As if to prove a point, I have just uploaded a real stinker of a song. The point being: my advice in my last post that one needs to write through the shit. I put it up on rapidshare (you’ll have to look at a previous post for the username and whatnot: I won’t make it easy for you) because I had to. I have to do a song a day, no matter what. That was the condition of the challenge. I was already on a slippery slope–having skipped two days–so I thought I had to hold the line today.
So, anyway, there it is. The Things I Tell Myself. It’s basically a litany of insults that I’ve leveled at myself from an early age, like: no one loves you; you’ll never be a successful songwriter; nobody reads your blog! That kind of stuff. Well, self-insults alone would not make much of song. It’s supposed to seem harsh at first, until the listener realizes the singer is speaking to himself. And then he empathizes with the singer, who is obviously struggling against a very negative self-image–and is winning…well that’s how the song is supposed to work. It’s another of those I wrote and recorded in a matter of hours. This one I’m not bragging about, however. I just couldn’t get anywhere with the other songs I’ve been struggling with all week.
Maybe I should deconstruct one of those songs right now, for an unglamorous look at what one goes through to write a song–and as an example of a truly stubborn song that doesn’t want to get written, apparently.
It Was You Who Said You Loved Me(c) by Tom Wernigg [7/13] Key of D
It was you who said that you loved me
It was you who looked me in the eye
It was you who said that you loved me
So don’t tell me that you never tell a lie
But your eyes were lying when they wandered
‘Cus you said they would never look astray
But now you’re always flirting with my friends
I guess you think I was born just yesterday
But I think I know what’s going on–some girls just don’t mean what they [I]say
That’s the latest version. I have remnants from earlier versions, but they are mismatched.
The song began with a phase–the title phrase, in fact. It just popped in my head, as far as I can recall. But it brought to mind an idea: The story is told from the point of view of a man who is being dumped by a woman who basically talked him into loving her. I mean, she said it first: I love you. He was reluctant for whatever reason–I was thinking maybe he’d just broken up with another woman, and he was afraid to have his heart broken again. But she coaxed him into trusting her. But here she was taking it all back. He’s hurt, and he’s angry.
Okay, I’m looking at this lyric, and I’m thinking it’s hopelessly mired in cliches. If I write one more song with the word heart in it I’m going to puke.
Anyway, I thought it had some potential, partly because I thought it was just some dumb Country song I could dash off. But this thing’s eaten up hours of my writing time. Which makes it harder to just toss it: I’ve invested all this energy into it already.
Also, I thought it was a somewhat fresh take on the theme. He’s basically calling her a liar: that’s what he’s focusing on, not the fact that she’s crushing his…heart..right now.
So the first verse tells of one of her lies: the wandering eyes, when she had promised they wouldn’t wander. I basically figured I would write three verses (the minimum number of verses for a decent song–with exceptions) highlighting different lies–or different takes or aspects of the one lie.
But the thing about this song that never seemed to work was putting it to music. I should say something about the organic process of wedding lyric to music.
The first thing I’ll say is that the music has to elicit the right emotional timbre for the lyric. I’m sure there’s a whole art to matching chords to the emotions they elicit; and I probably know a fraction of it. I do know that not only the type of chord (major or minor for instance) but it’s placement within the key of the song affects it’s emotional value.
And the give and take is in both directions. If I take a lyric ready formed–like the steaming pile of verbiage above, for instance–I’ll try out a musical accompaniment, to see if it fits. And, like I said, I tried some basic I IV V country rhythm. But that didn’t work out. At that point, one or other–music or lyric–has to change. Sometimes I find the music compelling, but it calls for a more or less somber lyric. Or if I’m more attached to the lyric, then I’ll play around with different music. This goes on and on, line by line, chord by chord, verse by verse, etc. And the give and take continues until I’m on a path that feels fruitful.
Speaking about fruitful paths…okay, enough about fruitful paths. I’m going to bed.