What's to Come

Below are a few aspects of song lyrics that I plan to delve into more deeply in the coming weeks:

- Colloquial Poetry: Paul Simon, Tom Waits, Randy Newman, and Joni Mitchell are each brilliant at crafting lyrics that sound like someone talking with just a little spice of poetic explosiveness here and there. (See the previous post for an example of this). Of course, many folk and blues lyrics do this, too.

- Allusions: lyrical love & theft--conscious and unconsciously done.

- Storytelling: We'll examine some of the most inventive and compelling ways a story can be told in song.

- Playful Language and Whimsical Wordplay: We'll take look at songs that are the inverse of coherent storytelling--lyrics that are more about the sound than the sense.

- Songs with a Message: Sometimes they're called "Protest" songs, other times "Topical Songs" but I'm really just interested in any sort of song where the songwriter takes a stand on a particular issue and tries to get us to share that stance. This can be done subtly and convincingly or in an all too heavy handed manner.

I'll surely be adding to this list in the near future.

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Lyric of the Week: 'Boy in the Bubble' by Paul Simon

Paul Simon's Graceland is a mighty miracle among those very, very few albums that teeter atop the mountain that straddles the worlds of Pop and Art. This week we'll break down the album's opening track, with a focus on a lyrical feat that is all too rare. Paul Simon achieves sublime effects lyrically by crafting lines that slither effortlessly between vernacular speech and image-laden poetry.

Witness the first verse:

It was a slow day,
and the sun was beating
on the soldiers on the side of the road.
There was a bright light
a shattering of shop windows,
the bomb in the baby carriage
was wired to a radio.

This is a beautiful balance between everyday speech and poetic effects. He uses things like alliteration (slow... sun... soldiers... side... shattering of shop...) but this alliteration is spread out just the right amount--we don't know that it's working on us while listening, we probably don't notice it until we look at the lyrics. The whole verse is so straight forward--the first half sets the scene, the second half transforms that scene completely. Never mind that the story told was written around 1985, you can hear veterans of America's current wars tell this story anywhere you go. The key is that it's almost how that veteran would describe it--just not quite. Simon tweaks the language enough that it's just a little more poetic than you would expect to hear from a soldier (though lord knows there's plenty of articulate and literary minded soldiers).

Then we hear the chorus for the first time, no pause, we slide right into it as Simon changes just one chord (the root) so that it's a slick little modulation downward by a whole step. We've just heard a bomb go off, and now we hear:

Chorus:
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

This is quite cinematic--he starts with an abstraction, telling us what kind of days we're live in, then getting a little more specific with "this is a long distance call", but then we get literal and cinematic with "the camera follows us in slow-mo".

And here I'd like to step back for a moment and observe the shift that's taken place. The narrator started out by telling his story in the third person, and then he changes his role slightly beginning with the chorus: now he's telling us how to think of our times, and suggests the technological wonder of "a long distance call." Then he shifts, and speaks inclusively by saying that the camera follows us--we're all in it together now, "we look to us all." This form of address continues through the rest of the chorus until he hits the refrain: "These are the days..." The rest of the song continues this pattern of address: the verses telling a story from a removed third person perspective that smoothly pivots to an inclusive "we" with each successive chorus.

The important thing to point out about the song as a whole is that it is as clear an embodiment of the feeling of wonder as one could possibly achieve without being cheesy or campy.

There's a lot to mine in the rest of this song, for now I'm going to leave it at that, and ask you what grabs you about this particular masterpiece. Here's the whole thing:

'The Boy in the Bubble'
by Paul Simon, 1986.

It was a slow day,
and the sun was beating
on the soldiers on the side of the road.
There was a bright light
a shattering of shop windows,
the bomb in the baby carriage
was wired to a radio.

Chorus:
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

It was a dry wind
and it swept across the desert
and curled into the circle of gloom.
And the dead sand
falling on the children,
the mothers and the fathers,
and the automatic earth.

Chorus

It's a turn-around jumpshot
it's everybody jumpstart,
it's every generation throws a hero up the pop charts.
Medicine is magical and magical is art
there go the boy in the bubble
and the baby with a baboon heart, and I believe--

These are the days of lasers in jungle,
lasers in the jungle somewhere.
Staccato signals of constant information,
A loose affiliation of millionaires and billionaires and baby,
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

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Lyric of the Week: 'As' by Stevie Wonder

Stevie Wonder's song "As" is not one of his best known works. It appeared on the album Songs in the Key of Life in 1976, and has been covered by few artists. In fact, it's safe to say that Mr. Wonder's songs are rarely covered at all (excepting instrumental versions) because he's such a great vocalist--who can match or better him?

Musically, "As" certainly merits scrutiny, but I am concerned with lyrics. So, let me just say that the song does an interesting thing by shifting from the major mode during the verse and bridge to a minor mode on the chorus. The verse and bridge use a lot of Major 7th chords, which is surely one of the smoothest sounding jazz chords in existence. Therefore, its contrast with the driving minor tonality of the chorus is even more effective. (At this point, feel free to refer to the lyrics of the song, which are at the bottom of this post.)

In the verses we are given a lot of broad and general tautologies in the form of similes that begin with the word "as" and all build up to the refrain: "I'll be lovin' you always." These lyrics aren't all that arresting to my mind, but the idea is an interesting one--just jump right in with the comparisons, no preamble, and let the whole verse form be a one-sentence build up of truths to make the truth of "I'll be lovin' you" more forceful. So, great idea, Stevie, but I could have used some more inventiveness as regards the build-up sentences. However, I do like the final verse:

As today I know I’m living but tomorrow

could make me that past but that I mustn’t fear—

For I’ll know deep in my mind

the love of me I’ve left behind,

Cause I’ll be loving you always.

It is also in Stevie's favor that he only sings two verses before sticking to the chorus' chords for the rest of the song--this guy knows how long he can ride on the material he comes up with. After the first two minutes of this seven minute opus we don't hear the major tonality any more, we ride a loop of four chords all the way out. Those four chords are that good.
Now, again--I'm not ecstatic about the lyrics that the heavenly choir sings during the chorus. Lines like the following are colorful, but they're too easy--they feel like he's just trying to rhyme to fill out the form:

Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea...

Until the day is night and night becomes the day.

Until the trees and sea just up and fly away.

Until the day that eight times eight times eight is four...


On the other hand, the simplicity of these lines lends them a righteous power:

Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream...

Until the day that is the day that are no more...

Until dear Mother Nature says her work is through.

Until the day that you are me and I am you.

That works for me--but the part I really love is what I'll call the Preacher Rap--this takes place after the choir sings for a few minutes over those four immortal chords while Stevie improvises to great effect. The choir starts humming, the organ is vamping, and Stevie lays this down:

We all know—sometimes life’s hate and troubles

Can make you wish you were born in another time and space.

But you can bet your life times that and twice its double

That God knew exactly where He wanted you to be placed.

So make sure when you say you’re in it but not of it

You’re not helping to make this Earth a place sometimes called Hell.

Change your words into truths and then change that truth into love

And maybe our children’s grandchildren

And their great-great-grandchildren will tell…

I’ll be loving you . . .

Now surely the brilliant, fierce delivery of these lyrics colors my judgment to some degree on the subject of the Preacher Rap, but these are great lyrics. The rest of the song contains functional lyrics, but these are on another level. I don't mean a religious level--I am not of a religious persuasion, but I can recognize spiritual power when I hear it. What we hear here is an extension of what's going on in the verses--the singer asserts truths that are meant to make the phrase "I'll be loving you" more convincing. But there is an important difference here--in the opening verses the singer is speaking directly to the loved one. In the Preacher Rap, the singer is not just addressing his loved one. He could be saying this to anybody--to you or me or a congregation or the voices in his head.

So, when he turns back to the refrain of "I'll be lovin' you," it has changed. Now, he could still be addressing the lover, but his gaze has expanded, it now encompasses more. This subtle shift in perspective has drawn us in so that we are now also being addressed. This brilliant shift not only allows the song to go on for another couple minutes with the same four chords--it also moves us from outside to inside the song. So there's another reason Stevie Wonder is a genius--he writes great lyrics.



"As"

Words and Music by Stevie Wonder, 1976. From Songs in the Key of Life.


Verses 1 - 2:

As around the sun the earth knows she’s revolving,
and the rosebuds know to bloom in early May.
Just as hate knows love’s the cure—
you can rest your mind assured
That I’ll be loving you always.

As now can’t reveal the mystery of tomorrow—
but in passing will grow older every day.
Just as all that's born is new,
do know what I say is true—
That I’ll be loving you always.


Chorus:

Until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky.
Until the ocean covers every mountain high.
Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea.
Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream.


Bridge:

Did you know that true love asks for nothing?
Her acceptance is the way we came.
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day?


Verses 3 - 4:

Just as time knew to move on since the beginning,
and the seasons know exactly when to change.
Just as kindness knows no shame—
know through all your joy and pain
That I’ll be loving you always.

As today I know I’m living but tomorrow
could make me that past but that I mustn’t fear—
For I’ll know deep in my mind
the love of me I’ve left behind,
Cause I’ll be loving you always.

Chorus

Until the day is night and night becomes the day.
Until the trees and sea just up and fly away.
Until the day that eight times eight times eight is four.
Until the day that is the day that are no more.
Until the day the earth starts turning right to left.
Until the earth just for the sun denies itself.
Until dear Mother Nature says her work is through.
Until the day that you are me and I am you.

Humming Choir, vamping organ...

Preacher-Rap Section over Chorus' chords:

We all know—sometimes life’s hate and troubles
Can make you wish you were born in another time and space.
But you can bet your life times that and twice its double
That God knew exactly where He wanted you to be placed.
So make sure when you say you’re in it but not of it
You’re not helping to make this Earth a place sometimes called Hell.
Change your words into truths and then change that truth into love
And maybe our children’s grandchildren
And their great-great-grandchildren will tell…
I’ll be loving you . . .


Chorus continues with more Preacher-like incantations.


# # #

Song Lyrics & Negative Capability

In Shakespeare's Antony & Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen wonders what her absent lover is thinking:

... He's speaking now,
Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?'
For so he calls me: now I feed myself
With most delicious poison. Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? ...

I love this last phrase, even though I don't fully comprehend just what she means. Actually, what I really think is that I love the phrase "wrinkled deep in time" even more for how persistently suggestive and mysterious it is. Wallace Stevens said "Poetry should resist the intelligence almost successfully." And you could easily argue that the phrase above resists my intelligence a little too successfully. I am arguing something else:

An intractably mysterious phrase or image is a crucial, potent element in diverse modes of great poetry and lyricism.

I feel that folks today are too accustomed to being able to wrap their heads around something--if I can't understand it--I dismiss it; I reject it. This tendency is a blight upon contemporary imagination, and I aim to write songs and promote songs that combat it.

There's probably a whole long essay or book out there that focuses on Cleopatra's relationship to time as it relates to the statement above, and if you find such a piece of writing, I'd love to give it a look. But for now, let's just savor that phrase, and look at comparable examples of potent Negative Capability in American song lyrics.

Negative Capability is a term coined by John Keats in 1817, he described it this way:

I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.

Wikipedia paraphrases the term as "a state of intentional open-mindedness", and that's pretty close to how I understand it. Keats said that Shakespeare possessed this Capability "enormously" and I have no quibbles with that. What I wonder at is the fact that the term is not heard enough in discussions of what makes folk songs so powerful.

Blues is a central form of American folk music, and the seminal blues musician Robert Johnson once sang these immortal lines:

When the train--it left the station--there was two lights on behind.
When the train--it left the station--with two lights on behind.
Well the blue light was my blues, and the red light was my mind...
All my love's in vain.

In the third line here I hear a choice example of Negative Capability. I feel a strong, almost visceral sense of what the singer means with this line, but I don't know how I'd explain that feeling to anyone. We could explore the fact that the blue and red lights are receding, and then discuss other prominent uses of the colors blue and red in other song lyrics from that time period, and break down this line in a thousand ways, and it still would not manage to explain the greatness of the line. It possesses a mysterious, wrenching power over the sensitive listener--and Johnson's stellar delivery can only partly explain that power. This is a brilliantly crafted line not because of what it contains, but because of all that it suggests.

There are no shortage of examples of Negative Capability in the more traditional folk side of the American musical spectrum. Take this verse from Bascom Lamar Lunsford's "I Wish I Was a Mole In the Ground"

Tempe wants a nine dollar shawl.
Tempe wants a nine dollar shawl.
When I come over the hill with a forty dollar bill,
Baby where you been so long?

Or this, from Jody Stecher's performance of "Snake Baked a Hoecake"

Snake baked a hoecake, and set the frog to watchin'
Frog went a courtin', a lizard came and took him.

What do these verses mean? I have no idea--it is more playful language than the Shakespeare or Johnson lines quoted above, but to me it contains the same rich suggestiveness. I can savor it without being certain of its meaning.

Surely the lyrics of John Prine or Tom Waits could also provide us with numerous instances of Negative Capability--and both are songwriters that I will certainly explore here in the future. But let us start with the most prolific lyricist of the 20th century who frequently imbues his work with this quality:

You see this one eyed midget
Shouting the word, "Now."
And you say, "For what reason?"
And he says, "How?"
And you say, "Oh my God what does that mean?"
He screams back, "You're a cow--
Give me some milk, or else go home."

And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is,
Do you, Mister Jones?

Interview footage shows a reporter's exchange with Bob Dylan, where the musician is asked something to the effect of, "Do you think your audience knows what's going on in your lyrics?" And Dylan replies that he doesn't think there's anything unclear about what he writes--that he can see everything he writes, that he would never write something (or sing something) that he couldn't see. Of course, if you think back on his lyrics, however arcane they may seem, they certainly paint vivid pictures--you're just rarely able to find a unifying thread, or an underlying message.

In another interview Dylan expresses certainty that his audience knows what's going on in his songs--he emphatically states "They know. They Know." This demonstrates a simple and wonderful irony--the most influential lyricist of the last hundred years knows in his heart that it's not all about the lyrics.

Music is a feeling first, and everything else flows from that feeling. This is true from the perspective of the creator, the performer and the listener. When Bob Dylan, Bascom Lamar Lunsford, Billie Holiday, Joni Mitchell, or whoever hits you at the right moment, it isn't because of a particular melody or lyric. It's something larger than that--the performer has created a feeling using these and other elements, and that feeling resonates with you.

So, you find out more. You become a fan, or a musician, or a songwriter, or you research the origins of the song, or add it to your iPod, and so forth. But after the song has drawn you in and resonated with something in you, it may not always pack the same punch forever. There's got to be more to it. For me, the Beatles are a great illustration of this.

Like untold billions of others, the Beatles music was an indescribably exciting discovery when it first sunk in. I listened to everything they recorded, I read biographies, I learned to sing and strum the songs. But it reached a saturation point--I no longer intentionally listen to the Beatles any more than once or twice a year. I get it. It will always be amazing music. But as I dug deeper, their music only went so deep. It doesn't continually prompt me to discover new things. It doesn't compel me to keep coming back to it, like Robert Johnson or John & Alan Lomax's prison recordings or Joni Mitchell's album Blue.

The music that endures is that which is layered on multiple levels--the rhythm, melody, and lyrics combine to forge an infinite and variable space for my imagination to roam. I can pluck out any of these elements, look at them up down backwards and forwards, and draw inspiration from the new understandings they reveal to me.

The music that endures is that which sounds fragrant with possibilities when heard in the light of new circumstance. It sets off mysterious feelings that compel you to make a change, to get up and get to where you want to be, to reach out to others, to create and follow your own vision.


This brings me to the main reasons I'm maintaining this blog:

1. To discuss, analyze, and discover new and old lyrical genius with other interested folks.

2. To explore ways to incorporate the lessons learned here into original songs.

3. To propagate the appreciation of great lyricism.


Please tell me about a song you love that is ripe with Negative Capability.