Writing Lyrics is Fucking Hard

A musician friend of mine recently asked me to hang out and write a song. I told him that was a terrible idea. I felt pretty awful rebuking his enthusiasm, but I didn’t know how else to say it. It wasn’t that I don’t think he’s any good. In fact he’s supremely talented and I’m confident making music with him would lead to a unique and inspired composition. It was the first part of his statement that irked me. In my opinion, if you’re doing it right, writing a song has absolutely nothing in common with hanging out. Don’t take my word for it. Take Leonard Cohen’s:

Well, freedom and restriction are just luxurious terms to one who is locked in a dungeon in the tower of song. There are just… ideas. I don’t have the sense of restriction of freedom. I just have the sense of work. I have the sense of hard labor.

This quote from the poet laureate of pessimism is an excerpt from an interview in Paul Zollo’s Songwriters on Songwriting, an incredible resource for the aspiring and accomplished songwriter alike. Zollo compiled interviews with 60+ songwriting legends including Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Tom Petty, Carole King, Sammy Cahn, Brian Wilson, Todd Rungren, Harry Hilsson, Randy Newman, David Byrne. He even interviewed Yoko Ono for what it’s worth. Learning about other another writer’s process is a valuable tool. For me it’s the best part of writing with someone else. You can’t help but learn new approaches and techniques by watching people work.

I’ve been accused of not collaborating well. And when it comes to writing a song I don’t think that’s a bad thing. A song is like a car. The singer is the driver and the listeners are the passengers.  The singer is responsible for getting the listeners to a desired location. I’m perfectly happy to write songs with other people for them to sing. But if I’m driving, I want to be in control of where we’re going.

You may think this metaphor ironic for a guy who wrote a song about not knowing how to drive. But it’s an instinct I’ve had from the get go and it’s proving more and more correct these days. It’s no understatement that technology has revolutionized music production over the past decade. I recorded my first proper album in the auditorium at Rockland Community College in the summer of 2002 on ADAT, a.k.a. digital audio tape. Today I can make the exact same record in my  10′ x 10′ studio in my Brooklyn apartment. Recording live drums in a small space is problematic. But these days there’s Logic Pro X’s Virtual Drummer, a program that simulates real drum performances. I don’t know the magic behind it but by clicking a few buttons on my screen, I can create an original, one of a kind drum part for any song I’m working on. I pray the wizards at Apple are light years away from Virtual Piano Player.

It serves that music produced through algorithms and presets will veer toward homogeny. The argument that all the music on the radio sounds the same holds water. One obvious example is the drum beat for  Rhianna’s Umbrella and Dan Black’s Symphonies. It’s actually Vintage Funk Kit 03, a royalty-free loop that comes with Garageband. Then there’s the omnipresence of Melodyne, which is digital audio pitch correction. The variance of pitch that once made a singer unique is a thing of the past. Take a listen to Elton John’s vocal on any of his early 1970’s output. He’s more flat and sharp than in tune most times. And accuracy of pitch isn’t the only thing that’s changed since the heyday of Reginald Dwight. Harmony that ventures outside the key is a rare oocurance. We’ve come a long way from Jeff Lynne’s Magic, the Olivia Newtown-John sung #1 from 1980. The second chord of that song is a a dominant 7 flat 5. Any jazz nerd will that you, that’s some complex shit.

With all the enforced accuracy, lack of harmony, and nursery rhyme sense of melody that pervades pop music these days, more and more what makes a song (and therefore an artist) stand out is the lyric. Taylor Swift’s limited vocal range and paper thin voice are hardly remarkable. She is quite the accomplished lyricist however. Welcome To New York aside, Swift’s songs put forth a self-aware young woman who’s clever wordplay sits in contrast to her picture-perfect cheerleader image.

Recently I heard a song from an artist Tove Lo called Habits (Stay High) where she sings about doing anything and everything to keep her mind off the lover who’s left her. The lyric isn’t something you hear on the radio all the time:

I eat my dinner in my bathtub
Then I go to sex clubs
Watching freaky people gettin’ it on
It doesn’t make me nervous
If anything I’m restless
Yeah, I’ve been around and I’ve seen it all
I get home, I got the munchies
Binge on all my Twinkies
Throw up in the tub
Then I go to sleep
And I drank up all my money
Dazed and kinda lonely

What kind of 22-year-old sings about going to sex clubs and throwing up in the tub? These bizarre lyrics make her stand out among the crowded landscape of would be chart raiders. They give her an identity. And anything fused with identity carries weight with it. I get the feeling these words weren’t easy to write. They read like a confessional. They ring true to me.

It’s entirely possible, likely in fact, that Ms. Lo had the help of an experienced songwriter. But that doesn’t take away any of the song’s authenticity. The majority of my last release, a concept album about being born and raised in New York City, was written with a brilliant Englishman who’s never spent more than a week in NYC. Grant Black is at times my collaborator, friend, nemesis, and therapist. We’ve been working together for the past 5 years and it’s gotten to point where I can’t tell which lines are his and which are mine. He wears my artistic identity as his own, the second man in the horse costume known as Julian Velard. To me that is the mark of a truly successful co-writer. Someone who can engage in a complete symbiosis of two minds, an emotional and spiritual union. Pardon me if I have a hard time getting to that place with just anyone. My Jewish, Upper West Side upbringing is suited to monogamy, creative and otherwise.

Without spilling any more digital ink, the gist of this rant is I believe the words we sing are more important today than ever before. Whether songwriters realize it or not, people are listening to what we say. And with the audience’s attention to the lyric at a high point, it’s a great time to tell stories. We shouldn’t be afraid to say something truthful in a song. Usually it’s those personal truths that resonate the most with others. And most importantly: don’t ask me to hang out and write a song. Let’s get a beer instead.

What are your thoughts on all this? Please post in the comments below. I’m definitely interested.