subvert those expectations, have at it. But most of the time, these problem songs conform to the genres in every way but one – they don’t deliver a satisfying Title, repeated in a satisfying place.

In songs like this that don’t work, you might hear two different Title options, used alternately, either one of which could be the actual Title. But, since they’re carrying equal weight, the listener doesn’t know which one the song is emphasizing (because the song[writer] hasn’t made that choice/commitment). And the listener doesn’t have a lyric sheet for the writer to cheat with! They only have their ears.

(By Title I don’t mean what’s at the top of the lyric sheet; that can be anything. In good songs of the type we’re discussing here, you know the Title by listening to the song; you don’t have to be told.)

You also might have a Title, even a good one, that either doesn’t get repeated enough or is buried in, say, the third line of a 5 line Chorus. How are we to know that’s the main idea? (In journalism they call that ‘burying the lede’.)

There’s no formula for a good Title. Whatever the Title is, first the songwriter has to get excited about it, then convey that thrill to the listener.

Lyric-wise, they can range from ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’ to ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ and beyond. Musically, the Title’s words sit on appropriate notes and rhythms placed in the most critical point in the song, giving a feeling of inevitability, and sing like they belong there.

Sorry to be so vague, but there really are no rules. But in a Title-based song finding that combination of the Title’s words, melody notes, rhythm, and structural placement will often be the most important creative choice the songwriter makes.

As I’ve written about in my book, ‘Unpredictable Songwriting’, in more modern songs the Title may be less important, for various reasons. But if it is important in your song (and it usually is, even in the most contemporary songs), don’t ignore it.

Some songwriters won’t start without a Title they like. Even if you don’t write that way (I don’t) it pays to be patient and not settle. Find that critical summing up – your TItle. Take the time and nail it.

And then don’t be afraid to repeat it. A lot!

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