Just quickly on lyrics for a moment. I've heard so many people over the years say that they try to tell a story with their lyrics and that's a valid approach. I sometimes do that too. But I would not write many songs if that was all I did. I'd be waiting until the Russians give up their nuclear weapons if I just tried to craft stories all the time.
One thing that I learned from writers like Dylan and some of the other writers from the psychedelic era and Irish folk and folk rock artists that sang in Gaelic, is that pretty much any lyric is a goer if there's a decent melody or if the words mesh well with the music. So I will utilize pretty much any idea that comes. It doesn't have to make sense. It will eventually. I was looking at a lyric I wrote years ago called "Did you hear the one about...." and I realized that the lyric was loosely about my Mum. I don't think that was consciously in my mind when I wrote it. But as I looked at the words, I thought, wow, this seems to be an oblique reference to her.
So really, I encourage lyricists not to be so fussy. The subconscious mind can leak some good stuff to the surface.
Also, I'm not above whipping off lines or phrases or parts of lines and phrases from films, comics, famous speeches or bits from newspapers, books, magazines, cartoons or whatever.
Russia? Try waiting until the U.S. gives up
its nukes!
You have a good way of getting at your song writing. I'm not a pro, just a long-time dabbler. So I don't know much. But just to keep the record straight, here are few words on making sense, being fussy, and lines and phrases from films and whatnot:
MAKING SENSE:
When I say "tell a story," I'm really saying what my songs
aren't: "Baby, I love you, I'll love you forever, our love is meant to be, I can't live without you, I long for your touch, please say you love me, too. . . ."
I don't think that way, so I don't write that way.
A story doesn't have to make literal sense. When I hear Dylan say, "The bricks fall on Grand Street where the neon madmen climb," I can
see it. When I hear "Baby, I love you," I can't. I can hear it, but I can't see it.
So I don't write feelings. I write stories. I don't make people feel things. I make them see things. Most successful song writers write feelings, and I love some of them. George Harrison. Carole King. Aretha. It's just not how my mind works.
BEING FUSSY:
Your songs "leak from the subconscious." Everyone's does. We just leak different stuff. For me, they don't leak. They gush. Coming up with words is not like waiting for unilateral disarmament. I have more words running through my head than I know what to do with. My wife sometimes complains that my "mind is always somewhere else." She's right. I try to pay attention to her, to bosses, to coworkers, to newscasters, but my brain is always jammed up with the other stuff. Glad I'm finally retired. Holding down a job was always hell.
So: Fussy? Far from it!
LINES AND PHRASES FROM FILMS AND WHATNOT:
Almost all our words come from somewhere else. I suppowe we all make up words from time to time. For example, here's one of mine:
preclognition:
that funny feeling that you're going to need a plumber.
But mainly we're just magpies. We build out nests out what we steal. We hear something and have an idea. And sometimes the idea becomes a song. Which gives someone else another idea.
Coincidentally, here's one wrote last week (excuse the Americanisms):
“Magpie”
I can sound just like the Beatles, I can sound like Mick and Keith,
there’s no artistic shortcut to which I’m not beneath.
Just hand me a cocktail napkin and a Bic to jot ‘em with.
Accuse me of plagiarism and I’ll proudly plead the Fifth.
I wrote you a purdy little lu-uv song I know you’re gonna love,
‘cause I get my inspiration from the angels up above.
If that don’t work, I just rely on every song you’ve ever heard:
I’ve heard ‘em, too, and got ‘em down, each riff and hook and word.
They should revoke my poetic license and nail me to the wall:
Every song I’ve ever written sounds like Hank or Tom T. Hall,
but so far, hey, I’m still at large in God’s land of the free,
ripping off the classics in two-part harmony.
They love me down in Nashville, and I’m proud to call it home—
can’t do no largemouth fishing in the Bronx or Prague or Rome.
I never take vacation, ain’t no place I’d rather be,
and ain’t no one complaining, and it sounds just fine to me.
They should revoke my poetic license . . . .
[string of guitar cliches — "Pretty Woman," "Day Tripper," "Secret Agent," and so on]
They should revoke my poetic license . . . .