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"Perhaps the finest book about songwriting of our time." —MusicianINSIDE THE ART OF SONGWRITING—WEBBBoston Public LibraryBoston, MA 02116*~fcn,nc&mUAr-v.c'*42$&>msr.1small "Voice-It"—typeelectronic note-taking devices, some current models of which record asmuch as thirty minutes of audio in a keyring-sized format.)There's another way to use a notebook that provides a richer source ofraw material than a list of promising titles. Let's say you're relaxing in anold pub just across the Hammersmith Bridge on the outskirts of Londonand an elderly couple walk in. He's tender with her, making sure her coat isproperly checked and that she has a seat by the window. She's beautiful inspite of her years and yet there is a sadness about her. You get the distinctimpression that this meeting is more than routine. It is a confrontationthat has been delayed for years. His body language, every word that hesays, though indistinct, is apologetic. He isn't telling her that he's sorry forrunning down her poodle with his bicycle, you decide. There is some long-unfinished business between these two. Perhaps they were in love once andhe threw her over for someone else during the war—all those years ago.She married well but never forgave him for destroying the special relation-ship they once had. You get out your notebook and start writing. Givingyour imagination and curiosity complete rein you write down a few roughlyric lines about what might be going on between these two strangers.What do their facial expressions convey? What are they wearing? Is that alavender corsage she wears? Look for detail.Okay, enough of that. What I am attempting to illustrate is that thewhole world, every waking and dreaming moment of it, is grist for thenotebook's mill. Try this experiment: Read a book—any book—but tomake it interesting, begin to read one that you've read before. With a pencilunderline every situation or statement in the first chapter that suggests asong idea—entering them all in your notebook. Go out on a Saturday and aim-lessly wander the town you live in, observing people, animals and struc-tures, intently searching for hidden insights that suggest song ideas. Putthem all in your notebook. With a little effort you will soon have dozens if nothundreds of ideas and observations recorded. Get in the habit of doingthis every time you read or watch a movie, talk to a friend or travel. At leastin an observational sense try to become a novelist. Look for deeper mean-ings behind the seemingly trivial and write them down. You may find thatyour notebook begins to take on the character of a journal. All the bet-ter—you're not only compiling hundreds of song ideas but writing yourzs jimmy Webbmemoirs, which will be worth a bundle when they induct you into theSongwriters 1 (all of Fame.Now let's say you are in songwriting mode: your tape recorder iswhirring, your legal pad is leafing; you're writing a song about regret—deep ivgret—and stuck for a line. Not just a rhyme. You're struggling for away of describing the emotion—the body language, the subdued tone ofremorse. Maybe its time to talk with Mr. Notebook. Hmmm. When I wasover in England two years ago—remember the elderly couple at the SunInn? Remember that tangible aura of regret that hovered between them? Iwas on the front lines then. I was right in the thick of it, and—more oftenthan one might think—Mr. Notebook has the answer.Think of your workplace as the Mother Ship—a laboratory whereyou provide yourself with time and tools and techniques. You go out on ascouting mission: a vacation, or a date, or a solitary walk in the country,and you collect specimens of all kinds for temporary storage in your note-book. It's not necessary to make any particular sense of them—you're col-lecting and it's an absorbing, joyful experience. It beats bird-watching andfor a songwriter it's a lot more fun. Bring your treasures home to the lab.Work with some of them. Save the others for a rainy day.After a lyric- or music-writing session, its important to spend gener-ous amounts of time thinking about what you've done and what youintend to do next—in the current vernacular, "visualizing." Fully half ofmy songwriting is done as a mental exercise that has nothing to do withproximity to piano or pen and paper. The most important aspects ofsongwriting, the planning and plotting of story line as well as the incep-tion of images, approaches and various strategies and changes of direction,ore, and even the never-ending search for a proper rhyme—the vital tasksof steering a song in a likely direction—can be done while riding acrosstown in the back of a taxicab.Sometimes we half-hear music through a closed door and the feel ofthe performance augmented by our own muse suggests a completely newother thing. We write down a note or a title in shorthand convinced that wecan remember the details later—the whole context of the idea is so bril-liantly clear in that moment. But the next day—our euphoria having fledto where emotions hibernate—we look at our shorthand and discover this:Ask someone who knows. Now what we have here is a fair title for a song (oneis reminded of "It's Not for Me to Say") but where is our cogent, fullyfleshed-out, chart-ripping concept for an original, interesting record or song?It has gone where our euphoria has gone. The lesson is to always take anextra forty seconds and attempt to write down, even briefly, the context ofthe idea, perhaps even the original record or "feel" that set you off in thefirst place. Either that or when you get that burst of creative lust dropeverything and head for the nearest Mother Ship. Obviously to live even asemblance of a normal life songwriters cannot do this. That is why Godmade graphite and trees.Now after all this talk about a permanent base and a stable songwrit-ing environment I must point out that a songwriter is one of the most for-tunate professionals in the world precisely because he or she is not tieddown to a particular room or instrument or array of equipment. Ouroffices are between our ears. With a notebook, a small tape recorder and aguitar slung over our backs we are completely mobile. In this era of faxmachines and fiber optic communications and recording (via satellite dishif need be) it is conceivable that one could function effortlessly as a song-writer en route from a sojourn on the island of Bora Bora to theMarquesas to visit the burial place of Gauguin. (The pianist is at a disad-vantage in such conditions though small, lightweight keyboard instru-ments have brought even this within the realm of possibility.) Ultimately itis important to remember what our "charmed circle" symbolizes—thework habits, discipline and peace of mind that we can take anywhere oncewe begin to dedicate space and time.The danger is that we begin to think of writing songs as an elusive,metaphysical process connected in some obtuse fashion to exotic locales orsituations. As in: "I cant seem to write anything so IVe rented a house onMartha s Vineyard for a month." Such fantasizing has a way of backfiring.We end up with a fat portfolio of gauzy numbers about seagulls and ferryboats or worse—on arriving in paradise we discover that life is so seamlessand serene that we begin to wave-watch as our fine ambition dissolves intothe local social scene.Arguably one of the worst things a writer can do is talk too much—orat all—about an idea before finishing it in the workplace. 'Tm writing asong about . . .," the writer begins, dicing with the truth. Yes he s got anidea, yes he's kicking it around in his head—no he hasn't written a note.This is the red "A" on the forehead that brands the "amateur." Somethinginsidious happens when we engage in this kind of verbal free association in30 Jimmy Wi-:hhthe company of others or play half-formed verses at cocktail parties. Itwould seem that our ambition is often eroded. In some inscrutable fashionthe creative genie at the center of our being seems to have afinite capacityand will become recalcitrant as though to say, "Well, if you want to rubthe lamp >\nd waste magic at a cocktail party, fine—but don't try to waketne up at one o'clock in the morning."The sexual metaphor is not too distant. Here we are not discussing theserious "workshop" atmosphere of give-and-take between colleagues (thevalue ofwhich can also be debated) but a careless venting ofemotional enthu-siasm for a delicate task, the outcome of which may be in doubt even if allenergy is conserved. It's only another reason for a self-enforced artistic isola-tion that was once taken for granted—a concept that has been eroded bycontemporary society's compulsion to share everything, tell all, and its con-viction that an enlightened, happy committee of verbose lamebrains isinfinitely superior to one struggling, vulnerable and merely dedicated humanmind.This is not to unilaterally criticize group discussion, and since ourconsideration of the working environment seems to have led inevitably towithin striking distance of the "workshop," it might be helpful to evaluatewhat is out there (for those who have forty or fifty dollars burning a holein their pocket). These days it is not particularly difficult—or even avoid-able—to find four or five songwriters of legendary status sitting togetheron a stage or dais somewhere, playing their chartbusters in turn and thenfielding questions from an audience sometimes numbering in the hun-dreds. Eclectic New York DJ Vin Scelsa seems to have pioneered this for-mat—at least in terms of selling it to the general public—with his InTheir Own Words series at the Bottom Line in New York City, whichroutinely played to enthusiastic, standing-room-only crowds. After his ini-tial successes, Scelsa took his show on the road and played it successfullyall over the country. Who would have thought it?Such entertainments have even caught on with the Platinum Card set—witness the tony 1994 Songmasters Inside/Out series at the AlgonquinHotel in New York where tickets sold for the price of a nice television setand a portion of the proceeds was diverted to charity. Unfortunately theseentertainment events rarely differ in content and form from most of the"learning" encounters arranged by the major performing arts societies andacademies across the country.As a pleasant evening out I don't suppose there could be a better valuefor a buff or dilettante (I mean no disrespect to dilettantes—some of mybest friends are dilettantes) but for the "man or woman on a mission/' theperson who shows up with their notebook in hand wanting some substan-tial help, the "panel/performance/discussion" format often proves to be adisappointment. I'll try not to belabor the point. These gatherings are usu-ally supervised by a moderator so that access to the guests is carefully, ifrandomly, controlled. There is usually a spirit of lighthearted banter preva-lent as opposed to a careful, instructive spirit. The punter may go awayfeeling as though he has had more than his share of cotton candy with hisnotebook and wallet empty.In the more professional version of this kind of "class," which usuallymeets at a regular interval at a specific time over a period of weeks, theacolyte may encounter other disappointments. The panel—starting outI'm sure with the highest possible motives—may become acerbic in theirrelentless criticism of works in progress. (In spite of themselves they mayend up strangling some babies in their cribs.) Panels of experts are onlyhuman beings. They may find it difficult to resist the impulse to bounceoff each others egos—to impress each other and forget about the poorstudent scrabbling to keep up. Their fervent pronouncements of greatsongwriting dictums might even divert some incipient genius from his orher own true path. A student should not attend such a course hoping forsome chrysalis-like transformation into the complete songwriter or evenexpecting any noticeable improvement. More than likely what the suppli-cant will take away will be in direct proportion to what has been broughtin the first place. Students would be wise to do their homework and haveready a couple of good examples of their best songs and a list of questionsto which they really want to know the answers. Professionals are unsympa-thetic toward complete tin horns. John Thompson's first grade readerquestions tire the rest of the class as well. Everyone gets grumpy.On a university level is found the next best form of commerciallyavailable interaction: the "some-on-one" lecture or lecture series. A primeexample is the Learning Annex in New York City (variations abound inmany college communities). Here, a group of students—say forty orfifty—pay two sawbucks to spend a hefty two and a half hours with theexpert of their choice. (Courses are offered in everything from televisionjournalism to salmon fishing.) The advantages in the "one-expert seminar"32 Jimmy Webbmay not be obvious but are substantial: access to the guest is dramaticallyincreased Hie teacher (or guest) may actually be able to mount a coherentlesson, uninterrupted by a moderator or other guests and pursue live per-formance examples in a logical sequence, unfettered by the necessity ofperforming the "greatest hits" medley. The student may actually comeaway with some cogent notebook entries and perhaps return to work witha new angle on a recurring problem.Said to be the closest thing to Songwriters Heaven on Earth and also,many believe, the single most beneficial experience for young songwriters cur-rently available is the legendary Kerrville Folk Festival, an annual affair thattakes place down in Kerrville, Texas, on the Quiet Valley Ranch. Founded byRod Kennedy twenty-seven years ago, the festival has grown from a 1,200-seat, three-day event to a week-long camp-out with as many as 6,000 peoplegathered on some nights in the facility's large outdoor theatre. For three daysbetween festival weekends (usually at the end of May) aspiring songwritersinvestigate, analyze and experience the craft, business and process of song-writing with industry professionals at the Music Foundation SongwritingSchool. For eighteen hours of classes, three meals and a free camp-out on theranch, the $1 10 fee seems more than reasonable, especially since it is paid tothe nonprofit Kerrville Music Foundation. But according to insiders whohave been involved since the beginning, like early supporters Peter Yarrowand Nanci Griffith, the real action takes place around the campfires, on thetailgates of pickup trucks and in campers or tents where songwriters immedi-ately get down to the personal business of writing songs, discussing tech-niques, and interacting with other songwriters and freelance "teachers" likeYarrow who roam the site in an ongoing spirit of give-and-take with theyoung pilgrims. One of the most important aspects of this get-together is theselection of thirty-two songwriting finalists gleaned from as many as 689entries from Texas, forty-five other states and Canada. All these talented peo-ple are invited to perform their selected songs, and from them six award win-ners are picked to appear on the "big stage" and are allowed to performtwenty-minute sets of their repertoire, receive $ 1 50 each from the ASCAPfund and come to the attention of scores of record company executives, pub-lishers and famous recording artists. (For more information call 1-800-435-8429.)There is no sequential course of study available for someone whowants to be a songwriter. Hopefuls must put their education togetherpiecemeal—there is no follow-up, no monitor to guide their progress, noemergency line when the going gets tough. There is only the little roomwith a view and the siege mentality.If we start with our workroom, notebook, small tape recorder, andlegal pad and begin toadd accoutrement—microphones, bigger recorders,a mixing board and perhaps a synthesizer or other additional instru-ments—then eventually we come up with what the bomb shelter was tothe '50s: the home recording studio. This can range from a self-containedmixing board and four-track cassette machine to a complete digital layoutencompassing sixteen-track recording, multi-buss professional mixingdesk, racks of outboard echo, delay and compression modules used in con-junction with sophisticated "samplers" and "sequencers/' all of which areoften tied into a master computer.The wonder of it all sometimes threatens to overwhelm me. When Ibegan my career at Bob Ross Recording Studio in 1964, the state-of-the-art professional recorder was the temperamental three-track Ampex. Weworked with spring echo units that sounded no better than the cardboardtubes your kids purchase at Toys "R" Us. If you really wanted nice echoyou had to dig a pit the size of a swimming pool in the parking lot and puta microphone at one end and a speaker at the other. One famousHollywood engineer used a toilet bowl. Phil Spector, it is said, once usedan elevator shaft. Sometimes the sheer volume of glittering, dazzling toysthat are now so readily and inexpensively available tend to become an endin themselves. If you have a kid that plays the guitar you know that rarelydoes his or her expertise keep pace with the bewildering array of gadgetsand amplifiers that are constantly demanded. Which brings me at last tothe point: Do home studios really help songwriters?Lets dispense with the most obvious misconception first. On the faceof it no amount of fancy equipment is going to write a great song for anovice who doesn't know a bridge from a fade. On the contrary, to theextent that an amateur is preoccupied with the reading of operations man-uals and the self-deluding preoccupation of gilding mediocre work withhi-tech echo cocktails and such, so is the subject less and less likely to con-quer the fundamental and vexing problems of brain, voice andfinger/ear/eye coordination.Assuming that there is a songwriter somewhere with a surplus of decentmaterial and working in his house, the home studio suddenly looms in34 Ji.\i.\n Webbimportance, perhaps on a parallel with the invention of electric guitars. Itwas common in mi early days in the industry to witness wet-behind-the-earswriters rushing with pathetic enthusiasm to trade their precious publish-ing—entire copyrights—for a few barely productive hours in a recordingstudio, thai holy And seemingly unreachable tabernacle of success. Publishingempires were built on this lemminglike compulsion to gain access to thewhirring, blinking devices at any cost. Imagine for a moment that to even seea studio, a kid from Oklahoma, say, had to go to a major city: New York,Nashville, Los Angeles, etc. (except perhaps producer Norman Petty's.spread m Clovis, New Mexico). Keeping all this in mind, understand that itis vital for a songwriter, particularly an amateur, to be able to produce a pro-tessional-sounding demo at little or preferably no cost. Disregarding for amoment the initial expense of some basic equipment (probably in the rangeof twelve hundred to five thousand dollars without going completely chip-crazy) the songwriter's dreams of a demo with bass, drums, horns, strings,piano (to be honest everything except convincing electric guitars and saxes) isnow a reality. There are probably many readers who do not recall the days of"SEND US $5.00! We will evaluate your tape," or "YOUR SONG WITHA REAL STUDIO BACKUP! ONLY $25!" Those were the MeUotronMills. The age of brazen fraud and exploitation. Thank God and theJapanese those days are pretty much over.I would like to reiterate that silicon chips are no substitute for graycells and that there was a time not long ago in our great industry when thefancy demo was looked upon with wary suspicion. Prevailing wisdom dic-tated that what producers and A&R men wanted to hear was apiano/voice or guitar/voice demo—all the better to pin the unfortunatesubmission under their harsh, glaring electron microscope of criticism innaked honesty. They would decide how to best arrange (meddle with) amans song. Hell, thev might even do it twice as fast. Why spend monev ona demo at 40=. I when thev would most likely record it at 80=. I? (Theseare metronomic settings.) Not onlv that—the wisdom continued—butthe artist preferred the minimalist and rough-edged portrayal for psycho-logical reasons. It made the artist feel insecure for instance if the singer onthe fully realized demo was a teenv-mite stronger in the high register. Onedid not wish to intimidate the delicate artist. Thus was born the "wood-shed" demo and a lot of music that in the unmerciful ear of history willsound sweeter than its finished and overpolished progeny.Where was I? Oh yes. In my zeal to discredit the fancy demo I almostforgot one very important thing—an ancient certitude actually, one knownto any twelve-year-old who ever sneaked into the Baptist church on aSaturday afternoon to pick the lock on the Hammond organ: inspiration.There is an unaccountable, delicious phenomenon that occurs when anyplayer experiments with another instrument—a strange sound or unfamiliarmusical texture. Something wonderful and sensual happens. When I was aboy I first noticed this inexplicable, primeval sensation when I would aban-don the relative paucity ofmy mother s upright Story & Clark, creaking anddetuning in the exile and desolation ofmy fathers unheated garage, and travelto the home of an upscale neighbor who possessed a modest but impeccablytuned mini-grand of Asian heritage. From the very first note, the first pianis-simo triad (so as not to disturb the prayer meeting in the parlor) my soul wasfilled with the most profound reverberations. The same, often repeated, tiredold chord progressions took on overtones of unexpected brilliance. As I wasegged on by this psychic slap-echo from the backside of the universe—tinyfronds of spring green genius began to tenderly uncurl . ..Now I'm beginning to make myself quite ill. This is an intangible.That's what they call it, isn't it? An intangible! I'm foaming at the mouthhere about playing on a different instrument! Maybe I could just travel aroundthe country writing songs at a logarithmic rate by just PLAYING A DIF-FERENT DAMN INSTRUMENT EVERY DAY? I guess I could justgo up to peoples houses—"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm passing throughOmaha. I know y'all probably just got back from church but I sure wouldlike to write a lovely song on that old Knabe upright!"That is just the point. The incredible variety of sounds and echoes,effects, etc., that a writer can achieve in a modern home studio make itunnecessary to go to Omaha or anywhere else.On the other hand, what about all those cables and wires and patchcords—what about planned obsolescence? Maintenance, for God's sake!What about buying a DX-7 and then finding out about a week later thatthere's a DX-8? What about buying a Kurzweil 250 for twenty thousanddollars and finding out five years later you can get a brand new one out ofthe crate for thirty-five hundred? What about when musicians—undesirabletypes—start hanging around your home studio asking for free recordingtime? Smoking cigarettes? Blocking your driveway with some big, ugly-looking van?36 Jimmy Wi;bbh is a debate that will never end. Having owned an elaborate homestudio for many years I eventually came to the conclusion that writing andrecording ate as oil is to water. Church and state. I could go further andsay mutually destructive—but short of that I choose to think of them as abicameral legislature, a system of checks and balances. Each area of exper-tise influences the other but for each to function perfectly perhaps the lefthand should notknow what the right hand is doing. Simple demos ofbeautifully crafted songs will always suffice with perhaps one exception:Some writers and publishers with a particularly well-honed commercialsense will always want to custom manufacture a "record" for a specificrecording artist, sometimes to the extent of actually trying to imitate thesinger's sound and vocal style. I would give this practice a fifty-fifty shot ofinfluencing the artist or producer for better or worse. If it doesn't go yourway you're stuck with an expensive demo that sounds exactly like JohnnyCash and you've already found out that Johnny wouldn't touch it with asterilized cattle prod. It's going to be rough going to try that demo out onTrisha Yearwood. Investments of this kind are gambles at worst—calcu-lated risks at best.So we are back to the charmed circle. It is your circle and you can putanything inside it that will help you tilt at your own private windmills. Ionce made the mistake of thinking that a little companionship around theold piano might make the hours pass more amiably—"greasing the muse,"as it were. I purchased a young mynah bird and installed him in a cage,kevboard-side. All went well until he learned to imitate my early morninghacking cough, the creaking spring on the back screen door and finallymastered "Skit!" in an exact imitation of a frustrated songwriter making amistake. In one of my less noble moments I drop-kicked him—cage andall—across the living room. (No animals were harmed during the writingof this book!)My best advice? A quiet place. A simple tape recorder. A legal pad. Anotebook—and a full heart.tfytuIT S ONLY WORDSTalk in everlasting words and dedicate them all to meAnd I will give you all my life, Vm here ifyou should call to me . .—Barry, Robin & Maurice Gibb,"It's Only Words"The reason we keep notebooks is to help us remember our ideas, but as Isuggested in a previous chapter an "idea" means something entirely differ-ent to a songwriter than it might to a novelist, journalist or screenwriter.Songwriters work for the most part in a milieu that might be described as"technological haiku"—for reasons far beyond our understanding or con-trol, parameters dictated and established by complicated machines andeconomic fact. We must accomplish our aims and tell our entire story in atime frame of about three minutes (plus or minus). Every word, every notemust count. This means among other things that we are not vouchsafedthe luxury that some of our literary cousins have—the meandering anddescriptive setting of scene, the leisurely development of a myriad of color-ful characters and the exploration of plot in counterpoint throughout aseamless and climactic story line that culminates in every pesky loose endbeing tied off in a bowline.38 Jimmy Webbl fsually there is only room for one or two characters in our little radioplays and perhaps fifty seconds for each act. We have to get while the get-tings ^ood. Does this mean that our efforts are any less valid than those ofour privileged colleagues? Hardly. What it means is that we have beenchallenged with accomplishing an almost impossible task exquisitely. We arethe Swiss watchmakers of music and literature. It is our complete under-standing of what constitutes a song "idea" that enables us to do this at all.When I come homefeeling tired and beat,I go up where the air isfresh and sweet . . .I get awayfrom the bustling crowd,And all that rat race noise down in the street . . .—G. Goffin & C. King,"Up On the Roof"What could be more descriptive than "all that rat race noise down in thestreet'"? Carole and Gerry make us hear it! But most important, they knowwhere they are going.Right smack dab in the middle of town[found a paradise that's troubleproofAnd if this world starts getting you downThere's room enoughfor two Up On the Roof . . .—G. Goffin & C. King,"Up On the Roof"Carole and Gerry's is a wonderful "idea" for a song. Here, on the otherhand, is a song about a roof that isn't much of an idea:/ like it on the roofIt's really nice up there—With pigeons, bugs and airplanes,I just don't have a care . . .What's missing? Story. The writer has missed the point by throwingaway the title/idea in the first line: "I like it on the roof." Lets always askthe questions or establish the ambiguities first whether in a song like:Why does the sun keep on shining?Why do the waves rush to shore?~£Hne&mHA 39Don't they know it's The End of the World'Cause you dont love me anymore . . .—Sylvia Dee & Arthur Kent,"The End of the World"Or to return to Carole and Gerry's masterpiece:When I come homefeeling tired and beat,Igo up where the air isfresh and sweet . . .—G. Goffin & C. King,"Up On the Roof"Where is she going? There is an implied mystery. Perhaps it is essen-tially sexual. We are all curious about where were going—but we reallydon't want to know until we get there. It spoils the fun. Lets pursue thisfor a moment:By the Time I Get to Phoenix she'll be rising . . .—Jimmy Webb,"By the Time I Get to Phoenix"The first line of a song. We don't know who is speaking and we don'tknow about whom he's speaking, but we do know that he's on his way toPhoenix, presumably in the early hours of the morning since by the timehe arrives there another person—a woman—will have awakened and willbe leaving her bed. It is a situation that is meant to pique our curiosity.Who is this man? Who is the woman? Why is he on his way to Phoenix?This is the songwriter's counterpart of the first lines of a three-act play inminiature. Eventually during the course of this three-minute song in threeverses after passing through Albuquerque and discovering that our ulti-mate destination is Oklahoma, we come finally to these lines:. . . and she will cry to think that I would really leave her,Though time and time again I've tried to tell her so . . .She just didn't know that I would really go . . .—Jimmy Webb,"By the Time I Get to Phoenix"What if we had started the song with the last line? There would havebeen no story to tell. In the early stages of a song ambiguity is essential as in:40 Jimmy WhbbThere's a light, a certain kind of lightThat's never shone on me . . .—Barry, Robin & Maurice Gibb,"To Love Somebody"Which takes us eventually to:You Jen) know what it's like To Love Somebody,To Love Somebody, the way I love you . . .—Barry, Robin & Maurice Gibb,"To Love Somebody"Or beginning with:Oh I can'tforget this eveningOr yourface as you were leaving . . .—Peter Ham & Tom Evans,"Without You"Don't we want to know more about this man and the person to whomhe is singing? And don't we explode emotionally with the writer and thesinger when they admit finally:I can't live if livin is Without You . . .—Peter Ham & Tom Evans,"Without You"It would have been such a waste if the first line of the song had been "Ican't live, if livin' is without you." So the placement of the title/idea is ofgreat importance and consequently we usually find it at the end of a verseor in the first strong expository lines of the chorus, or perhaps as a conclu-sive statement at the last line of the chorus. Sometimes, particularly in thecase of two-verse forms, we will only hear it once at the very end of thesong.A great song idea usually utilizes an interesting hook line or title andincorporates it into a fullv realized scenario that reveals in careful, logicalstages the true goal or intent of the writer. This is the "developmental"component of a verse. For instance, in "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" itis composed of the lines after the "teaser":By the Time I Get to Phoenix she'll he risingShe'llfind the note that I left hanging on her doorAnd she will laugh to read the part that says I'm leavin''Cause I've left that girl too many times before.—Jimmy Webb,"By the Time I Get to Phoenix"Well, if this isn't a soap opera in the making then IVe never heard one!We find out some interesting things very quickly: that he's left a note on herdoor, that its a farewell note that will cause her some amusement and thatas a note-leaver our hero is perhaps a repeat offender. Now this is the waywe build up the story, the meat and muscle of the inner lines of verses . . .the strong tissue that connects the sometimes deceptively nondescriptopening line with the "hammer/' or at Motown in the old days, the "mes-sage," the hook, line and sinker, what have you. In the case of "By the TimeI Get to Phoenix/' the hammer doesn't land until the very end of the lastverse when we find out that as smug as she may be, the one who has beenleft behind is in for a rude surprise, "And she will cry to think that I would reallyleave her . .." This time he means it. This is the O'Henry-esque twist or sur-prise ending that is common to the true ballad and is probably descendedfrom the storyteller by the hearthside.Yes, Paul Simon's "The Boy in the Bubble" is a surreal, chain-of-consciousness epic that fires idea after idea at us machine-gun style sothat in the end the effect is almost pointillist. Cumulatively, it is notunlike being bowled over by a tsunami. However, years earlier Simonwrote the gorgeous standard "Bridge Over Troubled Water," which beginssimply, "When you're weary . . .," and ends "Like a Bridge Over TroubledWater I will ease your mind." Amateur songwriters should learn the art ofclarity before attempting a pell-mell dash in Mr. Simon's adventurousfootsteps.Try working backward. If my authority is not sufficient on the subjectthen listen to Stephen Sondheim: "I find it useful to write backwards, andI think most lyric writers probably do too when they have a climax, a twist,a punch, a joke."Look at that big chorus line like "You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin " andask yourself where that story begins. You could find yourself beginning averse as brilliantly as this:i; jimmy WebbYou never clou your eyes anymoreWhen I kiss your lips . . .—Mann, Weil & Spector,"You've Lost chat Lovin' Fcclin'"In this instance there is obvious evidence of the writers' extremelywell-honed observational techniques. The fact that she no longerdoses her eyes is a small thing but the protagonist has noticed itand it has immediately put us (the listeners) on extremely intimatefooting with both the singer and the object of his desire. It is alsointeresting to note that we are eavesdroppers on this conversation,which we could assume is taking place in a hotel room, on a beach orin the backseat of an automobile. This will be the songwriters' pri-mary communicatory device: they are going to let us overhear one sideof a conversation that under normal circumstances we would not evenconsider auditing.In another instance consider Foreigners powerhouse rock ballad "IWant to Know What Love Is" with lyric by Mick Jones, which begins:I've got to take a little time—A little time to think things over . . .Again we are "dropping in" on someone else's reality, their chain of con-sciousness, so to speak, and we can't help but be intrigued. Why does he needto take some time? What needs to be thought over? The rather unsettledmusical accompaniment with its minor chord is suggesting what? Anapproaching storm? That the singer is troubled? We find that our concernsare well founded as the lyricist cranks up the tension by admitting in a subse-quent line, "m my life there's been heartache and pain" this confession leading eventu-al!)' to the explosive and almost transcendental cry of anguish,UI Want to Know1 1 hat Love Is." Why do I find this simple line so evocative? Because of every-thing that it doesn't say. Because of the lifetime of loneliness that it implies inthe existence of someone who tragically has missed out on the meaning oflife's fundamental purpose.Hank Williams's great standard begins:Today I passed you on the street . . .—Hank WilliamsWho did he pass? And in this case the writer will eventually indicatethat we are not—this time—eavesdropping on a real conversation at all,but rather on his innermost thoughts, a conversation that he would per-haps like to have, words he wishes he could say. Though the opening linemay seem mundane at first glance, it serves well in contrast to the mightykiller payoff:I Can't Help It if I'm Still in Love With You . . .—Hank Williamsat the end of the elegantly brief verse.Everyday expressions flower and thrive under the pens of writers likeCole Porter ("Well, Did You Evan!" © 1939), Johnny Mercer and RubeBloom ("Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear to Tread" © 1940) or ErnestTubbs ("Walkin the Floor Over You" © 1 94 1). The writer should remem-ber that this kind of title/idea admits to being a cliche at the outset. Infact, the more of a cliche it is, the more desirable, since the cliche title hascome to be accepted as a genre of American song. Country songs ("I'veForgotten More Than You'll Ever Know About Him" by Cecil Null) arealmost exclusively devoted to these familiar colloquialisms (way downSouth they call 'em "sayins"); indeed it is hard to imagine country musicwithout them or, for that matter, a good part of the Motown phenomenon:"I Heard It Through the Grapevine," (© 1966 N. Whitfield and B.Strong), 'Til Be Doggone" (© 1965 W. Robinson Jr., W. Moore, M.Tarplin), "My World Is Empty Without You" (© 1968 Holland/Dozier/Holland), "Love Child" (© 1968 P. Sawyer, R.D. Taylor, F.Wilson, D. Richards), "Ain't That Peculiar" (© 1965 W Robinson, W.Moore, M. Tarplin, R. Rogers), etc.What will ruin the effect is to include any or too many additionalcliches in the lyric proper. The body of the lyric should balance off withgreat skill the relative triteness of the title by avoiding cuteness. This mayrequire even more effort than other kinds of lyric writing. If the genericcolloquialism is the free lunch, it will probably have to be worked off overa hot sink full of cleverly wrought metaphors, similes and images.To elaborate, the writer will want to work hard to set up a situation orrelationship in the main body of the song that will cause the trite title toland with unexpected force, as I tried to do in "Didn't We?"44 Jimmy Wi-:m*This time we almost made our poem rhymeThis time we almost made that long hard climbI )idn ) We almost make it this time?—Jimmy Webb,"Didn't We?"Berlin's "What'll I Do" is a perfect example. Other kinds of songtitle/ideas? Country music is also famous for its puns ("Don't It MakeMy Brown Eyes Blue" by Richard Leigh) and its paragrams ("Love Inthe First Degree" by Jim Hurt and James Dubois). Of course there arethe geographic ones: "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" (DouglassCross and George Cory); "Penny Lane" (Lennon and McCartney);"Last Train to Clarkesville" (Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart); "BowlingGreen" (Jay Ertel and Terry Slater); "New York State of Mind" (BillyJoel); and so on. The imperatives: "Be My Love" (Sammy Cahn andNicholas Brodszky); "Take a Message to Mary" (Felice Bryant andBoudleaux Bryant); "Walk Away Renee" (Mike Brown, Tony Sansome& Bob Calilli); or "Love, Love Me Do" (Lennon and McCartney). Thetemporal ones: "When Sunny Gets Blue" (Jack Segal and MarvinFisher); "When the Moon Comes over the Mountain" (Kate Smith,Harry Woods and Harold Johnson); "When I Fall in Love" (E.Heyman, V. Young); "June Is Bustin' Out All Over" (Rodgers andHammerstein); "Where or When?" (Rodgers and Hart); "I'll Be SeeingYou" (I. Kahal, S. Fain); and "Tomorrow" (C. Strouse, M. Charnin)—all the way to the completely "abstract": "For Emily Wherever I MayFind Her" (Paul Simon); "Judgment of the Moon and Stars (Ludwig'sTheme)" (Joni Mitchell); "Texas Girl at the Funeral of Her Father"(Randy Newman);and "Eli and the Thirteenth Confession" (LauraNyro). There are the "traveling" songs, like "Walkin In Memphis"(Marc Cohn); "Route 66" (Bob Troup); "Travelin Man" (JerryFuller); "Ramblin Man" (Richard Betts); "Homeward Bound" (PaulSimon); "This Flight Tonight" (Joni Mitchell); and "Leavin On a JetPlane" (John Denver); and the "interrogatories," like: "How Long HasThis Been Going On?" (G. Gershwin/I. Gershwin); "What Are YouDoing the Rest of Your Life?" (M. LeGrand, M. and A. Bergman); "DoYou Know the Way to San Jose?" (B. Bacharach and H. David); "WhereAre You?" (J. McHugh and W. H. Adamson); "When Will I SeeYou Again?" (K. Gamble and L. Hugg); "What Kind of Fool Am I?" (L.Bricusse and A. Newley); and "Is That All There Is?" (Leiber &Stoller).There are the "dance instruction" songs, starting with "The TurkeyTrot" (E. Smith and T Kelly); "The Bunny Hop" (R. Anthont andL. Auletti); and "The Grizzly Bear" (traditional) and continuing in subse-quent years with "Charleston" (C. Mack andJ.P. Johnson); "Bambalina"(M. V Youmans, H. Stothart, O. Harbach, O. Hammerstein II); "TheVarsity Drag" (B. G. DeSylva, L. Brown, R. Henderson); "Carioca"(V Youmans, G. Kahn, E. Eliscu); "The Continental" (C Conrad andH. Magidson); "Jersey Bounce" (B. Plater, T Bradshaw, E. Johnson,R. B. Wright); and "The Huckle Buck" (A. Gibson & R. Alfred)—a genrewhich survived well into the '60s with "Mashed Potato Time" (G. Dobbins,R. Bateman, W E. Garrett, K. Mann, B. Holland, and F. C. Gorman);"Baby, Hully Gully" (Fred Smith & Cliff Goldsmith); "The Twist"(K Ballard); "The Loco-motion" (G. Goffin & C King); "The Stroll"(C Otis & N. Lee); "The Monkey Time" (C Mayfield); "The Swim"(Larry Tamblyn); "Do the Freddie" (D Lampert & Lou Pegues)—(pant,pant, pant) and so on.And then of course there is the whole vast firmament of sacred andreligious ("gospel") songs that require little if any illustration here, thoughan interesting phenomenon has surfaced in the late '80s and '90s, and thatis the love/gospel song in which the listener is given the option of men-tally applying the lyric to a physical love interest or alternatively, YouKnow Who ("Arms of Love" by M. Smith, G. Chapman and A. Grant).There is the Unitarian "I Believe" (E. Drake, I. Graham,J.Shirl and A.Stillman) and Norman Greenbaums "Spirit In the Sky," as well as HankWilliams's "I Saw the Light." The pop charts are always ready for a goodGod song.The overtly humorous song is legion: "Shall We Join the Ladies?"(Marshall Baerer); "Letter to Jesus" (Mimi Farina); "You're My FavoriteWaste of Time" (M. Crenshaw); "Dang Me" (Roger Miller); "YourBulldog Drinks Champagne" (Jim Stafford); "It's Not Easy Being Green"(Joe Raposo); and the political satires: Tom Lehrer's "Send in theMarines" and "The Folk Song Army"; Tom Paxton's "Sold a Hammer tothe Pentagon" and "I Read It in the Daily News"; Sylvia Fine's brilliant46 [immy Webbstaccato lyrics for her (ate husband Danny Rave's musical films, for exam-ple. "Anatole of Paris)" from Walter Mitty, and "Happy Times" from The.;.'; "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" Jim Croce); "Charlie Brown"Leiber and Stollcr); "Ahab the Arab" ^Ray Stevens"; "Does YourChewing Gum Lose Its Flavor on the Bedpost Overnight?" B. Rose.M. Bloom. E. Breuer : 'Walk Like an Egvptian" (L. Sternberg); and so forth.In addition, the "novelty," or special interest song which mav not bei a ssarily humorous bv nature}, has been around since before the turn ofthe century. Research indicates that there were probablv 150 songs aboutthe telephone bv 1900. Before Rudolph Valentino had a chance to coolott in his coffin there was a song on sale in New York called "There's aNew Star in Heaven Tonight" J. K. Brennan.J.McHugh. I. Mills] lavingthe groundwork for a "necro" genre that flourished during mv generationsteen years—"Teen Angel" J. Surev and R. Surrey); "Leader of the Pack"G, Morton.J.Barrv and E. Greenwich); "Honev" B. RusselL: arid"'Wild Fire" Nlichael Murphev and Larrv CanslerN—culminating in thecarbine-carrving "Ballad or the Green Berets" in 1966. recorded bv a realarmy man. Sergeant Barrv Sadler ^written with Robm \foore\ In counter-point to Sadler there was Barrv McGuire singing "Eve of Destruction"P. F. Sloarf, with its corpses floating in the Jordan River, and lots of otherpolitical and antiwar sloganism—"Blowin In the Wind" Bob Dvlan\-"The Times Thev Are a'Changin "vBob Dvlan\- "The Great Mandella"Peter Yarrow. Man- Travers. and .Albert Grossman \- "For What It'sWorth" Stephen Stills); "Ohio" Neil Young); "I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin*-to-Die Rag" Joe McDonalds "Give Ireland Back to the Irish" Paul:tnev\- "Ballad of a Thin Man" ^Bob Dvlan"; "Positivelv FourthStreet Bob Dylan \- and among thousands of other protests. "Give Peacea Chance" bv John Lennon.There are the deliberated "bad" songs, that is to say songs written onthe thinnest spring ice bv courageous guys like Paul Williams, who wrote"Dangerous Business." "Wardrobe of Love" and "Hello Ishtar" for 1987sa movie about a couple ol mediocre songsmiths. The same trick wasalso attempted by Harrv Nilsson in the movie Pcrr.c. with universally mis-understood results, and bv myselfin a song for a him [How Sued I: is star-ring James Garner and Debbie Revnolds in which I repeated the phrase "Iknew :•... that I knew that vow knew that I knew" ad nauseam and incor-porated the memorable strophe, ''the pnnpk on m\ neck began tc hurt, suddenly Iwished I changed my shirt" ("Montage from How Sweet It Is," © 1968),though not even in the same class with the brilliantly inept "Fowl Al,"written by Quincy Jones with lyrics by Marilyn and Alan Bergman, whichthe creepy little murdering counterman at the diner listened to with suchgusto in In the Heat of the Night (1967). On Warner Bros, weekly NBC tele-vision series "Friends," the character Phoebe plaved by actress Lisa Kudrowsings songs of awe-inspiring mediocrity (e.g., about smelly cats), which theactress herself composes (the individual writers of a particular episode dothe lyrics). The discerning songwriter will be required to cock a clever earat most music to judge whether it is a deliberate miscarriage of good tasteor just slovenly work. It is enough to say that a contemplative, maturesongwriter will probably not relish being hired to write some deliberatelyodoriferous undercrafted song. It happens.Finally the oldest of all these songwriting forms, the ballad: "BattleofNew Orleans" (Jimmy Driftwood); "Sink the Bismarck" (T. Franks andJ.Horton); "El Paso" (Marty Robbins); "Lonesome Valley" (traditionalsong arranged by Woody Guthrie); "John Henry" (traditional song);"The Highwayman" (Jimmy Webb); and "Ode to Billie Joe" (BobbieGentry).I recommend highly the Songwriters Idea Book by Sheila Davis (WritersDigest Books), which analvzes songwriting strategies m relation totype/genre in much finer detail, including song ideas based on antonyms,oxymorons, synecdoches, idioms, axioms and what have you. The writercan make a mental habit of analyzing the songs that he or she hears todetermine what genre of title/idea is being utilized as this will lead to aclarity7 of thinking in regard to the writer's own. (As an exercise, writedown and classify song title/ideas in your notebook as you hear them.)The ancient sawhorse of the ambitious-journalist-without-a-clue-seek-mg-insight-into-the-songwriting-ethos-question is the numbing: "Whichcomes first, the words or the music?" The professional songwriter knowsthat this is a red herring but there are few of us with the temerity torespond: "Ask me a better question." The interviewer might as well ask:"Which comes first, the chicken or the egg?"The songwriter can't answer the question in a tidy little sound bite.The interviewer has not the time or inclination to pursue the real answer,even if there is an audiencewho gives a damn about it. The respondentusually mutters an evasive or comical response, perhaps something about aIS JIMMY Wl-ltlisnake swallowing its tail. The question persists in the ether unanswered sothat ii can be asked again and again of artists who won't respond seriouslybecause they have more important things to think about.In feci the songwriting fraternity has a range of very concrete opinionson the subject, though rarely has one of its members stated unequivocallythat "the words should come first," or vice versa. Gene Lees is emphatic inhis contention that the melody should come first. The simple truth is thatanyone who has had "hands-on" songwriting experience knows that theprocess is fluid and that to be successful it must be mutable and words andmusic mutually adaptable.Is it preferable to write the melody first as some scholars have said?This is an arbitrary statement and a personal opinion at best. It assumesthat a lyric is carved first in stone and that the composer is then requiredto painstakingly and awkwardly fit the music to it in a two-step process.What is more likely is that if a lyric is written first the composer tries amelody and if it doesn't sing, if there are problems with scansion or con-flicts between the form of the lyric and the composer's chord structure ormelodic intervals, etc., then he will work with the lyricist to change themelody around—sometimes even drastically. The collaborators may passit back and forth several times in an ongoing process of revision."But if the song is to have a truly melodic nature the music shouldcome first," many composers have complained. I would respond: "Thatdepends." Depends on the song, depends on the lyricist, depends on thecomposer. We have convincing refutations of this traditional dogma read-ily at hand and many of these contradictions originate in the same ranks.For instance, Oscar Hammerstein acknowledged that once he startedworking with Richard Rodgers he mostly wrote lyrics first and then hiscollaborator set them to music. To quote Hammerstein:There is, as a matter of fact, no invariable or inevitable method for writ-ing songs ... It would seem to most people—and I am one of them—that writing the words first would be a more logical procedure, musicbeing the more flexible and less specific of the two mediums.Why then, did it become accepted practice among the composers andlyricists of the early twentieth century to "saddle" the lyricist with accom-modating the whims of the composer? According to Hammerstein,Feinstein, Bernstein and virtually any other "stein" one would wish toconsult, it all derived from the fact that foreign (European) composerswho settled in the States found it extremely difficult to adjust to theEnglish language. Lyric writers were the first to be put upon, and reactedwith horror to the strange accents and idiosyncratic and confusing rhyth-mic gyrations to which their precious lyrics were subjected. The initialbattle was lost by default. English-speaking lyricists simply gave up andbegan writing for the tunes that were available.That the music should come first is not an uncommon position takenby many pure lyricists—traditionalists like as not—who did not come ofage in the modern era of the singer/songwriter, which in spite of howls ofprotest I choose to date from the advent of John Lennon and PaulMcCartney. (Before the Beatles singer/songwriters abounded among theminstrels, songsters and bluesmen of the deep South, and certainly HankWilliams and Woody Guthrie were singer/songwriters, as were John LeeHooker and Muddy Waters and so many others. Harold Aden earned hisliving as a singer before he began to write songs, and who could deny thatHoagy Carmichael was among the great singer/songwriters? Bob Dylan,who was a prototypical singer/songwriter himself, predated the Beatles,but the Beatles were the catalyst or infusion in the inauguration of themodern performer/songwriter epoch.)The actual dynamics and many basic assumptions about technique havebeen forever altered by the current preeminence of the artist who writes bothwords and music and frequently also records his or her song once it is finished.A surprising number draft at least a partially completed lyric first. There isnothing about beginning with a lyric that prohibits the careful development ofa beautiful chord structure, and chord structure directs melody into areas ofgrace and originality at least as much as the form and meter of a lyric. In anycase, all the components can be changed as a part of an ongoing fluid process.Gene Lees complains in his foreword to The Modern Rhyming Dictionarythat the layman holds a somewhat dim view of the lyricist as a craftsman."The tone of voice conveys unmistakably that melody writing is a strangeand wonderful gift while just about anybody can toss off a lyric. After all,its only words."Much folklore supports this almost universal complaint of disrespectby lyricists, including this little gem from Michael Feinstein:SO Jimmy Wi-:mtAfter testifying before the California Fact-Finding Committee onUn-American Activities, Ira Gershwin was excused by Jack Tenney,who said, "Thank you very much for being here, Mr. Gershwin. I'ma great admirer of your brother George, who wrote all those wonder-ful tunes." (Nice Work If You Can Get It, Hyperion.)Indeed many times the efforts of the lyricist are probably overlooked andn does require inordinate skill to craft an effective lyric to an existing tune. ItJoes not follow that in every case the music should come first. A composerwho deigns to fit music to an existing lyric is not doomed to failure.1 propose that much of this debate is irrelevant for the following rea-son: Whether or not the music comes first, whether the song is being writ-ten by the single entity singer/songwriter or by two people ensconced in asmall room together or divided by a long-distance wire on separate coasts,a lyric writer still needs to know how to write a good lyric. How will a badlyric writer succeed in any writing format? Johnny Mercer once said aboutthe much touted lyricist of a trendy East End musical: "I could eat alpha-bet soup and shit better lyrics." Lets assume that before Mercer wrote"Moon River" to Hank Mancinis wistful tune that he had learned some-thing about the way the written word stands on its own. In any case weneed to learn to construct a good lyric by itself before we attempt themore difficult task of setting words to a relatively unchangeable melody.I am now going to commit myself to a grand analogy, a risky venture atbest—especially if the writer doesn't have the goods. To put it to you brieflyand mercifully: A song is a structure—a house like any other. I impose onyou to give me the benefit of the doubt and stand with me for a moment inthe charmed circle where we propose to build. What will we need—stand-ing here bare-handed as we are—with only a vision of a dwelling vaguelyformed somewhere in our imagination? (For the moment we will take forgranted that we have a workplace and that we have prepared ourselveswithin reason for the task ahead and that we have an "idea")The next logical step would be to provide ourselves with some rawmaterials. We might be thinking in an abstract sense of the shape orfunctionof our proposed structure but like the builders of old New England houseswe will probably adapt a floor plan as we go along—in the same way suc-ceeding generations add or demolish rooms until the place suits them.As for materials: There are two simple exercises, either of which willhelp the writer define his or her purpose and provide lots of raw "stuff"with which to build. A third alternative is to rely on "chain" or "stream"of consciousness. Let s look at the first two.The first way is simply to isolate the "idea" or the feelings you wishtoconvey in a sincere letter to yourself or to someone else. In Chapter One Idescribe a song "idea" called "Problem Child"—a song I want to writeabout someone close to me who is subject to debilitating mood swingsranging from euphoria to deep depression. Opening the door to everyemotion and observation concerning this matter I recently sat down andwrote a "letter" to this person. I did not think of rhyme or any other kindof organization. I simply poured out my feelings (good title, by the way).This is the letter without any alteration.Dear Problem Child:When you cross the line between brilliance and madness then you're out there onyour own. You might be overjoyed butfind yourself destroyed like Icarusflyingtoward the sun. You put yourself beyond the reach of anyone who can help you butits up there where you see those dazzling visions of the way the world should be—or could be. It's up there that justfor a second your song is clear in your mind.Andfreedom seems possible, plausible. But it makes me sad when I see you comedown and the light goes out ofyour eyes like afalcon hooded and caged, bewilderedby the confines of reality. There has to be a middle ground. There has to be a sane,quiet space where you can livefor a while without pain. That place used to behome—but now you're a man—and home is where you hang your heart. That'sthe problem. A problem you must solve before you tear your beautiful wings totatters on some cage ofyour own making.The letter could be shorter or longer, as long as the object is to com-pletely air out your feelings on the subject. If you re not inclined to writeletters there's a second way:On a legal pad write down at length every word, phrase, comment, cliche, historicalreference, literary reference, poetic reference, feeling, instinct, remembrance of actualfact,image, dream, fantasy or observation that can be made or connected with the "idea" youwish to express. Devote at least an entire work period or more to the collection of thesematerials.Whichever of these methods you have chosen (or both) put theresearch materials aside in a safe place for the time being. (You may want tothink about what you ve written and make some additions or alterations.)Meditate on the observations you have made in an effort to permeate your52 iM.\n Webbnsdousness with your "idea." You can do this in the car on the way to:k. You may find yourself doing it when your attention is rightfullydemanded elsewhere. Don't worry. Most songwriters wear a rather perma-nent 1\ gbzcd expression. Spouses and friends learn to recognize quickly thens of out-of-body experience and to adjust their behavior accordingly.We will get back to our lists and letters presently but what we should reallybe trying to do with this exercise is to teach ourselves to think in a certainway. Experienced songwriters can probably accomplish something very sim-ilar on a purely instinctive plane and in seconds with a minimum of hand-written notes. Perhaps two or three brief lines will be enough to set thesongwntmg consciousness off on a true course as the mind offers, consid-and discards thousands of possibilities of rhyme, subject matter,descriptive words, analogies, images, etc., then almost instantly seizes on aturn of phrase that can be utilized, finds it serviceable and incorporates it ina line good enough to be jotted down. This is the "chain" or "stream" ofconsciousness that we have heard so much about but we need to strip it ofits intrinsic random and undisciplined quality and put it to work for us in aimction.The amateur songwriter's greatest single failing and one that is imme-diately obvious to the listener is that the writer does not know exactlvwhere the song is going. Often the point of the song is circumnavigatedbrilliantly. Sometimes there are two or even three pretty good ideas m thesong but the listener is left unsatisfied. The hors d'oeuvres were tasty butthe waiter never served the mam course.) So all of our background materi-als—letters, lists, "chains" or "streams" of consciousness—must beappraised caretullv to make sure the words we have chosen make a mean-ingful contribution to the storv or "idea." The most fabulous metaphor ordouble entendre ever conceived or the niftiest color-word or rhyme imag-inable is expendable if it is not on target—if the meaning of the lvric couldbe clearer without it.Now those are just some of the materials we intend to use, but whatwill thev take? Perhaps some will sav at this juncture, "A barn doesn'tsuit my fancv just now. I have m mind a nice, sturdy cathedral." Fine. Youbuild a cathedral. I'll build a barn or log cabm. The same rules will apply.L nderstandmg those rules of construction calls now for a study of the tvmticns of form. That is to say the traditional, generic songwnting formswith which we are all subliminallv familiar; the ones that will not leave ourlisteners confused about whether we have constructed a gymnasium or amotor lodge. Frank Lloyd Wright no doubt began with a modest three-bedroom family home before tackling the Guggenheim.The first element of "form" is its smallest subdivision: the individualword and its close relative, the rhyme. These will be our timbers and nails.With them we can build an endoskeleton or frame for our edifice. Alan JayLerner purportedly said (and I paraphrase) that one word and one word onlywas suitable for each function in a lyric line, a passionate belief said to havebeen shared by James Joyce. With all due respect, it seems to me to believethat would be to invite failure against odds beyond comprehension.Without subjecting ourselves to such a strenuous and unrealistic crite-ria it is fair to say that some words will be more useful than others for ourpurpose and that one of the writer's most effective tools m the construc-tion of a lyric is the plain old dictionary. We already have a kind ofrhyming dictionary stored in our own brains and it is this ever-present andhandy list of rhymes to which we will most often refer. Indeed, some song-writers believe strongly that writers should resort only to those words thatare already contained m their heads. There is a rationale for this belief, butI prefer to ignore it and regard the rhyming dictionary as an enormousresource. We could think of it as a list of inventory for the different mate-rials stored in the lumberyard.The architect imagines the kind of building he wants to construct andhis mind plays with the wide variety of materials available. In the dictio-nary he finds oaken words, words of stone and paper, plywood words andwords like steel beams, words of ironwood and ash, rich resonant words ofmahogany and cherry, rococo words that swirl like burled walnut, simplepungent pine words, heavy words of dark ebony, ephemeral, silly words ofbalsa, everlasting words of marble and granite, and translucent words likecolored glass along with blunt, pragmatic words made of lead and cement.My adventurous friend—the one who walks across entire countries forsport—likes to read dictionaries. That s right, he reads them from cover tocover. When he runs across a word like quoin (a solid exterior angle) and itmelts like butterscotch taffy in his mouth, he writes it down on a masterlist of cherished, descriptive and meaningful words.Few of us are naturally inclined to sit and read an entire dictionary (likeMerriam-Wehsters Collegiate for example, at fourteen hundred pages) but I willadvance the argument that a writer who attempts to write prose, poetry,54 Jimmy Webbsong lyrics Ot automobile advertising without a vocabulary of suitable depthis entering a tournament of wits unarmed. I will go one step further and saythat if there is any intrinsic merit in curiosity then we should read at least onedictionary from aardvark to Zwolle (a city in the Netherlands). At the veryleastwe should be on the lookout in our reading and conversation for thatunfamiliar word with an intriguing sound, the one whose meaning we havealways guessed at but about which we are not certain. A few pages in theback of the songwriter s notebook can be set aside for scribbling these mean-ings down, particularly words of a descriptive or evocative nature.Is there any advantage in seeking out unusual, interesting words and inusing them in preference to the mundane and commonplace? Lets look atthe prevailing point of view first. It goes something like this: "Song lyricsshould be as simple-minded as possible. Multisyllables or any hint of sub-tlety or nuance should be avoided. Assume that your listener has the equiv-alent of a sixth-grade education and you won't be far wrong."From a commercial standpoint—whether or not his assumption aboutthe mental capabilities of his listener is accurate—the writer would appearto be on safe ground by adhering to this commonly held, preemptive doc-trine. In practice, however, there is at least one major pitfall.The consistent use of overly familiar language in line after line nudgesthe writer inexorably toward cliche. Why so? Because generations of indus-trious rhymers have already applied themselves to wringing out the possibil-ities of such standbys as "love" (above, dove) and "heart" (start, apart) and"eyes" (cries, tries). The cliche is waiting in the tired rhyme with aCheshire cat grin.A general rule would be: When deciding on a title or a hook line for aproposed song try to include a kev word that offers the greatest numbersof rhyming possibilities. I have been recently working on a song called"Just for Now." Let's look for a moment at Clement Woods list from TheComplete Rhyming Dictionary of possible rhymes for the word "now":Allow (usable but brings to mind "all that heaven will allow"—a bit sappy)Anyhow (usable but not a very attractive word and definitely overused)Avow (archaic and probably unusable)Bough (dittoBow (takes me in the "take my final bow" direction—don't like)~£une&HiltA 55Bow-wow (really!)Brow (nobody really says "brow" anymore—they say "forehead")Chow (I wasn't really thinking of writing a comical song)Cow (she's ugly, but not that ugly)Dhow (arcane, perhaps might find a home in special material)Disallow (smacks of the IRS)Disavow (legalese)Endow (more legalese)Foo Chow (?)Frau (she's not German)Frow (a variation on "froe"—a cleaving tool)Hankow (in China?)Hoosegow (it's not a Western either)How (usable)Howe (her name isn't Howe)Xowfow (no comment)Kwangchow (definitely in China)Landau (she's not a car)Mow (a piled-up stack or the sound a Chinese cow makes)Now (identical)Overbrow (hmm?)Plough, Plow (a rough word, distinctly out of place in a romantic song)Pow-wow (unusable)Prow (arcane and unusable).Row (comedic)Scow (ugly)Slough (a mass of dead tissue separating from an ulcer)Snow-plough (they've already listed plough—why list "snow-plough?")Somehow (usable but eliminates "anyhow")Soochow (somehow I don't think it looks much like Nashville)Sow (what I call her when she calls me a pig)Swatow (Poland?)Thou (distinctly archaic with religious overtones)Upplow (not even defined in Webster's)Vow (Dudley Do-Right—smells moldy)Wenchow (a buxom Chinese barmaid of easy virtue)Wow (!)56 Jimmy Wi;hbSo, out of this impressive-looking list of forty-four rhymes 1 have fiveentire words with which to work. Depending on the direction the songtakes as it develops this might be cut down to three. Which shows thatperhaps I cither need another song title or that I might write the song insuch .1 way that I do not repeatedly need to rhyme the word "now" or thatI go to a thesaurus, the second most important songwriting tool, and finda word that means the same as "now" or a similar phrase ending in a dif-ferent word that essentially means the same thing (syn.: present, today, atonce, directly, forthwith, immediately, instantly, right away, promptly,expeditiously, quickly, speedily, swiftly).Let's say that after perusing this list of possibilities from the thesaurusI decide that it would do just as well to call the song "Just for Today."Now according to Clement Wood I suddenly have a list of 258 rhymingpossibilities.The almighty thesaurus gives us a higher court of appeals to resort towhen the going gets tough. If the word which we have chosen doesn't makea true rhyme—or any kind of rhyme for that matter—or offers few, ifany, useful alternatives, we can refer to the thesaurus, very quickly finda synonym for that troublesome word and go back to the rhyming dictio-nary searching for a new rhyme that may succeed in completing the samethought. For instance, in the same work-in-progress I have writtena line "while the rain falls and the (UanK)(blanK) -alls!' The music fairlycries out for this rhythmic resolution. I have experimented with "andthe siren calls" but find it unsatisfactory, suggesting Greek mythology orcop cars. So I change "falls" to "comes," and arrive at "when the rain comesand the thunder drums!' This process should go on constantly during theconstruction of the lyric in a fluid give-and-take of trial and error.When I wrote my song "Adios" about leaving California to move EastI suppose I could have come up with some "title/idea" incorporating theword "good-bye." Other lines in the song would almost inevitably haveended with "cry" or "try"—perhaps the dreaded "I feel like I could die"—or the equally noxious "and now it's time to fly!' Because of my "adopted"mother's Hispanic heritage I decided on "adios," an alternative thatgave me both a moody, mariachi-flavored musical framework and accessto some unusual rhymes. I actually rhymed the word "morose" (whoseinclusion seems to have amazed a great many folks). I was also led to thelittle-used "close" which is a fuzzy-warm word that fit perfectly. I was~£nne&HtitA 57safeguarded to some extent from cliche by my decision to shy away from"good-bye" as my premier rhyming choice. (Linda Ronstadt subsequentlyrecorded "Adios" on her platinum-selling Cry Like a Rainstorm How/ Like theWind. It was a Top- 10 single.)In a recent effort called "Time Flies," a somewhat fatalistic view ofthe way human beings perceive or fail to perceive the passage of time, Iobserved that "picnics on warm Julys" become strangely—almost withoutour noticing—"deep umber autumns and winter good-byes." There is anextensive palette of names for colors almost as diverse as the colors them-selves. Skies do not have to be either "blue" or "gray." Sunsets are not bydefinition "golden." (There is a sunset in "Adios" that is "blood-red," 'nuffsaid.)Even if writers are successful in using commonplace words andrhymes—that is, managing to utilize them without indulging in innocuouscliches—they may deprive themselves of an enormous source of inspira-tion and opportunity in doing so. The interesting choice of word leads tothe unique rhyme. The unique rhyme to an extraordinary line. Theextraordinary line to an original perspective that makes a song stand outfrom the rest. By varying our word choices and being biased slightly infavor of the unusual, by giving our listener the benefit of the doubt in ourassumptions of his or her intelligence we grant ourselves the potential tocreate original and significant works, songs that will make a reputation forthe writer as an innovator—someone to be taken seriously. It is such awriter that producers and recording artists listen to almost without ques-tion if for no other reason than curiosity.It is dreadful the way the same mistakes are perpetuated over and overagain in songwriting, particularly the same careless false rhymes {identities)—"time" with "mine," for example, "self" with "else," "girl" with "world." Itwould seem that if a sinner willonly recommit the same wrong enoughtimes God himself will desensitize and eventually mistake assonance for agood deed. Have I ever sinned? Over and over again. Sometimes uncon-sciously, sometimes deliberately because I could think of no better way toaccomplish my aims and sometimes out ofsimple frustration. (I got tired andgave up.) However in the latter half of my career I have put increasing pres-sure on myself to avoid these kinds of errors and I believe it has forced meto write better lyrics.58 Jimmy Wi-.hkAnd I need you more than want youAnd I want youfor all time .And the Wichita Lineman is still on the line . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Wichita Lineman"The false rhyme is with us so much on a daily basis that we simplyJoin hear it anymore (I didn't notice this mistake in "Wichita Lineman"until years later). Is this distinction important? Well, yes and no. In popu-lar music it comes down to a stubborn personal integrity: Do I want mylyrics to rhyme like bona fide poetry? And then this: If it comes down to adecision between using a false rhyme or losing the message in this songwhat will I do? Unfortunately in the latter case often the false rhyme is anexcuse. To be idealistic the function of the lyricist is to change prose (orprose-based concepts) into authentically rhymed, emotionally affectingverse. False rhyme is to be frowned upon, especially when you've decidedyou're going to do it anyway.Some writers on this subject have referred to the "usable false rhyme"or "imperfect rhyme" meaning two words that while not proper rhymes areclose enough in vowel sound to create a passable rhyming effect (asso-nance). Some examples would be smile/wild, again/friend, or town/around. Another kind of "usable" false rhyme consists of two words withdifferent vowel sounds but similar or identical closing consonants likeblack/dreck, peel/bell, able/feeble, etc. This is properly referred to as con-sonance. There are others: unstressed, para rhyme, augmented, etc. The writerwould be wise to note that using these false rhymes even though they mayadmirably serve a purpose will inevitably weaken the effect of a given line.The listener will be offended on a subliminal level even if he or she doesn'tknow the difference between a false and proper rhyme.Be aware also that when a word contains its rhyming partner as proof con-tains roof or share contains hair that there is a subtle diminishing of its effecton the ear. Using one of these quasi-rhymes is a bit like choosing a dullknife over the sharp-edged dagger with a proper blade. At least one well-respected Broadway lyricist ofmy acquaintance will not give these double con-sonant rhymes the high sign. This kind of "cheating" should be confined tothe least conspicuous parts of the song, the interior rhyme scheme, for~£nne&mUA 59example, not paraded out proudly at the end of important lines that closeoff verses. Consider my song "Highwayman," where I bellow at the end ofa verse "and when the yards broke off they say that I got killed, hut I am living still"(Do as I say, not as I do.) It is common for the amateur to believe that"spit" rhymes with "fits." It doesn't. Pluralities (cats) do not rhyme withsingularities (that). The present tense—always ending in an "s" (flies,cries)—will not rhyme with the singular "sky." This will sometimes cause awriter a severe cramp upon committing his syntax to the present tense as Idid in a recent song when film producers insisted on the title "Where LoveResides."A heart that's young has to try its wingsIt leaves the nest and carelessly glidesInto the clouds where confusion hidesAnd when it's lostforgets the placeWhere Love Resides . . ."—Jimmy Webb,"Where Love Resides"An entire category of potential rhymes—virtually half of those avail-able—are eliminated by the insistence of the present tense that it willrhyme only with pluralities. The present tense, though one of the loveliestmodes of lyric writing, presents a special challenge.While the use of false rhymes is implicitly if wrongly condoned inmost of popular music, there is one arena where such carelessness is boundto bring fire and brimstone down in bulk on the brow (forehead?) of theoffender: In the musical theatre critics have an ear out for such sloppinessand will make a point of calling attention to it. Just a few oversights of thisnature could sway a critic to write a distinctly unfavorable review. The the-atre buff is likely to be well-educated and inclined to a high literary stan-dard, comparing the work of new lyricists to that of demigods like Lerner,Hammerstein, Sondheim, Hart—well, you get the picture.When with very high hopes I submitted my first New York writtenmusical, Tuxedo, to successful producers, I was chagrined when the score wasreturned with the comment, "Its no Sound of Music." I can assure you therewere few if any false rhymes in the libretto. If there had been a preponder-ance of false rhymes included, the score would have been returned with nocomment whatsoever, if not thrown in the shredder. Writers of lyrics for60 Jimmy Wi-:miBroadway musicals are specialists in the most precise sense of the word.I Ihmi genre lias its own discrete and highly complex rules, mores and cus-toms. Intricate "three-rhymes," amusing mental tricks made infamous byLarry I lart, have been a regular fixture in the lyrics of Broadway shows,though they rarely—if ever—are found in a pop song. Hart regaled someof his audience and permanently offended the rest by rhyming "Syria" and"Siberia," "Virginia," and "Abyssinia," "court you, gal" and "Portugal,""Corner ya," and "California," and finally, "go to hell for ya," and"Philadelphia." Young writers particularly interested in writing for the the-atre should obtain copies of Oscar Hammersteins Notes On Lyrics, 1949,Simon & Schuster, as well as Stephen Sondheims Talk On Lyrics, 1973.There is a whole category of rhyme that is found almost exclusively in theBroadway genre known as minor accent, consisting of contiguous, internal (rhymescheme) trailing, etc., valid or "perfect rhyme," but definitely off the beatenpath in the context of the lowly pop song.All this having been said it is undeniable that the false rhyme hascarved its niche in Americas musical heritage. The most famous and mem-orable false rhyme in history is found in "Red River Valley."Do not hasten to hid me adieuBut remember the Red River ValleyAnd the cowboy who loved you so true .—TraditionalTo understand without question the nature of a false rhyme it is neces-sary to consult a rhyming dictionary, which is the most important tool inthe shaping of basic materials. I have always used The Complete RhymingDictionary by Clement Wood for a number of reasons, the most importantbeing facility and ease of operation. In the heat of battle the most signifi-cant factor is probably speed. I readily admit that it is more likely the yearsI have spent using Clement Wood that inspire this favoritism. My copy iswell-thumbed. There are grooves in the disintegrating pages that I can readlike Braille along with an occasional phone number that will fetch anauthentic New York pie or notes that remind me to fix plumbing difficul-ties in houses in which I no longer live.I owe it to you to give this rhyming dictionary business the once-over,but first a small digression. A universally esteemed colleague of mine washolding forth a few years ago on the subject of rhyming dictionaries in this^uncStuUk 61way: "Well, you cant really use them (Foo Phaw) because it always soundslike you're using them (Huff, Puff) and it doesn't sound natural (Sniff,Achoo!) and the listener knows, I mean he knows, when he's hearing a rhymethat comes from a rhyming dictionary (Yawn). I mean it's a stilted thing,you know? and it's just better to sing those words that are common toinstinct and experience indicate thatmuch of the material presented is useless for the following reasons:1. Inspiration comes from the guts.2. Technique is a personal and very private conceit.3. Creativity as a concept is perhaps not well understoodby the people who practice it most successfully.And fourth, communicating and describing the complex abstractions rep-resented in a genuine and moving work of art is in all likelihood a contradictoryexercise. Like a sodden Bronze-age wood carving upon excavation from the seabed which—under water—displays the most delicate nuance of light, shadowand craftsmanship, but when brought into the dry light of day crumbles intomeaningless pulp even as the archeologist tries to touch it, photograph it, ana-lyze and then preserve it?Oscar Hammerstein II wrote of his kindly and brilliant Notes On Craft, "Iam discontented with what I have written here," and my God, so am I! But Ihave done it out of love for songwriting and songwriters whose company I pre-fer above all others, though to be truthful, we are not by nature a particularlyjolly crew. Mostly I have done it for those who still believe in the great power ofsongs and who may be attempting the delicate transition from amateur to pro-fessional like my sons, Chris, Justin and James. (Corey, Charles and Camila aresongwriters as well though they may not know it yet.) There are others whomay benefit from a candid portrayal of the way one songwriter works. Keep thefaith.Jimmy L. WebbHeald Pond, MaineApril 20, 1998contentsChapter OneOut of Thin Air IChapter TwoIn This Room You'll Never Make a Mistake 20Chapter ThreeIt's Only Words 37Chapter FourElements of Form 80Chapter FiveIt Cant Get No Verse ... 136Chapter SixGive Us a Tune Then, Jim 156Chapter SevenIn Search of the Lost Chord 219Chapter FightYou and the Words and the Music 256Chapter NineAt Odds and Ends 287Chapter TenGetting to First Base 307Chapter ElevenLiving with It 369Epilogue 405Publishing Credits 424Index 428te£OUT OF THIN AIRYou might wake up some morning,To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind,And ifyou're quick enough to rise,You'll catch thefleeting glimpse of someone'sfading shadow . . .—Bob Lind,'Elusive Butterfly""So what have we got on the Housewife Tapes?" she asked her producer."She" is one of the most successful and talented singers in the history ofAmericas recorded music. There was an unpromising silence as he tendedthe recording console for a moment. Then he swiveled his chair around toface her."The truth?"She just smiled."Notha," he said, and went back to his faders and pots and VUmeters.Let us put an end to the myth that amateur songwriters do not havethe slimmest chance of being heard by anyone of importance. Every livingsoul in the record business, bar none, is looking for The Great Song.Oscar Hammerstein once said, "The people who claim that the publishingand songwriting game is a tight ring into which beginners are not permit-2 Jimmy Webbted are usually people with carelessly written manuscripts in their brief-cases. The men who write the good songs haven't time for all this kind oftalk. They are too busy writing and loving what they write before theyshow it to anybody else." The Housewife Tapes? That is the great singersname for the flood of unsolicited material from amateurs that rises ceilinghigh whenever word goes out that she's making another album. It is herclaim that never in over two decades m the record business has sherecorded a song from one of these. But still she asks, "So what have we gotoil the Housewife Tapes?"There is no recording artist, manager, producer or publisher whowould not experience a transcendent thrill should they happen to discoversome perfect gem on such an unlikely tape. So what is the primary factorthat separates the rejected amateur songwriter from the accepted profes-sional? Probably this: Most amateurs do not regard the writing of songs asserious hard work. Indeed, there are members of my family who believethat worrisome character flaws and much moral ruin have evolved from thefact that I've never had a real job. In reality, however, songwriting is Hellon Earth. If it isn't, then you're doing it wrong.Are vou still with me? Then let's take the following concept and eradicateit from our minds forever: "Songwriting might be a fun way to make someeasv money if I get lucky." "Lucky" would seem to be the operational word inthis sentence, in which case it would be wiser for the gambler to embark on acareer as a film actor. Oscar Hammerstem also said, "My reservation aboutamateurs is that they are money-mad. The professional loves songs and lovessongwriting. The amateurs want some quick money and think that songwrit-ing is an easy way to get it." Movie stars make a hundred or a thousand timesmore money than songwriting stars, and besides, everyone knows what theylook like. Let's consider some goals that are more specific: "I would like tomake a living as a songwriter," or "I have my heart set on writing The GreatAmerican Musical," or "I want to write those clever country tunes," or "I'm agood smger but I want to write mv own material and write it extremely well."A writer's ultimate purpose is in many ways irrelevant because a good song-writer can do all of these things and even do them all at the same time (withinreason). The paramount joy of the craft is that however simplv it is begun itcan take the writer on a lifelong voyage across many wondrous and diversemusical seas. Versatility is the hallmark of the great professional songwriters.Consider Lennon and McCartnev together and separately. "I Want to Hold"[Hne&HxUA 3Your Hand," "Norwegian Wood," "Penny Lane," "I Am the Walrus," "Here,There and Everywhere." Such stunning facility is not necessarily a birthright,though some are born with quicker minds and nimbler fingers than others. Itcould easily be said of one who has "talent" that he or she knows how to dowhat they want to do. A good songwriter should be able to write a song in anygenre for virtually any purpose.Countless times by people from other vocations I have been asked:"Where do you get your ideas?" I would worry somewhat about such aperson's potential development into a professional songwriter. Let me giveyou an example. I was sitting at home the other night watching a PublicService announcement on TV and heard the announcer say in voice-over,"At the place where good and evil meet, the victim of crime is alone."Immediately I started thinking about a song, fascinated by a place wheregood and evil might possibly meet. Song ideas are the most intense long-ings of the soul and its deepest regrets. For the sake of argument, let mepropose that they arrange themselves in these nine categories:1. People, places or events in our memory that make us happy, sador angry: "Last Night When We Were Young"—Harold Arlen& E. Y Harburg2. People, places or events that are affecting us at the present timeby the same criteria: "You ve Lost That Lovin Feelin "—Spector, Weil & Mann3. People, places or events that are likely to affect us in the futureby the same criteria: "Any Day Now"—Burt Bacharach & BobHilliard4. Satire; sarcasm and humor of a personal or political nature, usu-ally exercised at the expense of others but sometimes aimed atourselves: "A Simple Desultory Philippic"—Paul Simon5. Songs emanating from fictional characters (untrustworthy narra-tors) whose identities we assume in order to make our point—serious or humorous: "Rednecks"—Randy Newman6. The recounting of events in story form—the true ballad: "ElPaso"—Marty Robbins7. Silly music. Comedic and/or novelty numbers that teach dances:"Ahab the Arab"—Ray Stevens4 Jimmy Wi;bb8. Abstract surrealism: "Strawberry Fields"—Lennonyourown intelligence!" (The speaker had an IQ of at least 1 80.) Thank you forthat.' We know now for a fact that guns don't kill people, right? It'srhyming dictionaries that kill people! And it's not incompetence thatshoots uninspired hack rhymes into our earlobes with all the finesse of acannon. Please, if I may: It is bad writing that ruins rhymes—not lists ofwords that do or do not rhyme. Having taken such a forceful stand on thesubject, I must now inform you that Hammerstein fastened a rather jaun-diced eye on the rhyming dictionary, feeling in particular that it hamperedone's search for sophisticated word play like that of Lorenz Hart. "Arhyming dictionary, however, should be used as a supplement to one's owningenuity, and not a substitute for it. I do not open mine until I haveexhausted my own memory and invention of rhymes for a word." So saidMr. Hammerstein, and it's hard to argue with this perfectly naturaldescription of the way most songwriters work, that is, exhausting theirown mental resources first and then falling back on the rhyming dictionarywhen difficulty sets in.On a recent trip to Barnes & Noble I found eight rhyming dictionarieson the shelf in a neat row. Store management touted Dell's Complete RhymingDictionary, Revised Edition as their number-one seller.The Dell dictionary is a rather undistinguished paperback originallycopyrighted in 1936. A representative of the store admitted that its pop-ularity was probably a reflection of its low price because of strenuousmass-marketing on the part of the publisher. Dell sells a lot of dictionaries—mostly to neophytes recently bitten by the rap virus, but if they don't turnup their noses at a rhyming dictionary, then why should those of us whoimagine that we are more sophisticated?What should strike the consumer almost immediately is how venerablesome of these dictionaries are. The New Rhyming Dictionary and Poet's Handbook(Burge and Johnson) was first published in 1 93 1. Though it is arrayed in amodern-looking soft cover and has been revised in 1957 and most recentlyin 1 99 1, there is a distinct aura of antiquity about the rhymes listed and theforeword offers little in terms of practical advice for the songwriter.62 Jimmy WebbMy own admitted favorite, Clement Wood's The Complete RhymingDictionary, debuted five years later in 1936, and while songwriting is men-tioned briefly in the foreword, Wood's true love is obviously classic poetry.The feet that "Aldebaran" rhymes with "Baconian," "thaumatolatry" with"gyneolatry" and "extra-judicial" with "recrementitial" is of not muchinterest when one is trying desperately to finish a new song for Meat Loaf.Jane Shaw Whitfield did not write Victorian novels. Her Songwriter'sRhyming Dictionary came on the scene in 1 95 1, with Langford Reed'sThe Writer's Rhyming Dictionary a decade later and, without intending to bedeliberately unkind, these are both nondescript.Finally in 1 98 1 a seminal work appeared, conceived by a recognizedprofessional for use by other songwriters, The Modern Rhyming Dictionary byGene Lees, author of some truly elegant and well-crafted lyrics including"Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars (Corcovado)" "Song of the Jet (Samba DoAviao)" and "Waltz for Debbie." The volume holds up well in the presentday—particularly the scholarly and extensive foreword in seven chapters,addressing songwriting fundamentals and some finer points even if a bitsternly. Lees has devised a phonetic method of finding words that is quiteclear, and has included interesting sub-hyphen groupings according to theconsonant that begins the final syllable or syllables of the words in the twoand three rhyme sections as well as many imperfect rhymes—carefully marked.He pays particular attention to the vernacular, even to differences inspeech patterns in various parts of the country—a very nice touch. Cross-referencing is by page number, thank heaven! This dictionary is a no-nonsense tool for the serious songwriter and is highly recommended.In 1985 the Penguin Rhyming Dictionary (Rosalind Fergusson) rolled offthe presses completely ignoring Mr. Lees's innovations and one can't helpwondering just what exactly was the point except that dictionaries are theliterary equivalent of pork bellies and most large publishing houses proba-bly feel as though they have to print a few every now and then.An affable little hardcover volume appeared in 1987, the Webster sCompact Rhyming Dictionary, whose primary appeal is its small chunkystature—rather like hefting one's overweight two-year-old brother.Unfortunately cuteness doesn't really count.To turn to something more useful, Sue Young's The New ComprehensiveAmerican Rhyming Dictionary is the best new dictionary I have read. What canyou say about an author who lists "genitalia" with "never fail ya"? or"Smokey the Bear" with "ready-to-wear"? or "rouge et noire" with "Hersheybar"? The dictionary is fresh and extremely easy to use, concentrating moreon the sound of words than their strict spelling and extensively incorporat-ing American slang. I was impressed with the simple fact that the phoneticsound "ou" (how now brown cow) was listed as "ow"—much more conve-nient than phonetics and a lot easier to find when a writer is in a hurry.Young submits lists of expressions and ideas that rhyme in addition to indi-vidual words. Brilliant!Random House and Penguin both make a neat little shirt-pocketrhyming dictionary in a durable plastic cover each of which lists over thirtythousand words. Random House would seem to have the edge in ease ofoperation. (Every writer should have a small dictionary for travel.)A Zillion Kajillion Rhymes is a program for Macintosh users that listsover six and a half million words. It will rhyme any given syllable in multi-syllable rhymes instantly, always carefully reminding the user of the rootword and correct spelling. If it can t find a rhyme for the word you type in,it will attempt to rhyme on a common root word by automatically strip-ping prefixes and suffixes—usually in less than a second. In fact it will dojust about everything (including the dishes) except write the song for you,and one of these days who knows? There may even be a program that willhelp you to do that as well.By far the wittiest and most entertaining of the old favorites, Words toRhyme With by Willard Espy (1986) covers heretofore unexplored territoryin the discovery and listing of obscure and eccentric rhymes. (As a point ofinterest Espy maintains that a rhyming "dictionary" is not a dictionary atall since it defines nothing.)For the writer interested in humorous or comedic creations no work islikely to supplant the drollery of Willard Espy. The monotony of his neatcolumns is occasionally relieved by a gem like this:THE MADCHEN AND THE NAZIA Madchen met a NaziAnd said, "I will not heil.It isn't hotsy-totsy,It s going out of style.Today I'm feeling smoochy;I'm off to meet II Duce;64 JIMMY Wl-BBWe'll do the hoochy-koochy,And snuggle for awhile."(Try singing that one with "The Addams Family" theme!)The commonalty of these dictionaries is that all of them will purportto tell you the difference between a false and genuine rhyme. A properrhyme is simply a word whose terminal (last) sound is exactly like anotherexcepting the consonant which must always be different—provided there isa consonant. (In the latter case, for example, air rhymes impeccably withlair, though the rhyme is not as strong as with pair orfair.Usually rhyming dictionaries are divided into three sections—in classi-cal terms semi-iamb, iambic and dactylic. Put simply: one- two- and three-syllable rhymes. Single rhymes ("masculine") always fall on the last syllable:bird/ third, night/inviteNote that in the example even though "invite" is a two-syllable wordits rhyming with "night"is a single rhyme. The same would hold true if"invite" were rhymed with "to fight!'Double rhymes ("penults," "feminine") or "two-rhymes" are rhymesthat fall on the second to last syllable (in two-syllable rhymes, the rhymemust fall on a stressed syllable, otherwise it is called unstressed rhyme—shal-low/follow, silly/wily):Action/traction, miamiic/protop/asmic, self-praiser/ star-gazerNote in these examples that regardless of the number of syllables ineach they are all double rhymes because of the last two syllables.Triple rhymes ("antepenults" or "three-rhymes") rhyme on the thirdto last syllable.Reference/deference, cheek ily/sneak ily, beckoning/reckoning.No word from any one of these three major subdivisions will rhymelegitimately with a word from another. The number of syllables in a word does notdetermine whether it is a single, double or triple rhyme, only the actual placement ofthe rhymed syllable among the last three syllables.Three-syllable rhymes rarely occur in most pop songs but, as has beenstated, are more likely to turn up in Broadway scores and will almost cer-tainly be heard in the specialty number that precedes the Academy Awards~[H,nes*HUfi 65broadcast. One- and two-syllable rhymes, on the other hand, are in con-stant use. Though it may seem awkward at first the writer will eventuallylearn to find these quickly.It is also possible for the fiercely ambitious rhymer with a good supplyof diet pills to create "four-rhymes," "quadruple rhymes," or more clearlystated, "four-syllable rhymes."Slumped on thefloorDumped on the shoreCompound rhymes of this nature (this amounts to rhyming a completephrase) are usually not—very rarely can be—technically perfect. They arefound most often in a comical context where their "busyness" and imperfectnature contribute to a tongue-in-cheek effect. Most rhyming dictionaries willnot attempt to list them, as they are an artificial construct distilled by thewriter from literally hundreds of thousands of possible combinations.Here are some things to watch out for when choosing a rhyming dic-tionary. Most have exclusive systems for searching out rhymes and tend tospell their phonetics differently. As Neil Radisch and David Goldstein askin their foreword to A Zillion Kajillion Rhymes, "Would you find rhymes forthe word Tate' under 'ait' or 'ate'? Or maybe its listed in the 'eeV under'eight.' " Buy one that has a system you can understand.There is a bakers dozen of types of near rhymes that almost alwayscome across as mistakes. Consider smothered rhyme: "running with "sing —the latter occurring fairly often in amateur songwriting but rarely withoutachieving an unintentional comic effect. Consider as well identicals, wordsthat sound exactly the same with different spellings like "hair" and "hare."Another kind of identical is a word having the same consonant and vowelsounds as another word such as acquisitive, inquisitive, uninquisitive.Switching the prefix around does not suffice. Curiously, many dictionarieslist these as kosher. "Eye rhymes" are words in which the rhyming syllablesare spelled the same and appear to rhyme like cow/blow, cough/enough,slough/bough, etc. They dont rhyme, folks. Remember also that manyrhyming dictionaries contain errors relating specifically to which words door do not rhyme. If two words sound like a rhyme in idiomatic or commonusage, they can be used no matter what the correct spelling or pronuncia-tion. For instance, some traditional dictionaries would unequivocally con-demn the attempt to rhyme "real" with "steal" as clumsy because they are66 JIMMY W Hit Itrespectively a one- and a two-syllable word. In the trenches this is accept-able.It is also proper to rhyme two individual words with a two-syllableword as in "miller/kill her," being careful not to attempt "bill sir" (as in"your bill, sir"). To further explain, "Ohio" rhymes with "I owe" as longas the writer is careful not to attempt "I know" or "I go" with "Ohio."Many rhyming dictionaries will provide footnotes pointing out these mosaicrhyme schemes to the writer in addition to tricks regarding the rhyming ofmonosyllables with pluralities as in mix with all words ending in "~ick"provided that an "s" is added ("mix" with "trick" + "s," etc.).Rhyme is a shelterfor mediocrity.—ShelleyPerhaps so. Certainly wonderful songs have been written withoutrhyme. Gene Lees cites "Moonlight in Vermont" and I agree with himthat this exquisite standard does not suffer noticeably for lack of it.Stephen Bishop's gorgeous "Separate Lives" rhymes—it would seem—only in a diffident, unintentional way. John Lennon's "I Am the Walrus"relies for the most part on percussive alliteration and repetition of conso-nance. Paul Simons elegant "America" doesn't rhyme one bit, nor does thefirst verse of "I Got Rhythm" (George and Ira Gershwin).However, the rhyming tradition so predominates American music thatit is interesting to speculate on just what the vast listening public's reactionwould be if the government of this country were to be suddenly usurped bysome mad poetic dictator who would then decree that "all rhyme is acrime" and that all rhyming dictionaries would have to be burned forth-with. Me thinks he would remain in power, not much longer than a hour.Long ago so-called serious poets abandoned the pretense of rhyme andit is to this development that songwriters probably owe the intelligentsia'sperception of us as lying pretty close to the bottom of the cultural foodchain. Ezra Pound once wrote in a letter to his mother:Tell me not in mournful wish-washLife's a sort of sugared dish-washAnd all that sort of thing.**;4 Serious Character: The Life of Ezra Pound by Humphrey Carpenter, ©1988,Houghton Mifflin Co.~tnnesmUA 67This struck home when a writer in Rolling Stone referred to my "soapsy,sudsy lyrics" in a review of a Ronstadt album (The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress).Jack Nicholson noted in his eulogy to John Huston that one of the onlythings Huston had truly hated was "maudlin songs." This subject isdeserving of a short digression. "Maudlin" songs are said to be songs thatare just too "on the nose." Feinstein (in his book Nice Work If You Can GetIt) points out that Yip Harburg despised maudlin songs and that in his"Brother Can You Spare a Dime" the beggar is portrayed as a man withdignity, not a sap. This is dangerous territory for any writer as the subjectresolves itself immediately into a question of judgment. An attack on awriters lyric is often indistinguishable from an attack on his person. Let'scheck it out.What is the difference between a "lyric" and a "poem," between a"poem" and "doggerel," between "doggerel" and "folk art," between a"maudlin song" and one that is merely depressing? First a technical view ofan emotional subject: What is the difference between poetry and other kindsof writing? A healthy controversy on this subject was still raging when CarlSandburg wrote, "What can be explained is not poetry." The ear has theanswer. Poetry has an audible rhythmic regularity, a cadence. Prose or writingthat has no deliberate rhythm has a quality of irregularity, an undisciplinedflow of accented and unaccented syllables. True? Not necessarily. Muchserious poetry is written in blank verse with only a casual doff of the hat toregularity while the greatest of prose writers agonize over the rise and fall ofaccents in a given sentence and rewrite endlessly and tirelessly to achieve thecorrect rhythmic balance, which might as well be defined as a kind of regu-larity. The correct answer is that some writing is arbitrarily divided intolines of a fixed and repetitive regularity and/or rhythmic symmetry orasymmetry, and when deliberately arranged into verses, stanzas, etc., theseconstructs are called poems. Some poetry is divided into irregular or eccen-triclines with little or no regard for a fixed syllable count or rhyme, and thisis called blank verse. Some poetry is simply written out in long elegantstrands, sentence following sentence, and sometimes may rightfully beregarded as prose. Here I expect some resistance but there is no denying thatsome prose, that of Pablo Neruda for example, is a kind of poetry. Somehave said that the prose of James Joyce is really poetry. Leonard Bernsteinhas said that Joyce s repetition of elementary sounds gives us "the whole68 ]IMMY Wl-BUrange of poetic assonance." Bernstein said a lot of wonderful things con-ccrning poetry. "We can see poetry born of the repetition of actual words,not just sounds," he said, "that it is repetition, modified in one way oranother that gives poetry its musical qualities," he also said, among manyother great and wonderful things that cannot be included here. However,the reader is gently nudged in the direction of the composer, who was amore knowledgeable and confident assessor/analyst of the semantic andsub-textual origins and meanings of poetry than many literary men of hisgeneration. "Honesty in this battle of bitterness and justice makes for themusical line in poetry, or for a prosody that can be called accurate, beauti-ful, free," Bernstein continued, reiterating his consistent and recurring beliefin duality at the very core of creativity (The Unanswered Question, Bernstein'sLectures at Harvard). Philosopher Eli Siegel seems to have come to the sameconclusion. "Poetry is exactitude and value at once. There can be exactitudeabout the unseen. Poetry gets to the music resulting from authentic, precise,and entire examination," he wrote, and then added, "Poetic music, amongother things, is a junction of pride and humility, endeavor and rest" (TheRight of Aesthetic Realism to Be Known, Letter #170, June 30, 1976, TheAesthetic Realism Foundation).So we come back to the question: What is the difference betweenpoetry and other kinds of writing? The professors will tell you that poetry ispoetry because it "awakens the higher or nobler emotions." Take a momentto think about that. Such a posture would effectively eliminate AllenGinsberg's gut-wrenching "Howl" as poetry, not to mention a good dealof what most "serious" poets have written. In truth poetry is a kind ofwriting that deliberately evokes any emotional response. Since especially laugh-ter is an emotional response, a good limerick is unquestionably poetry.Though song lyrics share many of the characteristics of poetry and indeedmany times poems have been set to music and used as songs, experiencedwriters like Stephen Sondheim are aware of many subtle differences."Lyrics exist in time—as opposed to poetry, for example. You can read apoem at your own speed," he has said. The content of a lyric differs fromthat of a poem in that storytelling or development must be accomplishedmore expeditiously within the confines of the song. There are a finite num-ber of "slots" available for syllables of any kind in the format of the popu-lar song. A quick count of the number of notes in many a familiar melodywill reveal that there are surprisingly few; therefore, the lyric must contain~£nnesn>iUA 69a relatively large amount of information, content, story, development—call it what you will—in comparison to the poem.A critic can call any poem "doggerel." That is no more than a slur."Doggerel" or "maudlin" or "sappy" or "sentimental" is in the ear of thelistener. By the by, "sentimental" is okay as it is defined as "marked or gov-erned by feeling, sensibility, or emotional idealism." It is "sentimentality"that is to be avoided, like the fiddleback spider, being as it is "the quality orstate of being sentimental to excess or in affectation." Again we are facedwith a judgment call and must keep a sharp eye on our outpourings toinsure they are not overly gooey.The intellectual elite probably believe that most of the lyrics thatsongwriters create are "doggerel" of one kind or another—that is to say"trivial." Even in the early 1700s songwriters appear to have been lodgedclose to the bottom of the cultural totem pole, as around 171 1 JosephAddison (the famous British essayist) said, "Nothing is capable of beingwell set to music that is not nonsense." "Mawkish" efforts are even worse,having as they do "an insipid, often unpleasant taste, sickly sentimental."The young songwriter has now been warned about the implacable natureof the enemy. Under a rather large umbrella, preferred twentieth-centurytaste in art of all kinds has been characterized by a kind of detachment, orsangfroid. It is simply not chic to be carried away in ones emotional reac-tion to a subject. All serious communication or complaint must be care-fully wrapped in a protective coating of irony and/or satire.Believe it or not, one of the classical definitions of a "verse" is that it[a verse] does not "awaken the higher or nobler emotions." Curious then,that the first section or division of a popular song has come to be knownas a "verse." Even more curious that pure poetry, including elitist blankverse, has lapsed into relative obscurity in the same century while humblepopular song has become the universal driving force behind political andsocial change, not to mention an economic juggernaut whose success isprobably eclipsed only by the historical advent of the popular newspaper.Surely these popular songs must be awakening emotions of some kind.Whether they are "higher or nobler" we must leave to the clergy.My contention is that since song lyrics undoubtedly provoke an emo-tional response ("Long Tall Texan" by Henry Strzelecki) they are poetry.Now we come to the detractors' party trick of reading the lyrics of a givensong aloud without benefit of melody. This is roughly akin to viewing the70 Jimmy Webbqueen of England at her coronation without her gown. I was recently aguest on a popular London radio talk show and my host—as a kind ofwicked surprise—launched almost immediately into a reading of the lyricsfrom "Too Young to Die," a song from my Suspending Disbelief album alsorecorded by David Crosby. He read:/ recall my so-called mis-spent youthIt seems more worthwhile every single dayCruisin Van Nuys and actin so uncouthAll the joys of runnin away . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Too Young to Die""That's really awful, isn't it?" he asked in jocular fashion before pro-ceeding unbidden:No speed limit on Nevada state lineThe air was red wine on those top-down nightsJust you and me my old roller skateAnd the common sense to know our rightsWe knew our rights then . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Too Young to Die"He never got to the chorus. If he had, he would have discovered that Iwasn't using "roller skate" as a term of endearment for any girlfriend butthat I had actually written the song for an automobile. Lets not grouse overthe fact that most people just don't pay very much attention anymore.Song lyrics are meant to be heard in their entirety and with the music thathelped shape them.A song is a magical marriage between a lyric (some words) and a melody(some notes). It is not a poem. It is not music. It is in this gray area of syn-thesis between language, rhythm and sound that some of the most acute ofall sensors of human emotion lie.I would like to hear more experimentation in the area ofsetting blank verseto music. (There is nothing m this world more stunning than John Corigliano'schoral setting for Dylan Thomas's "Fern Hill.") The imaginative and coura-geous innovator has my blessing for what it's worth, but by and large the worldis not apt to pay much attention and airplay will most likely be scarce."JT KHCSHxHA 71The best most of us can hope for is to continue to "rhyme in timewith notes sublime" and to try to do it well. But even if our rhymes areimpeccable and reasonablyfresh there are other cliches, nonrhyming ones,songwriting "habits" that are rarely scrutinized for the same reason thatflies usually attract little notice at a fish fry.How can one account for the prevalence of the word "fool" in thepopular song? Is it just songwriters who are fools or is it a unilateralindictment of the human condition? Either way, hasn't almost enoughbeen written on the subject of clowns, fools, jesters and harlequins of allkinds?I have a laconic guitar-playing friend from Arkansas who listenedpatiently while I played him what I supposed to be one of my best newsongs. "What do you think?" I asked when I had finished (as songwritersalmost inevitably will). "Well, there's only one thing wrong with it," hedrawled with a deadpan expression. "What's that?" I wondered aloud. "Itdoesn't have a Tool' in it," he grinned.You will notice that in this book, generally speaking, I am not loath toconfess my own guilt in matters such as this. On Suspending Disbelief in asong called "It Won't Bring Her Back" a fool sneaked into my bar with acouple of other down-in-the-mouth characters.It Wont Bring Her Back to drive yourself insaneShe's already busy with anotherfool . . .—Jimmy Webb,"It Won't Bring Her Back"I wrote it, darn my hide! At least I disproved the theory that it is amagic word that guarantees a hit. I think it would be quite foolish ofme touse it again.And what can be said for "baby"? Well, without "baby" we wouldhave been songless since about 1953. My late friend Harry Nilsson oncesaid, "Never say 'baby' unless you're talking about an infant—a little per-son." The ubiquitous endearment slides by unnoticed for the most part,having become a kind of meaningless buffer or slug in the rhythm andmeter of a given line. In pop, rock and R&B, the word will never be dis-placed even though it is a word and should never be just thrown in. (It mayseem silly and out of place in some styles of writing; e.g., Broadway scoresand most always in gospel songs.)72 Jimmy WhbbWe are also subjected eternally to the metaphor that someone's poor"heart" is doing this (being broken) or doing that (singing, soaring). Thiscliche is almost inescapable because we have only one other- word to com-municate the essence of our emotional being, the equally prevalent "soul,"an untranslatable concept, which is in truth a religious word. In the Englishlanguage we have no better word for the essence or distillation of our emo-tional identity except our poor, overused "heart."While on a sojourn to Rio de Janeiro in ancient times I repeatedly heardthe seductive buzzing murmur of the word saudade in the songs of AntonioCarlos Jobim, Milton Naciamento and others. I finally was unable to stifle mycuriosity and asked a young female interpreter about the meaning of thismost beautiful of Portuguese words. "It has no meaning in English," she said.Still I'm reasonably certain that it has something to do with "heart."The writer will find it hard to resist ending a song title/idea with theword "love." "This Hopeless Love," "Without Your Love," "When I HadYour Love," and so on and on and on. "Love" is a severely crippled wordfrom a rhyming standpoint. There is "above," "dove," "shove," "glove"(which is a not a strong rhyme). For this reason the stars are always shining"above ," a lover is always as gentle as a "dove." God knows what you can dowith a "glove," except refer to Paul Francis Webster and Dimitri Tiomkin'sbeautiful "Thee I Love" in which the writer implores, "So put on yourbonnet, your cape and your glove, and come with me, for thee I love."Rhyming "love" with "of" is a false rhyme (the vowels are different) butits worst aspect is that "of" is a preposition so that "love" is somethingthat we're always "dreaming of" or "thinking of."One reasonable solution is to move the title to the first line of the songas in:When I Had Your LoveI saw the world through clearer eyesIfelt so strong and young and wise . . .The writer proceeds through the main body of the song until at the end:And still they say Vm quite a manBut I don't really give a damnCause I was twice the man I amWhen I Had Your Love . . .~£nncspHith 73That's the idea. (Even though the word "man" comes off erroneouslyas a false rhyme.) Avoid rhyming the word "love" as you would avoid thebubonic plague.Here's another way of handling the song title as a chorus.VERSE I: (We will assume there is a verse of about eight lines here.)CHORUS: When I Had Your LoveI was the richest man on earthWhen I Had Your LoveI knew what life was worthFve never been a kingTm not of noble birthBut When I Had Your LoveI was the richest man on earth . . .In so doing the writer simply takes the vulnerable "love" rhyme out ofthe line of fire. The same techniques can be used to shield any other vul-nerable rhymes that occur when the writer is dead set on using a certainspecific title/idea.One obvious weak spot in the previous impromptu example is thecliche "noble birth." Not only is it rather stuffy-sounding but it is also anarchaism, which is to say that people just don't talk that way anymore. Thewriter will wish to avoid Elizabeth Barrett Browningisms such as "this Ivow" or "fevered brow." He or she should prefer "I woke up" to "I awoke"and "I won't go home" to "I will not go home." (Normally people speak incontractions.) It is an affectation to break these apart for no good reason,particularly when the first half of the contraction is deliberately overac-cented in a poor imitation of Bob Dylan. Nilsson caught me in flagrantedelicto more than once and seemed delighted to gently nag me about it.A related archaism is the substitution of a forced past tense in order toachieve a proper rhyme as in this line from "Highwayman"—Along the coach roads I did rideWith sword and pistol by my side . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Highwayman"—instead of the simple and conversational "I rode." Usually the writer does74 Jimmy Webbthis either to accommodate the melody or to make a rhyme. I support theconceil in this instance by alleging that the character who sings this line in"f [ighwayman" is a fellow from the eighteenth century—a road agent—u/v actually speaks this way. When the writers material is specific in its histori-cal context archaisms become more or less permissible. Common sense tellsus when we hear a word or phrase that sounds awkward on the tongue of acontemporary character. Of course in the Broadway theatre the writer mayfind himself making a study of archaisms from a specific period in order touse them accurately. Consider this song from Camelot by Alan Jay Lerner:/ Wonder What the King Is Doing Tonight?What merriment is the king pursuing tonight?—Alan Jay Lerner,"I Wonder What the King Is Doing Tonight"Merriment is a deliberate archaism.Sometimes the amateur writer may unwittingly or deliberately usurp awell-known, even classic song title. Some of these are innocuous enough.One would probably not be faulted for writing a new song called "Always."It's only a word after all. And in any case, song titles are not subject to copyright.The writer might want to exercise a little more discretion before writing anew song called "Mack the Knife," however. No one is likely to write a"Mack the Knife" that is better than the original by Kurt Weill andBertolt Brecht. At best the practice indicates that the writer is devoid ofimagination, at worse that he is an exploitive sort. Oh hell, it's just dull,stupid behavior that shows little respect for the work of others and per-haps even less for oneself.Sometimes this inadvertent repetition seems to happen cosmically andsimultaneously as though song ideas are adrift in a universal plasma so thaton occasion two different writers seem to tune in to the same one at thesame time. No experienced songwriter can becompletely unaware of thisphenomenon. I wrote a song called "Where Have You Been?" just beforeKathy Mattea had a number-one country song with the same title("Where've You Been") written by Jon Vezner and Don Henry, and to behonest the fact that Cole Porter had written a song by the same title in1930 had unforgivably escaped my attention. What should a writer do insuch a case? Tear it up and forget it.~tnni&m\tk 75In the same vein we have what I call the "dead-on-its-feet simile." Thewriter is in trouble if he or she is "crying a river," or if their tears are"falling like rain" or "flowing toward a river" or into a pond or a lake orany other body of water. "Cry Me a River," the immortal standard byArthur Hamilton, is the most vivid and memorable if not the earliest treat-ment of exaggerated boo-hooing:So you can Cry Me a River, Cry Me a RiverI cried a river over you.—A. Hamilton,"Cry Me a River"Leave it alone. Its been done already. Its been done to death already. Theacerbic critic has a word for beating a dead horse with a blunt cliche:derivative.Lets think of another way to describe uncontrolled weeping. Toimprovise:And when she cried her tearsfell like starsIn a meteor showerfor hour after hourAnd each one glistened in thefirelightTill the unendingfall had put thefire out . . .I think I could call it "Blubbering on W. B. Yeats s Toes." But seriously,we must make an effort to see familiar things in an innovative way. We neednot try to "run like the wind." Bob Seger decided to run "against thewind" instead and those of us who have at least half our lives behind usappreciate that metaphor. It is almost too close to the truth. When search-ing for a new way to express the familiar it is always helpful to look at athings opposite: The Mafia chieftain who is so angry that he kisses theman he is about to kill. The person who is so overcome by grief that theyare laughing hysterically. The woman who is so happy that she cant con-trol her tears. The night that was so pitch black that it "whited-out" onthe retina. The explosion that was so loud it couldn't be heard. The roomthat was so quiet that the clock on the mantel clanked and roared like asteel mill. The fugitive in "Highwayman" who has died three times butstill lives. This kind of thinking is father to a whole genre of autonymicsong titles such as "Full Moon and Empty Arms" and "I Got It Bad andThat Ain't Good."76 immy WebbTry to avoid "this is my song" territory. It's a little corny at this pointin time to hear the writer advertising himself by saying "This is my song"about this or "This is my song" about that, especially since this genre hasbeen SO brilliantly exploited by the masters.Andyou can tell ev'rybody,This is Your Song,It may be quite simple but,Now that its done,I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mindThat I put down in wordsHow wonderful life is, while you're in the world.—E. John & B.Taupin,"Your Song"/ know it's kind of lateI hope I didn't wake youBut what I've got to say can't waitI hope you'll understandEverytime I try to tell youThe words just came out wrong.So I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song . . .—Jim Croce,"I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song"The songwriter is being intimate with the listener about the actualprocess of writing a song. It is a valid approach and without doubt inter-esting, but it has been done. Closely related are songs where we find writersand musicians sometimes addressing their own instruments as in BillvJoel's "Baby Grand," or my own "Piano." It is innovative when writersaddress inanimate objects as opposed to people: buildings, towns, automo-biles or even pets. What if the writer sang a song to himself as though heis literally looking in the mirror? "Self Portrait" might be a good title.An infringement that is no doubt as serious as co-opting song titles orimitating specific approaches is allowing individual lines to overresembleimportant or significant lines from other famous songs, as briefly men-tioned in Chapter One. An example of one of these is playing on the endcredits of a movie on my videotape recorder even as I write this. The writer~tnni$m\tk 11is trumpeting, "We are the power, we are the people." Why not just add,"We are the world, we are the children," and get it over with? Nothing willmark the amateur quite as indelibly as this kind of quasi-cribbing. Pleasedon't do it. At the very least remember that I told you not to do it.What is two-rhyme hell ? That s when the writer gets stuck on one pageof the rhyming dictionary and obsesses in this manner:I've got a strange afflictionThat's almost a convictionNine-hundred-line predictionIs now my main addiction.Two-rhymes are not as potent as masculine rhymes. The repetition ofthe suffix Action washes out the effect of the rhyme on the ear. What if wealternate the two-rhyme with a masculine one?Yve got a strange afflictionThat keep me on my toesFm hung up on predictionAs everybody knows.And now it's my convictionThat my new concubineIs now my main addictionIts my nine-hundred line . . .While we re on the subject of these mesmerizing columns of rhymingwords it is time to recognize a category of rhymes that might be called kiss-ing cousins. These kissing cousins are probably more important to the song-writer than any rules, methods or advisos. These are the words in a givencolumn of proper rhymes that are related. We could then refer to themproperly as related rhymes. How so? And why are they so important to us?Okay. We re writing a song about a sailboat and we declare somewhere inthe first couple of lines that "she s a fine trim craft." We want to rhyme"craft" so we go to (in this case) Clement Wood and find:abaftaftcraftdaft78 Jimmy WhbbdraftgrafthaftrafishaftwaftWhat are the related rhymes in this list? We know we re talking about asailboat, our "craft," remember? So "aft" (the arse-end of a sailboat),"draft" (the amount of water a sailboat displaces), "haft" (the handle of acaptains sword), "raft" (an inferior form of boat), "shaft" (perhaps wehave an engine on our sailboat and the engine has a "shaft"), "waft"(breezes do this and sailboats need a good breeze) and "abaft" (archaic sailtalk for something that's further aft than another thing), all of these arerelated rhymes and it is our ability to group them together according to sub-ject matter that enables us to write cogent lyrics, to pick an appropriaterhyme for the word "craft" in the context of a song about a sailboat. As anexercise choose columns of rhyming words at random from your dictio-nary of choice and (in pencil) underline the related rhymes.She's afine trim craftWith divine slim draft . . .The very smallest of words deserve our attention: Conjunctions suchas "but," "of," "and," "or," "when," etc., can have a surprisingly potent effecton an entire line./ loved her but she let me down.Or:I loved her and she let me down.Or:/ loved her when she let me down.Too often the subtle effect of these tiny words is discounted by thebeginning songwriter as unimportant and they are treated as "filler." I havemany times on a final rewrite of a lyric changed an "or" to an "and," forinstance, and breathed a deep sigh of relief on knowing that everythinghad finally fallen into perfect order.~fcnnesmitA 79So there are our two-by-fours, one-by-sixes, timbers, bricks and somesimple tools which we can use to select, shape and connect them. Like allarchitects and artisans we have rules to create by, building codes and guide-lines. We also have arcane knowledge—hints passed down to us by tradi-tion and our colleagues and predecessors. We have instincts and we canemulate the works that inspire us most. We have everyone else's mistakesand their dire warnings not to repeat them. More importantthan all ofthese is that once we know how things are usually done we are free to trysomething else. (When cathedrals became too large to support their ownweight some genius broke the rules and erected flying buttresses.)When we break the rules it is essential to weigh the risk. We must askourselves what is to be gained by using unconventional or even substan-dard materials (false rhymes, blank verse, etc.). Like the architect we maycome to the conclusion that we will have to bend the code to create a free-standing arched dome fifteen hundred feet in diameter. Can we make itstand? Can we make it beautiful?|£gELEMENTS OF FORMHow delicate the tracery of herfine linesLike the moonlight lace tops of the evening pines . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Watermark"In this and subsequent chapters, specifically Four through Eight, the casualreader may find him or herself disconnecting from some of the technicalinformation offered relative to song form, composition of melody orchord structure. The reader who is not concerned with some of the finernuances of songwritmg as a craft is invited to simply skip over the weight-ier passages at will.Individual words must next be organized into spans of meaning;remember that the basic rules of grammar hold true. Lyrics have no speciallicense to violate sensible guidelines for sentence construction. Regulararrangements of a number of these spans of meaning (lines) are analogousto walls that divide a song into different "rooms" with different purposesand names. Generally speaking, the arbitrary arrangement of lines is calledartificial line division, and before we design our first "room," called a verse, wemust explore the origins and meanings of artificial line division.~£nne&ntUh 81The origins of songwriting form are probably prehistoric. At somepoint during the Cro-Magnon cave culture s heyday, crude, guttural, mostlikely monosyllabic communication evolved into the first line. There is lit-tle doubt that at some location in the ancient past a man similar to us inphysiology uttered the first fragmentary sentence. He did this by connect-ing a series of individual sounds or words representing objects or actionsin order to convey meaning. Perhaps the first sentence was: "Holy cow,where did all those cotton-pickin saber-toothed tigers come from?"It is not inconceivable that songs, or the Cro-Magnon equivalent,may have been the very first form of complex communication between'groups of individuals. If, as is commonly theorized, painting began inthose times (or even earlier), who will doubt that aural art began as well?Tribal law, fertility rites and the recounting of great exploits in battle (thefirst ballads) evolved into oral histories of the entire existence of a people."Primitive chants," these have been called. "Chant" from the Latin cantus,meaning "song," or cantare, meaning "to sing." Man was "writing" songsbefore he was making speeches or creating books. To this day poets areromantically said to be "singing" when they are merely reciting the writ-ten word.There is a very real physical problem associated with reciting orsinging a lengthy narrative and that is the necessity of breathing. At somepoint the cantor or narrator must release the thread of the story and takein air. This was the original reason for artificial line division and why we see averse written down like this:UgAug had a little lamb[BREATH]Itsfleece was white as milk [BREATH]And everywhere that Ug~lug wentThe lamb tagged along.But Ug-lug, the ancient songwriting warrior priest, had another prob-lem as well. After a couple of thousand years how was he supposed toremember all that material? In those days he might have lost portions ofhis anatomy as a penalty for not remembering a complicated story that hisgreat-grandpa had told him. So he began to use rhyme. He found thatwords were easier to remember when they sounded similar at the end ofphrases and that rhymes also gave clues about what might be coming next.So he changed the words around:$2 Jimmy WhbbUg-lug had a little lamb [BREATH]/ lis fleece was white as snow [BREATH]And everywhere that Ug~lug wentThe lamb was sure to go.Immediately Ug-lug started looking for a record deal but first he rec-ognized the wisdom of dividing his long, epic poems into subsections inthe same way that a concert pianist isolates specific musical movements inorder to memorize them more carefully.After nine or ten thousand years these mnemonic devices (or word gamesthat enable us to remember more easily) became formalized, even crystal-lized into various regimens of expression: the stanza, elegiac, alcaic, sap-phic, sonnet, ode, pastoral and ballad forms, etc.I am not inclined to spend a great deal of time describing and/or ana-lyzing the rules of classical poetry. This information is readily availableand not necessarily pertinent to our immediate goals. Doubting that any-one is reading this book in order to learn to create a Shakespearean pas-tiche, the elements of classical form that will be addressed are the ones thataffect us directly as modern songwriters.What about choosing a clever line in the first place, seeking that "turnof phrase" that is so universally admired and sought? In reference to theprevious chapter we will want to keep our minds open and ears tuned forcolorful, interesting, descriptive words. When these individual words areorganized into a "span of meaning" many terms and definitions from theclassical glossary of technique come into play. Metaphor, simile, imagery, analogy,allegory, etc. Frequently these terms are not understood with absolute clar-ity. They may be perceived as synonymous but because they are suchimportant tools, what follows is a precise definition and description oftheir respective functions.Metaphor: A semantic device describing one thing by comparing it toanother thing and calling attention to their commonality.Example I . That tire is bald as an eagle.Example 2. They ait filthy rich.Example 3. She's madder than an old wet hen.Example 4. He was drowning in self-pity.All these are metaphoric cliches. The professional songwriter willstrive to create original metaphors.Example I. The sea roared with thefury of old age.Example 2. She slalomed through the party.Example 3. We were singing a Masters & Johnson duetExample 4. As lonesome as a democrat at a victory celebration.Obviously the metaphor can be humorous and lends itself to comedy.It can also dramatize profound and serious insights. As an exercise, createsome random metaphors on your own, both earnest and tongue-in-cheek.One of the cardinal sins of writing is to blend or mix one metaphorwith another, creating either confusion or unintentional comedy. Amomentary lapse of vigilance could result in one of the following:1. Her jet-powered mouth was flapping like aflag in a Santa Ana.2. His bedside manner waxed and waned with the tides of his mercurialhumor.3. Between the parted pages and were pressed in love's hotfevered iron like astriped pair of pants.I rest my case.Simile: A figure of speech (word game) suggesting a literal rela-tionship between two unlike things, usually beginningwith "like" or "as."Example I . The plane headed for the runway like a homesick angel.Example 2. She was as uneasy as a cat on a hot tin roof.Example 3. He eats like a pig.These also are cliches. Try to devise fresh and unique similes.Example I. The paint brush was as stiff as an Eskimo's mustache.Example 2. Her sigh was like the last breeze subsiding before a great ship isbecalmed.Example 3. Wielding his wit like a chainsaw in a sushi bar.Example 4. Her smile faded slowly like a dying sunset in the Everglades.Similes (like metaphors) lend themselves equally to humorous or evengrim purposes. As an exercise create similes of your own, quickly and atrandom.Imagery: Language that is designed to create mental images in con-junction with the readers or listener s imagination.Example I . How delicate the tracery of herfine lines.84 llMMY Wi;BBioor.Example 2. A song half heard through a closed dcExample 3. The air was red wine on those top-down nights.Example 4. They buried me in that great tomb that knows no sound.Example 5. The covered bridge gray-shingled and infirm.As an exercise think of an object, place or person and then describesame with a single line or phrase. Use colorful, descriptive words to depictthe familiar in a fresh, vivid way. Try to differentiate between imagery andsimiles or metaphors.Analogy: Comparing one thing to another thing in order to suggestthat even though the basic nature of these things is differ-ent they possess striking similarities.Example I . Gambling with someone else s money is like (analogous to)lying on your back to urinate.Example 2. Trying to get your video played on MTV is like (analogousto) climbing aflagpole in a sleet storm.Example 3. You may as well play Russian Roulette with a speargun asto pick up a girl in a single's bar.Example 4. Mending a broken heart is harder than (analogous to) per-forming your own triple bypass.Analogies are more challenging than metaphors or similes but greatfun. Make up some of your own analogies as quickly as you can.Analogies are not often used in lyric writing but they do occur. 7'hewriter should remember that analogies are analogous to jalapenos: One ofthem can be too many.Allegory: In essence, symbolism. The characters or situations writtenabout—however trivial or obvious they may appear on thesurface—represent profound truths about the humancondition.Example I. A song about a migrating bird that circumnavigates the globe only tofind that happiness lies in the nest where it was a hatchling.Example 2. A song about a frog that joins in with the other animals as they carolbeside the manger ofBaby Jesus and is ridiculed because he can only croak.Example 3. A song about a wayward marionette who returns after many years,chipped and battered, to the old toy maker who originallyfashioned her.He mends her and makes her like new.~[nnesntitA 85All these are allegories, sometimes referred to asfables or parables. Thinkof some symbolic tales or situations of your own and write them downbriefly as in the previous examples. Then try writing a simple lyric basedon one of them.I group all the preceding terms in the general category of imaging devices.They enable the writer to create vivid pictures quickly (like Picasso's mini-malist line drawings) without resorting to reams of merely correct,descriptive language.Some other effects that might be loosely grouped with these imagingdevices are alliteration, or the repetition of initial consonants ("he rockedthe rascal with a roundhouse right"), and onomatopoeia, which means usingwords that actually sound like the things they are describing (the tinkling ofbells).The metric foot is another term from classic poetic terminology thatconcerns us directly as modern songwriters. A metric foot is analogous toa single bar of musical notation in the sense that it contains a finite, regu-lar and repeated number of beats. There are traditional names for differentkinds of rhythmic subdivisions that will be instructive even though thesongwriter usually makes a more informal approach to the construction oflines and their division. Here is the most common metric foot called iambdiagrammed as a single bar of 2/4 rhythm (2/4 is a common musical timesignature). The notation over each word is known as scansion and signifies theaccented and unaccented syllables.>|3g &wWhat identifies the example as iambic is the fact that the first syl-lable ("beat") is unaccented and the accent falls hardest on the second"beat" or syllable. When strung together, a number of these metric feetcreate a regular rhythm or cadence: Music without the notes, a kind ofdrum beat.- > V > » > >% 9*,Uy^ 5> VfoJz « C*P ('-; C2-; O) C*-)86 IMMY WklSHThe preceding is a line of iambic verse consisting of four metric feet.With a simple melody it can be sung as four bars of song in 2/4 time.#1 J-}'Iright to think all>these thingsThere is something distinctly unsettling about the previous musicaldepiction to the experienced songwriter or composer, even though in itsparticulars it is accurate. When lyrics are combined with music in 2/4time (iambic) we are accustomed to hearing the stressed syllable on the down-beat (first beat) of the bar. Unfortunately, in the previous example the natu-ral accent of the lyric in 2/4 time falls on the second beat of the bar. So,what the ear wants to hear is this:m iIt's right to>think on>allw 3Ethese thingsPerhaps the conclusion is obvious, but let me explain. The accentsbecome diametrically opposed as the first beat (quarter note) in the firstbar of melody is a rest (a rest is a beat of rhythm that is silent). The remain-ing note in the bar which falls on the syllable "It's" becomes what is com-monly referred to in songwriting as a pickup. The stressed syllable then fallson the first beat of the bar where it is most comfortable to the ear. It isnecessary then to have at least five bars of regular musical notation to sup-port four metric feet of iambic verse. This illustrates a basic principle ofthe combining of music and lyrics. There are almost always more bars of musicthan there are units of metricfeet.Here is another kind of 2/4-based metric foot called a trochee.> > > >% /HM gcg1In this example the pattern of accents is opposite to those of theiambic meter as well as common 2/4 time and sounds perfectly natural tothe ear because the stressed syllable is on the downbeat.~[nnesmitA 87$ i=p iLet leave this Par>Tex - asIt would be possible—but ill-advised—for the lyricist to write endlessstreams of trochaic feet superimposed over bars of 2/4 time and melody.$P¥ J U J>Let>leave this ParF^Texi>fly off to>Par France Andwill trade this>coun try>cab£>for Champs d'>Ely>manse oops!(For the record all these observations about iambic, trochaic and 2/4time hold true for 4/4 time as well.)Anapestic and dactylic metric feet fall naturally into what amounts to a3/4 bar or single unit of waltz time. This is anapestic> > >%^Jt^di maA uf Lu PkA^J^t'^t wuk-Jl-£y c^u^C^You will notice that metric feet can be made up of one-, two- or multi-syllable words. If this pattern of accents seems awkward, it is only becauseit is. The English language contains very few individual words that are nat-urally anapestic The accents are contrary to the familiar ones of common3/4 time but notice in the following example how melody has a tendencyto overpower if not remove accents of any kind, even the natural ones of88 Jimmy WEBBspoken language. We can give the melody a more anapestic feel if we so desireby peaking or cresting the melody on the third beat of the bar.n i |A A^ ' J ^ > * * >Quick - ly she made up her mind but it wick - ed - ly changed (rest)Dactylic meter falls naturally on the same accents as common 3/4 time.^ ^-&ginsAs fascinating as all of this may fail to be, songs are usually not writtenthis way. These musical examples are intended only to make clear some ofthe most basic rhythms and to illustrate the simplest and mostdirectmethod of combining words and music.Lets look for a moment at the practical differences between this kindof rote composition of iambic, dactylic and trochaic verse and the writingof song lyrics, concentrating especially on the manner in which musicalaccompaniment alters the conventions of poetic construction. Here is averse from "She Moves, and Eyes Follow," a song I wrote for a theatricalproduction:She Moves, and Eyes FollowLonging to touchThey want her so muchThey stare . . .—Jimmy Webb,"She Moves, and Eyes Follow""[Hnestnith 89Except for certain beats on which no syllables fall (rests), the exampleas it will be diagrammed is classical dactylic verse and (as has already beenpointed out) there is a natural relationship between dactylic verse and 3/4 time. Bysimply converting the dactylic verse into 3/4 time and adding a melody,we come up with this example:mis-acceni mis-accentShe moves and eyes fol - low long- ing to touch they want her so much they stare.Easily done but uninspiring. In real life, music breathes and follows itsown path. The metronomic cadences of classical rhythm must give way,certain notes must be elongated, space must be allocated for the singer totake air, long musical phrases may call for more metric feet in one line thananother, other musical lines will be abrupt and attenuated, etc. In otherwords there is a nonregimented quality to most nonmilitary melody. Thiscalls for a compromise between regular rhythm and anarchy on the part ofthe lyricist and composer. As an example of how this cooperation can beachieved, here is the actual music as written for "She Moves . . .Mfl1 > ~ ~ 2>3 * ~- ~ 4>>*" ~ ~.She and eyes fol - low long - ing totouchNotice that the regular 3/4 rhythm continues uninterrupted under-neath "She" for three beats. In fact the entire lyric now "floats" above a3/4 time signature, sometimes joining it or duplicating it only to onceagain sustain a note while the rhythm continues underneath.This illustrates again the underlying principle that there are almostinevitably more bars of music than there are metricfeet in a given song. It further illus-trates that the rhythms of song lyrics are not and should not be con-strained by the rules that govern classical construction but can bendthemselves to the whim of the musical accompaniment and are validatedby the nature of that accompaniment.Writers will experience immediate difficulty when attempting to com-bine a dactylic (3/4) based lyric with 2/4 or 4/4 time or vice versa. Not90 immy Webbthat it can't be done. In the previous example, the word she "floats" abovethe first bar of 3/4. What if we made it "float" above a bar of 4/4 timeand adjusted the words and rhythm that follow accordingly? It would looklike this:m > w > w£ zzz. ^She moves and eyes fol - low long- ing to$ t. II: Got a gun from Uncle FreddieGot a station all picked outGot a plan and now we re readyGonna take that station outSo yougo on bout your businessYou just leave us fools alone,We don't need no two-bit junkieScrewiri up our happy homeChs.: Uc- almost made it [repeat three times)We almost made it to the top . . .—Randv Newman."Little Criminals"In "Like a River." Carlv Simon's letter to her mother, the conversa-tional tone is more poignant.Dear Mother the struggle is over nowAnd your house is upfor saleWe dividedyour railroad watches ,Among thejour of usIfought over the pearlsWith the other girlsBut it was all a metaphorFor what is wrong with usAs the room is emptying outYourface so young comes into viewAnd on the hack porch is a well-worn stepAnd a pool of light that you can walk into . . .—Carly Simon,"Like a River"Stephen Bishop transcribes an actual telephone conversation when hewrites:You called mefrom the room in your hotelAllfull of romancefor someone that you metAnd telling me how sorry you wereLeaving me so soon.And that you miss me sometimesWhen you re alone in your roomDo Ifeel lonely too?You have no right to ask me how IfeelYou have no right to speak to meso kindI can t go on holding on to tiesNow that were living Separate Lives . . .—Stephen Bishop,"Separate Lives"Whereas Bishops conversation has clearly taken place prior to itsrecounting, pure "conversational tone" always happens in real time as in "ItWont Bring Her Back":94 Jimmy WebbWhat you doin sittin' hereWith closing time so near?Looks like you need afriend so I will volunteerLooks like you re in a world of troubleOnly one thing it could heYou better get a grip on it misterThis is not the remedy . . .—Jimmy Webb,"It Won't Bring Her Back"Or it could be a letter.Dearfriend of mineThe weather'sfineToday I saw some ruins of the Roman world's declineAnd I climbed all those Spanish stairsYou've heard of them no doubtBut Rome has lost its gloryI don't know what it's aboutAnd I wish you were here . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Postcard from Paris"So how has conversational tone altered the rules? Well, people don'tusually rhyme when they talk. Impeccable grammar is not a consideration.The shape of speech is much more casual than that of conventional lyriclines. Conversational tone is like frying potato chips at home and leavingthe skins on. It is unfinished furniture and we leave it that way on purposefor a more natural effect.By this time, however, you must have come to your own conclusionthat "conversational tone" would not be effective or even possible if it didnot fall to some extent within the traditional guidelines of form. Why?Because the music, the melody, is always waiting somewhere in the wingswith its own demanding sense of order. We expect lyrics to behave in a cer-tain way when combined with music. For instance, we expect rhymes ornear rhymes or even false rhymes to fall in certain precise and predeter-mined locations.In classical terminology the couplet consists of two lines of metric feet~£nne&tuHA 95rhymed A/A, ("A/A" being a simple notation that indicates that the exteriorrhyme—"end rhyme"—occurs at the conclusion of each of these two lines).We've got our routines (A)Ourfriends in faded jeans . . . (A)—Jimmy Webb,"I Don't Know How to Love You Anymore"This is the only rhyme scheme possible in a couplet. (A rhyme scheme issimply the placement and frequency of rhymes in a given lyric.) When wewrite four lines, or a quatrain, suddenly there are various rhyme schemes avail-able. For instance, A/A/B/B or A/B/A/B or A/B/C/B or evenA/A/A/A. (There are four additional legitimate rhyming techniques: ran-dom rhyme, which is pretty much what it sounds like; initial rhyme—occur-ring at the beginning of the line; interior rhyme, or interior rhyme scheme, whichwill be explored in great detail; and cross rhyme, where a conventionalrhyme is married to an interior rhyme?)Deep down inside I know I still love him (A)But he'll never know, 'cause I'll never tell (B)Or confide that I'm thinkin of him (A)And wishin him well . . . (B)—Jimmy Webb,"I Keep It Hid"The possibility also presents itself with four lines or more of intro-ducing a pattern of un-rhymed lines as in "By the Time I Get to Phoenix."By the Time I Get to Phoenix she'll he risin (A)She'llfind the note that I left hangin on her door (B)And she'll laugh when she reads the part that says I'm havin' (C)'Cause I've left that girl too many times before ...(B)—Jimmy Webb,"By the Time I Get to Phoenix"As the number of lines in a verse increases, so exponentially does thepossible arrangement of rhyme schemes. In the quintet five lines can berhymed A/B/A/A/B, A/B/A/B/A, A/B/C/A/B, etc. A sextet couldbe arranged A/A/B/A/A/B, A/B/A/B/A/B, A/B/C/A/B/C and so96 Jimmy Wkbbon. Particularly in songwriting because it is unconstrained by classicalform, the writer can have as many lines as needed in the verse of a song, ofany length or meter and rhyme them or not rhyme them in any way desired.It is the underlying structure and melodic accompaniment of the lyric thatvalidates songwriting form.Here is a simple verse from "Highwayman," constructed of seven lines.Remember, the placement and frequency of rhymes in a lyric is known as arhyme scheme.1.I was a Highwayman2. Along the coach roads I did ride*3. With sword and pistol by my sider t4. And many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade5. And many a soldier left his lifeblood on my blader « 6. The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five7. But I am still alive—Jimmy Webb,"Highwayman"The first line does not rhyme. The next two lines (called a couplet) havethe same length and meter (rhythm) and end with a one-syllable masculinerhyme. The same is true o£ the next couplet. The second line of the thirdand last couplet is much shorter than the first. Its meter is deliberatelyblunted for more dramatic impact. In essence, it has been shaped in its lengthto match the first line, "I was a Highwayman." The rhyme scheme lookslike this: A/BB/CC/DD.Relentless pounding on the same rhyme for line after line—no matterhow cleverly done—is probably to be avoided. It reeks of the rhyming dictio-nary and one of the finer nuances of professional songwriting is to make useof the dictionary without calling undue attention to it. (The one exceptionmight be a comical theatrical number about a hapless lyricist in bondage to arhyming dictionary.) Sometimes it can work if carefully handled.Vs. I: Life beginsAnd spirits riseAnd they become memories that vaporizeAnd the vapor becomes all the dreams we deviseAnd while we are dreaming,Time Flies"[Hne&fuitA 97Vs. II: Night turns to dawnAnd dreams to sighsAnd sighs change to sweet love that never diesAnd love becomes laughter and lullabiesAnd while we are dreamingTime FliesBRIDGE: While we are dreaming we meet and exchange(Brg.) Conversations routinely and nothing seems strangeBut when we awake there's a sense of uneaseThat another night's gone just as quick as you pleaseVs. Ill: And night turns to dawnAnd then bright skiesAnd bright skies to picnics on warm JulysTo deep umber autumns and winter goodbyesAnd while we are dreamingTime FliesAnd while we are dreamingTime Flies—Jimmy Webb,1 ime Mies"Message" and "story" are the redeeming aesthetic values. If repetitiverhymes are helping us get our narrative or emotional plea from point A topoint B and make sense naturally, then we can set our teeth and justifythem. If we are rhyming "for rhyme s sake" and stretching our line of rea-soning like a rubber band on a pegboard from far-fetched rhyme to incom-prehensible simile to false rhyme and back again, our listener will quicklylearn—and rightfully so—to mistrust our expertise and will not venturefurther into the ramshackle house that we are building.If we ignore the temptation to rhyme every consecutive line(A/A/A/A), or even every other line (A/B/A/B), we can create a versethat breathes more and can incorporate more expositional language. Inother words, be more of a storyteller and less of a rhyming drudge.The rhyme scheme of a verse form can be quite varied and complex:Boris wants to meet JuanitaAnd in broken English he expresses his desire to join VanessaLately of the Village Voice98 Jimmy Wi;bhShe writes love letters ofyour choiceFamousfor her great successesShe impresses him to the degreeThat he begins to hope perhaps that sheCan bring him all the romance she revivesIn Other Peoples Lives . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Other People's Lives"The word expresses occurs—not at the end of the first line but abouttwo-thirds of the way through the iambic meter. The second line consistsof a simple internal rhyme scheme, voice with choice. Then expresses is rhymedtwice in the next line—neither time does the rhyme occur at the end of theline—successes and impresses propel us toward the exterior or end rhyme degree.Degree and she are a simple couplet. The final couplet is cutshort as in theearlier "Highwayman" example to bring us more quickly to the point andmake the rhythm more interesting. The relationship between expresses,successes, and impresses in this example is known as an inner rhyme scheme—asecondary pattern completely independent of the exterior rhyme scheme thatoccurs at the ends of lines.I may as well tell you outright that I have committed what some regard as amajor sin, at least three times in this case, somewhat deliberately in order toexplain the dangers of enjambment. You will notice that the syntax of thesentence famousfor her great successes, she impresses him to the degree that he begins to hope per-haps that she can bring him all the romance she revives in Other Peoples Lives" is broken in threeplaces. After "degree," after "she," and after "revives." These are clear-cut cases ofenjambment, or "jammin ," the unethical practice ofcarrying over the meaning ofa sentence from the end of one couplet to another. The effect of discontinuity,only slighdy annoying on the printed page, can be amplified to the point of dis-traction in a singing line. Nevertheless, a beautiful, melodic line properly con-structed can gloss over the break in the sentence and a willing singer can make italmost imperceptible. Enjambment occurs in some of the nicest families."Mountain Greenery," a standard by Larry Hart and Richard Rodgers, has itsshare. As for internal rhyme schemes, you might be forgiven for assuming thatthis "fancy rhyming" (which admittedly seems terribly complicated) lies exclu-sively within the purview ofthe Broadway lyricist. Not so. For instance, give a lis-ten to "Save the Last Dance for Me" (by D. Pomus & M. Shuman)."[HHC&ntltA 99This kind of writing is laborious—to say the least—and involves agreat deal of trial, error and rewrite. There is, however, a system that cansimplify these brain busters.The most difficult aspect of creating an "inner rhyme scheme" is thateach subsequent verse must line up perfecdy with the original. Even thoughthe thrust of the lyric may have changed and the rhymes are completely differ-ent (in most cases) they must occur at exactly the same places in the meter of eachline—as though we are substituting different values in the same equation.What follows is the first verse of "Wasn't There a Moment," firstrecorded by Michael Feinstein:Wasn't there a smile?One so remarkable that it's still onfileIn my book of dreams,That pile of memories, all ofyouBut when I sort them thruWhy do I neverfind a dueTo why that kissing smile withdrewWasn't There a Moment when I knew?—Jimmy Webb,"Wasn't There a Moment"In any subsequent verse, the second syllable of the fourth line (pile) mustrhyme with the primary rhymes at the ends of lines one and two. Before Iwrite the second verse I make a chart or graph ofthe syllable count and rhymescheme, one line for syllables, a double line for rhymes. A fussy way to accom-plish this, but a method which is frequently used in the recording studio whenkeeping a record of vocal tracks, etc., is to draw the graph in ink and then ina notebook format overlay with acetate and write the lyric in nonpermanentinks which can be erased in order to make corrections.tt t,__tt.[00 Jimmy WubbThe asterisks and crosses represent syllables that must rhyme with eachother. By referring to the graph the writer is assured of duplicating theproper rhyme scheme in the second verse with some independence fromthe need to refer to the music or lyric of the first verse.Vs. II: Wasn't there a timeWhen life was beautiful like a pantomimeWhen actors moveSublimely sure of what they doAnd my regrets arefewBut there's one mystery I still pursueWhen life was beautiful and newWasn't There a MomentI can't recall the momentBut Wasn't There a Moment when you loved me too?—Jimmy Webb,"Wasn't There a Moment"Yes, the end of the second verse has been altered and extended for dra-matic effect. This does not change the basic working principle of the graph.The observant reader may have noticed that in the last five lines the rhymescheme actually rhymes between both verses. Rhyming between verses is possiblebut it's up to the writer's sense of what is correct for a particular song. (If thefirst and second verse end with the same title/phrase then the writer may beforced to rhyme from the same list.)In the song form two or more (usually more) lines that complete onecohesive paragraph of thought is called a verse. (A verse rarely exceeds fourto eight lines, but nobody really counts or cares.) The most basic song formis two verses in a row. Here is "Didn't We?":Vs. I: This time we almost made the piecesJitDidn't We, girl?This time we almost made some sense of itDidn't We, girl?This time I had the answer right here in my handThen I touched it and it had turned to sandVs. II: This time we almost sang our song in tuneDidn't We, girl?~[nne&niUA 101This time we almost made it to the moonDidn't We, girl?This time we almost made our poem rhymeThis time we almost made that long hard climbDidn't We almost make it this time?—Jimmy Webb,"Didn't We?"First let me prove that the preceding is a two-verseform, as certain tradi-tionalists will already be sharpening their pencils for a rebuttal. It is impor-tant for the modern songwriter to understand that the terms used to definethe individual components of songwriting form have been in transition fordecades, particularly in the last fifty years—not that they were universallyagreed upon in the first place. Writers from the era of Richard Rodgers,Burton Lane and the Gershwins would probably refer to "Didn't We?" as a"thirty-two-bar chorus." (The origins of this compound term seem a bitarbitrary. George Gershwins first published song was not thirty-two barslong, according to Michael Feinstein.) This section was often labeled a"refrain" even though Jerome Kern insisted on calling it a "berthen" indicat-ing that he may have had some misgivings about its popular identity. Thesynonymous relationship between "refrain" and "chorus" is solidified in theclassical context by a shared definition: a section that is repeated wordfor wordat intervals during a long poem or song consisting of varied stanzas, (Eachstanza being completely different from its companions.) In the liturgy of theProtestant church we have clear examples of very early American songs withdiverse stanzas or verses and identical—oft-repeated—refrains or choruses.(Stanza/refrain seems to have morphed over time to the more informalverse/chorus.) Here is an old Baptist hymn in verse/chorus form:Vs. I (Stanza): Wouldyou befreefrom your burden of sin?There's Power in the Blood, Power in the BloodPardonfor—and cleaning withinThere's wonder working Power in the BloodChs. (Refrain): There is Power, Power wonder working powerIn the blood of the Lamb.There is Power, Power wonder working powerIn the precious blood of the Lamb.102 Jimmy Wi;bkThere arc at leasl three more verses or stanzas included in the Baptisthymnal. The chorus or refrain is repeated exactly after each verse. How can"Didn't We?" then, possibly be a chorus—thirty-two bar or otherwise? It isn't.It is a two-verse form, each verse having a different lyric, and to some extent,diverse musical content. (I will stipulate that in a song like Hammerstein andKerns "The Last Time I Saw Paris," where multiple verses do precede the"kit hen" it would be technically correct to call this thirty-two-bar section a"chorus" because it is repeated exactly and in its entirety after each verse.)We will return to the debate over what we should actually call these variouscomponents of the song form, but for now, lets look again at "Didn't We?"Nothing tricky was involved except that instead of the exterior rhymesoccurring at the very end of the couplets& McCartney9. The allegorical tale: "The Day the Music Died"—Don McLeanAre you buying that? Perhaps you can think of other "kinds" of songs.Lets just say that if a man or woman doesn't feel strongly enough aboutsomething or someone to write about the issue, helpful hints will not suf-fice. I have never heard a great song wherein the writer proclaims that he orshe is not upset or excited about anything in particular. Where do ideascome from? From caring (or loathing). One of Carly Simons recentalbums (Letters Never Sent) was inspired entirely by actual letters that she hadchosen not to mail and subsequently found in a forgotten cache in herhouse. (I wrote a song—"Simile"—for Joni Mitchell about a letter I hadsent her that ended up behind her couch, resulting in the fact that shedidn't answer it until quite a few years later when she was in the process ofmoving.)To be more specific about ideas, it is hard to prove where songwritingis concerned that "idea" and "title" are not virtually synonymous. Forinstance, that one might hear professional writers or other insiders say thatPaul Simon's title "Still Crazy After All These Years" is a great "idea" fora song is important to remember. The following is not an "idea":I want to write a song about someone who goes through acute moodswings—from euphoria to emotional exhaustion. I love this personand want to address the song to him.If, however, you add the following sentence: "I want to call the song'Problem Child,' " then you have an "idea," even though the song may notend up being called "Problem Child." While writing the lyric and melodya completely different fulcrum may manifest itself, but you will have begunto write with a specific idea tied to a title. You have announced a destina-tion and all your efforts from then on will be dedicated to arriving at thatdestination (though when you arrive at your anchorage it may be known bya different name). This is what a truly great artist does when he decideswho or what he is going to paint. (He must already know how to paint; donot confuse the "how to" with "the manner in which" he will paint.)It is quite common for someone to have a great idea for a song. Manypeople do. I have heard a plethora of these ideas discussed in social situa-tions and as quickly forgotten. Sadly, I have seen many half-finished songs^hhcsphUA 5based on a perfectly valid and interesting premise. I have been asked byothers to execute their song ideas for them, some of them excellent. T. S.Eliot wrote in "We Are the Hollow Men": "between the idea and the real-ity, between the motion and the act, falls the shadow." I've always suspectedhe might have been speaking to his colleagues—other writers. How do weget through Eliot's shadow zone and bring our songs into the light of day?Almost without exception every great songwriter whom I know personallyor that IVe heard of or read about, uses a specific technique. Some free-associate on legal pads for hours and then pare lists of cross-referencedwords or phrases down to related components that can be used in lyriclines. Many write draft after draft—as many as twenty—of a whole lyricin composition notebooks, lining out their less fortunate efforts as theygo. Some sit at a piano or hold a guitar and chain-of-consciousness sing-any-old-thing-that-comes-into-their-heads at the outset—getting a "sound"first and working out the intricacies of meaning later. Another well-knownwriter stands in front of huge speakers and "word jams" to tracks that arealready finished. Some write lyrics. Some only music. Some write both andamong those, many write the words first. Others write a catchy tune andadd words that fit. Many move the lyrics and melody along simultaneouslyin careful steps. All these techniques are valid. It is almost a certainty thatbefore a writer achieves full-fledged professional status they will havedeveloped a unique method of working their tail off. But there is one thingthat these gentlemen and ladies have in common—whatever their style.Virtually all of them keep a rhyming dictionary and a thesaurus close by.No shame here. In fact it is not a very lucid act to attempt the writing ofverse in any form without these unless one happens to be a Mensa. Andeven then . . .I find that other reference materials can be invaluable: Bartlett's FamiliarQuotations for either avoiding or searching for cliches (sometimes a clichecan be a valuable component of a lyric if recognized for what it is); specificresearch material when writing about an unfamiliar subject; but mostly thework of other writers of song, prose and poetry. Writers must read. Onecorollary being that composers must listen. There are some very superficialand obvious reasons for this. Writers may benefit from the influence oflike minds, particularly the brightest and most successful. One might bemore aware of "the fashion" if ones desire is to emulate those who are suc-cessful (not a very good reason). I am more concerned with a reasonably6 (immy Webbcomprehensive knowledge of the history of the art form and here we havea good reason indeed for reading and listening. In his splendid book ona. if i for prose writers, The Art of Fiction, John Gardner states, "No ignora-mus—no writer who has kept himself innocent of education—has everproduced great art. One trouble with having read nothing worth reading isthat one never fully understands the other side of one's argument, neverunderstands that the argument is an old one (all great arguments are) . .."To bring this fine and probably old argument into the area of our concern:How can one write an original song if one hasn't heard and "read" at leasta few of the most famous and best examples that have ever been written?In the distant past composers were most often very learned men whonot only read but wrote, were critics, poets and autobiographers. In a pre-cursor to the "singer/songwriter" phenomenon of the late sixties, manywrote the text, or "libretto," to their own operas. Whatever their level ofscholarly enlightenment, songwriters and composers are and always havebeen somewhat notorious in their unwillingness to subject themselves tothe horror of listening to someone else s work, particularly a contempo-rary who might be perceived as a competitor, especially to a "work inprogress."A songwriter whom I idolize came to see me at the Troubadour a fewyears ago and visited backstage after the show. I invited him to my house inEncino, California, for a game of billiards and a couple of beers. He waf-fled noticeably and I found myself wondering if for some reason he hadreason to dislike me or if it was just a matter of indifference. Finally, hespit it out, so to speak. "I'd really like to come over for a beer, Jimmy, aslong as nobody plays any music!' he said. It was not that he was anathe-matic toward my music—or so he claimed—he was terrified of hearing anymusic.On another occasion I was seated at a banquet table at the BMI awardsin Nashville next to the reigning Southern Icon of Nashville Songwriters.This man was to famous songs what Colonel Sanders was to fried chicken.We struck up a conversation and he was warm and kindly toward me.After a while he offered me an invitation."Would y'all like to come out and see my Southern mansion?" hedrawled. I replied that I would consider it a great privilege."Good," he said and then paused. "Only thing," he continued, "y'alldon't play no songs, vail hear?"Without doubt some of this reluctance has a valid foundation exclu-sive of petty egotism. Songwriters are usually working on something andmay fear being overtly influenced by a strong outing from a respected col-league. I don't like to listen to radio—sometimes for three or four days ata time when I'm writing. Often it causes me to forget something I'm tryingto rememberthey are sneaked in before the titlewhich is repeated at the end of each line—"Didn't We?" It is very commonthat in this type of slow two-verse form the payoff—and a final reprise of thetitle—will occur in the very last line or two as in this variation./ Wanna Be Around to pick up the piecesWhen somebody breaks your heartSome somebody twice as smart as IA somebody who will swear to be trueAs you used to do with me,Who'll leave you to learnThat misery loves company, wait and seelI Wanna Be Around to see how he does itWhen he breaks your heart to bitsLet's see if the puzzleJits sofineAnd that's when I'll discover that revenge is sweet;As I sit there applaudingfrom afront row seat,When somebody breaks your heartLike you broke mine.—Johnny Mercer & Sadie Vimmerstein,"I Wanna Be Around"In fact, this reprise of the opening statement is virtually a defining char-acteristic of the two-verse form as typified in classics like "What aDifference a Day Makes" (Stanley Adams), or "Here's That Rainy Day"^KnesmUA [03(Van Heusen). There is considerable flexibility in the way these reprises canbe handled. In "Here's That Rainy Day" the last line does not repeat thetitle exactly, but instead, there is a variation: Suddenly that rainy day is here. "It'sNot for Me to Say" (Al Stillman and Robert Allen) repeats the title andopening line precisely as the very last line of the song.Frequently there is an unexpected or ironic twist to the very last or lastcouple of lines in the two-verse form, a double entendre perhaps, or an O.Henry—esque surprise. In that sense a two-verse song is not dissimilar to ashort story. Consider Rodgers and Hammerstein's exquisite "If I LovedYou" in which the would-be lover never quite manages to declare himself,or in a similar vein, "When I Fall in Love," Victor Young and EdwardHaman's seven-handkerchief number about another wary suitor who justcan't seem to say the "L" word (which can't help but surprise us as weassume that is the point of a love song).In Bricusse and Newley s "What Kind of Fool Am I?" the writer is aman who cant fall in love. In the reprise, at the end of the second verse, heproposes a method for answering the question that he poses in the firstline of the song:Why cant Ijail in love like any other man?And maybe then I'll know what kind offool I am.—Bricusse & Newley,"WhatKindofFoolAmI?"In another permutation the last line is often a study in contrasts, com-paring two disparate things in order to suddenly grab the listeners atten-tion. Consider the contrasting elements in the last line of Jerry Herman'smoving "It Only Takes a Moment":That it only took a momentTo be loved a whole life long . . .—Jerry Herman,"It Only Takes a Moment"What Herman has done is to lull us into expecting a repetition of "ItOnly Takes a Moment," which is diminutive. But in the last line of thesong he surprises and intrigues us by pairing the title/idea with its oppo-site: "It only took a moment to be loved a whole life long!' The words he has chosendeliberately accentuate this reversal of drift: whole , long .km [immy WebbIn the Gershwins "Bur Nor For Me. there are two clever endings. TheList verse is repeated.] The tirst ending substitutes the object or the writer'saffection in pi.-, of love" but in the ultimate repnse there is a bril-liant and bemused plav on .th the spelling btot substituted torThe £:for Marty Robbins's "El Paso," a western movie inminiature replete with shoot-out, thrilling chase and love/death scene.Probably the best contemporary ballad in recent memory is JohnHartford's wistful "Gentle on My Mind," a paean to the beloved enablerof a compulsive wanderer.All these songs are true ballads.Well, what about a multi-verse form that doesn't tell any particularstory} Is that a ballad? A good example might be Donovan's "Catch theWind," or Dylan's "Ballad of a Thin Man," neither of which is a true nar-rative, but m all other respects—more than two verses, music identicalevery time around (strophic)—they are balladlike. We don't necessarilyhave a name for this kind of subtle variant so it must suffice to call thesesongs "ballads." I include a diagram of a multi-verse ballad form.'pHyiestuitA 107CMu>(m?>yx^^t̂ uPi n n n n n__&~The inclusion of the section marked "instrumental" (Inst.) is not arbi-trary by any means. Part of the traditional form of the blues is the customof reserving two or three twelve-bar patterns in the middle of the song forsolo work from various members of the band. The singer has the option ofclosing out the song with one or two final verses or giving it over to theinstrumentalists for a "jam" (improvisation) and a big ending.Variations on the "pure" form are myriad. "The House of the RisingSun" (by Alan Price) is a kind of blues even though the chord structure isreminiscent of Scottish-Irish ballads. Berry Gordy and Janie Bradford's"Money (That's What I Want)" is, strictly speaking, a pop song with astrong blues influence, while Mose Allisons "The Snake" is an allegorical bal-lad with a minor blues feel. Eddie Cochran's "Summertime Blues" ain't. It isa breakthrough rock 'n roll song with a blues influence or what Francis Daviscalls in his comprehensive The History of the Blues a "titular" blues which is tan-tamount to saying, "This is a blues because I say so." There is undoubtedly a"gray zone" where the "blues" and "ballad" rub shoulders if not commingle,owing to the fact that they are both multi-verse forms repeating the samemelody. More profoundly—as is pointed out vividly by Francis Davis as wellas Stanley Booth in his anecdotal Rhythm Oil—the historical relationshipbetween white and black music in the Deep South (ballads and blues) iscloser if not more downright incestuous than is commonly understood bycertain ideological ax-grinders. (Rhythm and Blues is a broader designationindicating almost any kind of a pop song employing the style and/or instru-mentation of the blues with little or no attention being paid to strict bluesform.)"fcHne&tuUA IIIThe ballad and blues forms might be described as two ancient buthealthy branches on the song forms evolutionary tree. The two-verse andmulti-verse forms will lead us logically to more complex and modern struc-tures. Accordingly, I would like to return to our little two-bedroom housewith a front door and a backdoor (the first line title/ idea and the closingreprise) with a view to building a nice front porch onto it.In fact, many two-verse songs have what amounts to a "front porch"attached to them and one of the challenges I have faced in the writing ofthis book is to isolate and identify a universally acceptable term for this"whatever it is." One ofmy colleagues in New York, a scholar and experi-enced musical professional, has suggested that I simply call it an "intro."Unfortunately, the most pervasive and colloquial usage of this abbrevia-tion refers specifically to a short instrumental preface whose function is pri-marily to quiet the audience and cue the performer as to the proper pitch.The "porch" I refer to, is a brief lyrical construction that precedes themain body of the song and contributes to its meaning. On some vintagesheet music, you will see this referred to as a verse and the main body ofthe song then labeled a refrain even though this "refrain" is clearly not achorus or repeated section, but obviously, a two-verse form. (On othersheet music it is simply not labeled. It doesn't seem logical that this "frontporch" is a verse if it is different from yet precedes two obvious verses}) Onsome vintage sheet music this opening section is unaccountably labeledrefrain. Confused yet? You should be. Because refrain means, as previouslystated, a section that is repeated at intervals during a long poem. (Wehave all but dropped refrain from the vernacular in favor of chorus, the partthat everybody "joins in on.") As a last bit of proof that this opening sec-tion is no more a "verse" than the two verses following are legitimatelycalled a "chorus" I return to the early church song where proper verses(stanzas) occurred in clusters of at least three and as many as six! This"whatever it is" occurs once only. We never hear it again, let alone withdifferent lyrics. After a lot of thought, I have come to the conclusion thatthere is need for another term to define this "front porch" or "whatever itis," and I think a dignified term that describes its function is: prologue(Pro.).So the next most complex song form will be the prologue/verse/verse. What is this prologue} A prologue is a traditional, almostantique device—a preparatory statement that is placed in front of the firstii2 Jimmy Webbverse by way of introduction. One of the most famous is the prologue tothe two-verse form "White Christmas."The sun is shining and the grass is green,The orange and palm trees sway.There's never been such a day in Beverly Hills, L.A.But it's December the twenty-fourthAnd I am longing to be up north . . .—Irving Berlin,"White Christmas"You know the rest. The prologues melody is different from that of themain body of the song. Its purpose is to lay the groundwork, to explainjust a bit of what the song is to be about, or to set the scene. Frequently itasks a question that the song proceeds to answer. We don't hear many ofthese anymore—even on the Broadway stage. Scores of classic songs withwhich we are intimately familiar have lovely prologues which we have neverheard, ghosts of another era when nightclub singers carefully created amood before setting the hook, as in "As Time Goes By"—another two-verseform.This day and age we're living inGives causefor apprehension,With speed and new inventionAnd things like third dimension,Yet, we get a trifle weary,With Mister Einstein s thery,So we must get down to earth,At times relax, relieve the tension.No matter what the progress,Or what may yet be proved,The simplefacts of life are suchThey cannot be removed . . .—Herman Hupfeld,"As Time Goes Bv"You know the rest. "Wasn't There a Moment" from Instant Intimacy, amusical in progress, begins with the following prologue:~[nnesmitA 113Pro.: You know I really cant recall the detailsIt's horrific how the memoryfailsAs itfades into a blurIforget just how things wereMy mind's become a wanderer . . .—Jimmy Webb,"Wasn't There a Moment"The prologue can meander. It is usually sung rubato (not in stricttempo) and traditionally is a whimsical or playful moment for the lyri-cist—an opportunity to pique the curiosity or whet the listeners appetitewith four or more intriguing lines. What does it mean to us today? Or as adrummer I used to work with asked, "But how often does it come up?"Not very often. It is, however, part of our musical legacy and it is impor-tant for us to understand where it fits in the entire song form. Here's whatit looks like when we add it to the two-verse form:CM*vtaiUy (Pdies,Smoke Gets In Your Eyes"—Otto Harbach and Jerome Kern,"Smoke Gets In Your Eyes"This is as nearly a perfect demonstration of the lyric function of abridge as is possible. In the first verse "they" (the writer's immediate circleof friends) ask our hero why he has such unshakable confidence in his loveii6 Jimmy Wi-bbaffair. In the second he responds that his faith "cannot be denied'.1In thebridge he laughs to think they "could doubt my love' but there is a suddenreversal. By the end of the bridge we know that the relationship has gonesour. This sets up the last verse and his admission that "they" were rightall along. Still he manages a sad smile at the end with his wistful andclever explanation of the reason that he's been reduced to tears: " When alovely flatne dies, you must realize Smoke Gets In Your Eyes!' (Harbach and Kern).This is the "surprise twist" so common at the end of the two-verse formas we have already seen. Architecturally speaking, we've added a breezewaybetween two rooms of our little house, a way of walking from one state ofaffairs to another—or from one scene or emotional environment toanother.Required listening on this subject should include the '30s film classic"Isn't It Romantic" (Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers), "The Way YouLook Tonight" (D. Fields andJ.Kern) and "I'll Be Seeing You" (SammyFain and Irving Kahal), the latter incorporating our familiar "surprisetwist" carried over from the two-verse form: "Fll be looking at the moon but I'llBe Seeing You" (©1938 by Williamson Music, Inc.).The bridge enables us to expand the song form due to its salient prop-erty of cleansing the musical palate.Before we explore this any further notice that now we begin to flirtwith the potentially cumbersome. There is little need or even room for aprologue in the verse/verse/bridge/verse form even though the elegant"Since I Fell for You" succeeds brilliantly:Pro.: When you just give love and never get loveYou'd better let love departI know its so and yet I knowI can't get you out of my heartVs. I: You made me leave my happy homeYou took my love and now you're goneSince I Fellfor YouVs. II: Love brings such misery and painI know Fll never be the sameSince I Fellfor YouBrg.: It's too bad, it's too sadBut I'm in love with you~tnni&n\\th 117You love me then snub meOh what can I do Fm still in love with youVs. Ill: Iguess I'll never see the lightI get the blues most ev'ry nightSince I Fellfor You . . .—Buddy Johnson,"Since I Fell for You"ft2oLo&£ CH&uSIn our songwriting "blueprint" the chorus will represent a larger'room" than does a verse. Think of it as a living room, or maybe even a120 Jimmy Webbballroom. It Is more expansive, impressive and easier to remember than averse. Most often it is repeated without a change of lvnc. Its rules of inclu-sion are simple:1. It can rollow a verse and usuallv does.2. It can precede a verse as at the beginning or a song.3. It can follow a bridge as at the end of a song illustrated in theprevious example'.4. It can precede a verse when it occurs at the end of a first verseand before a second verse.The verse /chorus now tends to assume a single identity because a cho-rus almost always appears in tandem with a verse except as in the previousexample, when a chorus follows a bridge at the end of a sone and standsalone). It would not be unusual to encounter a verse/chorus/verse formwith a flowed by another unit or verse chorus. It would almost beunheard of to have a song form consisting of a single verse and chorus.The basic pattern of alternating verses and choruses is apparent. When averse/chorus is used as a single unit of form the nature and function of theverse changes dramatically In the two-verse, verse bndee verse or theverse/verse/bridge/verse form we have seen that verses are complete thoughtsor paragraphs that usually reach a logical conclusion on or about the last cou-ple of lines with a repetition of the song titleidea or a repnse of an openingstatement, etc. When a verse precede a chorus its function is preparatory. It ba story or chain of reasoning that leads to an expository statement the chorus^much like an elegant foyer prepares the visitor for an entrance into a large andimpressive room full of architectural detail and significance. Rev lines of thesong tide idea are repeated at intervals m the chorus to drive them home. It is 3sif we had taken the closing "surprise twist" of the simple two-verse form andexpanded it and repeated it in a statement of four or five lines. Imagine onceagain if you will "You've Lost that Lovrn' Feeling." perhaps the ultimate exam-ple of the "big chorus."The sectior. frytrg hard net tc show it but Babx. I knc\But not exactly. The publisher does not identify any sections exceptthe ''chorus" and the "patter." The delineations of the "verses" and"bridges" are mine and I stand bv them.All of the foregoing indicates that even in the most conservative song-writing circles there have been sporadic attempts to innovate, sometimesdriven bv the vicissitudes of visual song and dance and on other occasionsno doubt simplv bv the writer's desire to do something unique. The tradi-tional boundaries of the American song create a kind of benign tyranny.Another example of how writers have sometimes defied convention isthe so-called "tag," a slang term for a short additional phrase or two at theend of a traditional form. This postscript might be better described as an"epilogue" since that is wonderfully symmetrical to our "prologue" and interms of the architectural metaphor constitutes a nice "back porch" forour proposed dwelling. The reader should have little trouble conjuring upa mental performance of "Over the Rainbow" (©1939, Harold Arlen andYip Harburg).Verse 1/ Verse 11/Bridge/ Verse III/ Tag or EpilogueWhat is the tag? It's the bit at the end that goes:If happy little bluebirdsfly . . . etc.—H. Arlen & Y. Harburg,"Somewhere Over the Rainbow"Does it come as a surprise that there are differences of opinion in ourfratermtv as to what constitutes a "tag"? One of my friends believes that~£nne&mitA 125the last line of "The Man that Got Away" (©1954, H. Aden andI. Gershwin) is a "tag" because the line occurs after the "natural" endingof the song—that is to say, subsequent to its final cadence (a sequence ofresolving chords). Fair enough, but what is its lyrical content? It simplyrepeats the title: "The Man that Got Away."And what of its chordal and melodic content? There is no striking oreven discernible departure from the harmonic and thematic structure ofthe song itself. To be identified correctly as an "epilogue" or "tag," thissection should differ significantly from the main body of the song in oneor both of those elements. Before a "tag" can take place the lyric has tocome to a logical conclusion, even if it is a false or misleading conclusion.Therefore, if a conjunction such as "and" or "while" or "because" bridgesthe lyric to a new melody, lyric and even chordal structure, that materialcannot be a tag; rather, it is an extension.In The Wizard of Oz, there is a quite extensive epilogue at the end of "IfI Only Had a Brain," the song itself being three complete songs, one eachfor the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion.1.Prologue/Verse/Verse/Bridge/Verse (Scarecrow)2. Prologue/Verse/Verse/Bridge/Verse (Tin Man)3. Prologue/Verse/Verse/Bridge/Verse (Cowardly Lion)4. Epilogue (Tag): Vd he hrave as a blizzard (Lion)Yd he gentle as a lizard (Tin Man)Yd he clever as a gizzard (Scarecrow)If the wizard is a wizard who will serveThen Ym sure to get a hrain, a heart, the nerve.—Yip Harburg,"If I Only Had a Brain"The melody becomes a variation on the last line of the verse and thenveers in a completely different direction. At the same time the chord structurechanges markedly underneath and the lyric is altered accordingly. The lastline, "Then Ym sure to get a hrain, a heart, the nerve" has a new melody altogether."Maria" (L. Bernstem/S. Sondheim) has a legitimate epilogue. RoyOrbison's "Pretty Woman" has a kind of epilogue. "Nights in WhiteSatin" (Justin Hayward), Harry Warren's "Remember Me," "Our House"126 Jimmy Webbby Graham Nash, "Some Enchanted Evening" (Rodgers & Hammerstein),"Bye, Bye, Birdie" (Lee Adams and Leslie Strouse) and "If I Ever Say I'mOver You" (John Bucchino) all have epilogues—or close to it.If I Ever Say I'm Over YouThe unsentimental things I doWill have driven out the ghosts somehowAnd pulled me throughIf I tend to disregardyour touchWell, i* seems to me it would heSuch a waste of timeTo let this poor heartfeel that muchBut sometimes a photographCan make me cry}orforce a laughAnd somehow the memoryOf how complete we used to heIs keeping mefrom youIfyou ever hear me doubt the pastIt's a simplefact we didn't lastRun aground on hard timesWhile the good timesFlew toofast.Fm not sure if we can make amendsThis may he the way our story endsWith too little leftfor loversAnd too muchforfriendsBut sometimes a photographCan make me cry}orforce a laughAnd somehow the memoryOf how complete we used to beIs keeping mefrom youEpi.: So don't believe it's trueIf I Tver Say Fm Over You.—John Bucchino,"If I Ever Say I'm Over You""IpHyteSHtHA 127It is true that most of these are standards from a golden era and thatthe authentic tag is an endangered species in today's maelstrom of popularmusic but it persisted well into the '60s. Hal David and Burt Bacharachs"Alfie" ended with a delicate, enigmatic epilogue.Verse/ Verse/Bridge/ Verse/Epilogue (lag)Vs. Ill: Untilyoufind the love you ve missed you're nothing, Alfie . . .—Bacharach & David,"Alfie"Then this line comes after the striking close of the third verse:When you walk let your heart lead the wayAndyoullfind love anyday Alfie, Alfie . . .—Bacharach & David,"Alfie"The tag and Bacharachs questioning chords make us wonder: DidAlfie ever get the message?Listen to "Some Enchanted Evening" and try diagramming it. Findthe epilogue (tag).It has been said that Rodgers and Hammersteins "It Might as Well BeSpring" is the most beautiful song ever written. If so, then it follows that itends with the most beautiful extension ever written.Prologue/ Verse/ Verse/Bridge/ Verse/ExtensionBut Ifeel so gay in a melancholy wayThat It Might as Well he SpringIt might as well, It Might as Well he Spring . . .—Rodgers & Hammerstein,"It Might as Well Be Spring"The melody and chords depart simultaneously for "melancholy" terri-tory as does the lyric (a surprising and exquisite shift) and it is almost anepilogue but because the conjunction "but" connects the material to theprevious line, it is, in reality, an extension. Some famous extensions arefound in "Hello, Young Lovers" (Rodgers and Hammerstein) and "MyFunny Valentine" (Rodgers and Hart). In "If I Loved You" (Rodgers and128 immy WebbHammcrstein), we expect the penultimate line to end "How / loved you so"but instead we get an exquisite extension which reprises the first line of thesong: "How / loved you, if I lovedyou"In 1968 upon the urging of producer Bones Howe who specificallyasked me to alter traditional form, I attempted to incorporate a classicalsense of ebb and flow, "movements" if you like, into a long pop song. Theresult was "MacArthur Park," and a flat-out refusal from the intendedartist to record same. Fortunately I knew an Irish actor with a passion forBrendan Behan and James Joyce among other complicated and unusualthings, a man who relished the unique and eccentric above all else, thesame man who retrieved the music from the bottom of my trunk anddemanded that we record it (even though all he really said was, 'Til havethat"). Richard Harris's recording of "MacArthur Park" subsequentlybecame number one on the charts in Britain, Ireland, France, Germany,Italy and Australia, and number two in the United States. In 1976 DonnaSummers version was number one on the U.S. charts, but this isn't a pressrelease. Many words have been used to describe "MacArthur Park"("abomination" comes to mind), but few will deny that it was an "experi-ment." Lets look at its distinct lack of form:W«wwr. u cm. i \A.ff. U d*.H £„fa Vi.I. SAVi.U Mltqrg LX Chl.UlV£ CMoRiK V£4S£\In-rr-jrr— t^fiu-lGWarrens, Caesar's and Gershwin's songs. In my view theyare subordinate to Verses I, II and III being as they are preceded if not framedby this initial thematic material, hence subordinate verse or "sub-verse."Even before "MacArthur Park," I had toyed with movements (changes ofmood and pace as well as melodic content) in "Rosecrans Boulevard," first~[n rtestu.ltA 129recorded by Johnny Rivers on his Rewind album and then later by the FifthDimension. There was decidedly less controversy over the latter, exceptfrom women, some of whom came to the conclusion that I had mistreatedthe stewardess who stole my virginity.Verse(4/4)/Chorus(3/4)/Allegro Bridge (7/ 4)/Half-Chorus (3/4)/Epilogue (4/4)With the exception of the fast 7/4 bridge the structure is familiaruntil the epilogue, where all the previous harmonic and melodic material isabandoned for a minor key and slower tempo. Note the shifting time sig-natures:Verse I (4/4): I've passed a lot of exit signs in my timeWhile driving down this longfreewayTo San Diego and points southBut there was a time last summerWhen I came downfrom ManhattanAnd though I knew I shouldn't it was just too hardAnd I made my move at Rosecrans BoulevardChorus (3/4): Rosecrans Boulevard stop your callin meYou know I never loved her anywayIjust used her over and overBridge (7/4): But there were times when she'd laughAnd I'd think I loved herOne night on Manhattan Beach I said thingsThat moved toofast to suit herThen I held her close and dried her tearsHalf-Chorus (3/4): Rosecrans Boulevard who cares whatyou think?Coda 1(4/4): The girl was half crazy the way she drove that little carDown Sunset Boulevard at three in the morningDoing ninety miles an hour in a thirty mile zoneAnd blamed me when she got a ticketCoda 2: But then there was that smileIt was really what made all the airlines goShe was a stewardess you know130 Jimmy WebbShot down on a non-combatant missionAnd though I've hid itEvery time I drive my car past Rosecrans BoulevardI wonder why I did it—Jimmy Webb,"Rosecrans Boulevard"Probably not one of the great moments in Western literature but anhonest attempt to describe a haunting one-sided relationship, the changingtime signatures, key centers and melodic content mirroring the lyrics' ambi-guities. (We were crazy for experimentation in the late '60s. I suggested tojohnny Rivers that we record the strings for "Rosecrans Boulevard" back-wards, a technique that had achieved eerie results with electric guitars. Afterlaboriously writing the string parts m reverse order and recording them withthe audio tape juxtaposed on the machine we could hardly wait to turn thetape over and hear what wonders we had created. When the piece wasplayed in correct order it sounded like violins—very nice violins, but ordi-nary fiddles, nevertheless . . . ) Producer and arranger George Martin (whosubsequently produced my own album, El Mirage, in 1977) had alreadyblazed a trail in experimentation with the Beatles, particularly in his real-ization of John Lennon's concept of "a sound building up from nothing tothe end of the world." Martin stood in front of the orchestra the night "Dayin the Life" (©1967) was recorded with no conductor's score, only askingthem to play from their lowest possible note to their highest. In between itwas "every man for himself," a technique that would have mightily pleasedavant-garde composer John Cage {Shout! The Beatles in Their Generation byPhilip Norman, Warner Books, ©I 98 1 Philip Norman)."Within You, Without You," George Harrison's contribution to Sgt.Pepper, set a lyric to a raga (a rigorously defined Hindu form played on thesitar) under the tutelage of Ravi Shankar. This was more difficult than itmay seem, involving the combining of Western syntax with Eastern mode,rhythm and instrumentation. Verses? Choruses? None that we can identifyeasily. A haunting hybrid resulted that is greater than the sum of its parts.At the conclusion of the group's Abbey Road after three songs in quicksuccession, which could be described as "movements," the epilogue or"tag" was added: " And in the end the love you take," etc., which in its modestway seems to sum up most of life. I would call it an experiment.~£nne&mitA 131Billy Joel felt the same way: "I heard the closing section of Abbey Roadand immediately I thought 'those are meant to be movements.' "(Joel isclassically trained.) When I talked to him about experimental forms heelaborated: "I was fascinated but as I thought about it more I began tothink that these were songfragments that had been fitted together carefully."Joel maintains that any professional songwriter worth his salt would haverecognized this in time (and I cant say I disagree) but it got him to think-ing. He likens the process to building a street rod out in the garage fromavailable parts, tinkering with it, reworking it and perhaps creating abrand-new component when necessary.As we talked further he agreed with me when I suggested that therewere arbitrary twists and turns even in the works of the master symphon-ists. We are inclined to believe, and are even told, that their long complexforms sprang from the souls of the immortals fully formed and congruouswith some divine template, though in one of his lectures at Harvard,Leonard Bernstein says of Mozart's G Minor Symphony:He has established us firmly in B Flat Major; but, no, off he goes onanother chromatic adventure which lands us in the impossible key ofF Sharp Minor. Now, this was done by absolute whim—arbitrarily.[My italics]—Leonard Bernstein,The Unanswered Question: Six Talks at HarvardThe door is opened a crack to the idea that even the great classical com-posers spent time in the woodshed trying new ideas, discarding others, per-haps incorporating an old unfinished one from time to time and occasionallydaring to leap into a new key, tempo or mood just for the hell of it.To my ear, Joel's "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" (1977) soundslike more than backyard tinkering, having—as it does—a cinematic scope,a story line evocative of Tony Bill's Five Corners or George Lucas's AmericanGraffiti and a vivid depiction of the passing of many years and the effectthat time's erosion has on his characters. (I like to think that this longpiece contains its own sequel.) It is constructed like this:Verse 1/ Verse 11/Instrumental/Allegro/Piano Solo/Allegro 2/ Allegro 3/(sub-verse) (sub-verse) (sub-verse)132 Jimmy WebbBridge / Instrumental / Bridge/ Allegro 4 / Instrumental / Verse III / Instrumental(sub-verse)Way back in 1966 on her album In My Life Judy Collins recorded whatis essentially a small opera with four movements and a reprise named"Marat/Sade" long before any Broadway composer had dreamed of releas-ing a score on record prior to a musicals opening."Suite: Judy Blue Eyes," the Crosby, Stills and Nash epic from the1969 album of the same name, consisted of two interconnected songs(movements) followed by an instrumental allegro, itself relieved at inter-vals by fragmentary statements that are not substantial enough to be dia-grammed as true verses and ending with a three-part vocal riff whichrepeats and fades without lyrics.Verse/Chorus/ Verse/Chorus/Bridge/Chorus/ Verse/Chorus/Sub- Verse/Sub- Verse/Sub-Bridge/ Sub- Verse/Sub- Verse/Instrumen ta I (a llegro)/Fragment/Inst. /Fragment/Inst. /Fragment/Inst./ Vocal FadeHarry Nilssons "Salmon Falls" (©1975) was an unstructured, ram-bling recitative in which he seemed to defy analysis while at the same timeproselytizing his own wrinkle on reincarnative Eastern philosophy.For the eclectic among you, the late Laura Nyro s "New York Tendaberry"(©1969) also manages to frustrate dissection or even description.Carly Simons "Like A River" has already been quoted as an exampleof masterful conversationaltone but the work s groundbreaking operaticepilogue—a carefully woven contrapuntal trio—stands virtually alone inthe songwriting of the '90s as an unabashed yet successful experiment.Verse/Mini-Bridge/Chorus/ Verse/Mini-Bridge/Chorus/ Verse/Mini-Bridge/Chorus/ Operatic EpilogueIt was probably "Stand By Me," Ben E. King s version of the Ben E.King, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller R&B standard, that got all of this neo-classicism under way in 1 96 1 with its Russian-romantic orchestral midsec-tion that also subtly suggested fugal elements. The recording provokedthis striking realization: Rock 'n roll and the string ensemble are not anti-thetic after all. To the contrary, the rough, self-taught textures of rockvocalists are ineffably complemented by the silken tones of the orchestraand vice versa. It was only a matter of time until popular recording artists~jpnne&PHUA 133began to co-opt the formalized shapes of the classical repertoire as well,resulting inevitably in the songs of the Left Bank, the Moody Blues, theWho, Pink Floyd, Davie Bowie and, more recently, Elvis Costello (The JulietLetters released in 1993).While listening, pay attention to songwriting that "breaks the form."Try to diagram it and when confused be dogged in your efforts to decodethe composers and lyricist s master plan. If you are uncertain as to thelabeling of a particular section, make up your own name for it. As JohnLennon wrote: "There's nothing you can hear that cant he heard" ("All You NeedIs Love," ©1967 Lennon and McCartney)—and may I be so bold as toadd: There's nothing you can hear that you cant learn to write for yourselfin your own way.There is one last major element of modern song form that must beincluded. With the appearance of mass appeal "chorus" songs in the earlyand mid '50s, a phenomenon occurred, unheard until that time. Loathingto end that catchy "sing-along" section at the ends of records, producersbegan to "fade" or gradually decrease the gain on the recording, slowlytapering it into silence as the chorus repeated over and over. This providedan ending of sorts, and gave the disc jockey a convenient segue to anotherrecord while he identified the title and the artist. At home on the RCA 45r.p.m. record changer it had—some said—a more sinister effect. It "brain-washed" the teenyboppers. Long after the record was finished and thetonearm was sloughing back and forth in the final groove, the FourSeasons' "Candy Girl" (by Larry Santos) was still playing on a turntablesomewhere in the back of little Susie s brain. It was psychological warfareof a profound potency. It was an artificially induced mantra to a genera-tion who did not yet know what that word meant. Fades became part ofthe modern song form, particularly when producers realized that by aug-menting the fade with other instruments and effects, a whole new emo-tional surge could be generated at the end of a record.Now what on earth is a "breakdown"; Does that mean the drummermade a mistake? It simply means that between the last chorus and the fadethe producer has introduced a segment of perhaps four bars more or lesswith a distinctly minimalist nature, using only basic instruments or some-times even silence to falsely lull the audience (they always fall for it) beforeplastering them with an augmented "fade" that is calculated to blow their134 Jimmy Webbsocks off. This "fade" will always disappear into the auditory distance atan apparent maximum volume. (Rarely if ever does the music actually get softerwhile being recorded in the studio.)Very well. Here are some great "chorus" songs with "fades" if you careto listen:"You've Lost that Lovin Feelin"—Mann, Spector & Weil:Verse/Chorus/Verse/Chorus/Bridge/Chorus/Fade"Without You"—Peter Ham:Verse/Verse/Chorus/Verse/Chorus/Fade"I Wanna Know What Love Is"—Mick Jones:Verse/Bridge/Chorus/Inst./Verse/Bridge/Chorus/Fade"To Love Somebody"—Barry, Robin & Maurice Gibb:Verse/Chorus/Verse/Chorus/FadeIn closing, lets look at a diagram that will indicate everything that ispertinent to the inclusion of these various components—a masterblueprint if you please. It is not meant to be taken literally as a model for asong since such a "song" might easily last fifteen minutes or more.f-r—CWZVv—fFVM>£In architectural terms this is indeed a "grand maison" or at the veryleast a rambling country estate. Obviously impractical, it does show thecorrect sequence of elements. The prologue precedes the verse. The versecan appear in tandem with another or precede the chorus. The bridgeoccurs after the verse or chorus. Some of the "rooms" can be omitted, butthose that remain will be constructed in proper order.We start with a familiar shape or "model" and alter it to suit us. TheGaudi Sagrada Familia in Barcelona is a church with a nave, a vestibule anda sanctuary. If its form was so distorted as to make worship impossible,then innovation would have nulled purpose.Perhaps someday there will be a musical Gaudi who will put an end toconventional form and set popular songs free from what remains of formalrestraint. There is no sign of such an annihilator on the horizon. "Rap^HM&mUA 135music," the would-be destroyer, is inevitably constructed verse/chorus/verse/chorus/verse/chorus ad infinitum. The innovators of the jazz worldas well as the writers of Broadway shows even in the "operetta" style havewith few exceptions adhered to the "shapes" that the public recognizeseasily and understands. Any attempt to reinvent the popular song has beenmet by an abject apathy if not open hostility, suggesting that Americansong form is somehow viscerally imbedded in the human species. Voltairehas said that "if God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him." Ifhumankind had not invented the American song form, then it would nodoubt still exist somewhere on the periphery of our souls as an unrealizedarchitecture of dreams. As Immanuel Kant said in his "Prolem Gamara toAny Future Metaphysics": "It is because it is."meIT CAN'T GET NO VERSE . .I searchfor phrases to sing your praises,But there arent any magic adjectives to tell you all you are.You re just too marvelous, too marvelousfor words . . .—Johnny Mercer & Richard Whiting,"Too Marvelous For Words"There is a story about Michelangelo which has survived for hundredsof years. An admirer asks the great sculptor to explain just how hemanages to create such a living, breathing representation of human fleshout of something so unyielding and difficult to manipulate as stone."Ah but you see," the painter of the Sistine chapel replies, "the imageis already within the block of stone. I merely chip away the pieces thatare not needed." Something similar happens when we get down to thebusiness of writing a lyric. Much of the process is simply the elimina-tion of less desirable elements in order to expose the more desirableones.It s time then to retrieve those research materials from their safe hidingplace; the letter to someone else or to oneself, the pages comprising all thethoughts and references the writer has been able to muster on the song-~fcnnt&H\\tk 137writing subject. There are a thousand ways to write a lyric and the follow-ing method is in no way advertised as the best. You are no less welcome tolook over my shoulder while I try to pursue this one to a logical conclu-sion. You will recall that my goal is to write a song called "ProblemChild," about someone close to me who goes through uncontrollablemood swings. Take another look at page 5 1.—WRITING SESSION I—After I look at the "letter" again and think about it for a few moments(I try to imagine the song I want to write—the style, the feel, the nature ofit) I turn immediately to the rhyming dictionary to discover what wordswill rhyme with "child." Right off the bat I can see that the odds arenot inmy favor (there are only sixteen words total) but I dutifully go through thelist and make notes:Problem child withaisled (hard to imagine a line contorted enough to actuallymake this work)beguiled (a good word but hardly conversational)childe (antique spelling, why do they bother?)enfiled (clearly an obscure word)foster child (useless)love child (useless)mild (g°°d word, unfortunately overused in advertising, etc.)self-styled (good)unreconciled (good)wild (very good)Wilde (one of us is gonna have to go ...)I hope you've noticed right away that some of the rhymes are logicallyconnected to the subject. They are related. Which ones are they?1. A problem child could conceivably be wild.2. A problem child might end up beguiled.3. He would probably not be mild but he might possibly aspire tosuch a state.4. A problem child would most probably be self-styled.5. Or unreconciled to some degree.138 Jimmy WebbSo I find that five of these are eminently usable and should go downon a short list: wild, beguiled, mild, self-styled, unreconciled. Is that all I have towork with? My Clement Wood thoughtfully steers me in another direc-tion: "See also IL and add *-ed' where appropriate." Going directly to IL,which is only a couple of columns away on the opposite page, I find imme-diately the misbegotten anglophiled, the much loathed chamomiled and theother-worldly voltaic piled. Saving you considerable time I made a list ofwords ending in "-ed" that make a modicum of sense in this universe.compiled (has one signal virtue in that to my knowledge it has neverappeared in a song lyric)defiled (most people still know what this means)reviled (a very strong word not often used in songwriting)riled (as in "all riled up"?)smiled (good)tiled (third floor, kitchens, bathrooms)whiled (as in "away the hours")What obvious semantic connections can we establish immediatelybetween which of these rhymes and the subject matter?1.A problem child might find himself defiled or feeling defiled or insome cases defiling others.2. He might likewise find himself reviled or reviling others.3. Smiled—has he ever?I believe the other rhymes: tiled, whiled, compiled, etc. to be well out of theballpark and so I find myself with three possibilities: defiled, reviled and smiledin addition to my original five.1. defiled2. reviled3. smiled4. wild5. beguiled6. mild7. self-styled (styled)8. unreconciled^unestnUA 139I am now all too aware that there isn't an overabundance of keen rhymesfor the word "child," which will inspire me to proceed cautiously. I will usethe good rhymes sparingly and wisely. Since I am thinking of a verse/cho-rus/verse/chorus form I will more than likely reserve them for the chorus oreven the very end of the chorus. As an experienced songwriter I am alreadylooking ahead to the chorus and thinking, "If I had more raw rhyming mate-rial I might write choruses that would alter slightly each time around." Mythinking continues: "With this scarcity of rhymes I may want a chorus thatrepeats exactly the same material every time it's used." We'll see. (At thispoint I usually jot the usable rhymes at the top of the first writing page forquick and easy reference.) Next I'll get a rhythm in my head. Is it to be a slowballad or a rock 'n roll tune? Is it going to be in common 4/4 time or is it tobe a perfect waltz? "Problem Child" I foresee as a medium 4/4 tempo. Iusually pat my foot in time while I work on a lyric, to see whether the natu-ral accents of the words fall on the proper beats. This also lays the ground-work for the shape of musical phrases to come. (If you have trouble pattingyour foot and chewing gum at the same time, how about getting yourself alittle metronome or simple drum machine or, better still, play along on yourinstrument or have your collaborator accompany you.) The point is to givethe lyric a consistent rhythm—the way a rapper does.Every song must begin with a first line, and prosaic as this observationmay seem, there is no diminishing the import of the first few words of alyric. At the beginning of the story the listener will more than likely makea decision to follow along or be diverted elsewhere. Contemplating my"letter" I'm captured immediately by a line at the beginning of the notes:"When you cross the line between brilliance and madness then you're outthere on your own" Not only does this express exactly what I want todirect to the person in question, it is also a come-on to the listener. Itarouses a certain curiosity regarding what the hell I'm talking about, towhom it is directed and just where the story might be headed. As irrationalas it may seem the listener will probably personalize the statement on firsthearing and wonder if it applies to him or her. I decide to change the word"the" to "that" because it sounds more emphatic. I count and chant alongwith each line to give it a definite rhythm.When you cross that line between brilliance and madnessThen you re out there on your own . . .140 Jimmy Webb(I have inadvertently written a rhyme into my notes and I decide to use it.)Just when you're overjoyedYou might he destroyed(For anybody who knows anything about manic-depression there is unin-tended humor in this couplet but it is pointed in the right direction and Ichoose to keep it for the present.)like Icarus too close to the sun.(The demographics of understanding have just altered dramatically infavor of students with at least a fragmentary knowledge of Greek mythol-ogy. I have dropped"flying towards" the sun as unwieldy.)It's so hard to come downfrom that dizzying height(The preceding line will not be found in the notes. IVe just had a mentalpicture of my subject person in a state of intense excitement, hence "thedizzying height" for which I anticipate I will need a rhyme. More impor-tantly, instinct and experience tell me that I'm very near the end of the firstverse and it is time to contemplate the beginning of the chorus, perhapsafter one more line.)Descending like a meteorite(I very much like the image of the "meteorite" but the line is missing someof the drama of a "falling star." What about . . .)Burning alive just like a meteorite.(This says more about the pain of the individual involved and the dramaof a catastrophic descent. I love the rhyme between height and meteorite. I addthe word "just" for smoother rhythm.)Vs. I: When you cross that line between brilliance and madnessThen you're out there on your own.Just when you're overjoyedYou might be destroyedlike Icarus, too close to the sunIt's so hard to come downfrom that dizzying height,burning alive just like a meteorite~£nnesntUA 141For clarity's sake, even though it may chop a line or thought into twopieces, I make a practice of dividing lines so that whenever possible therhyming words occur at the ends of phrases as illustrated. This makes therhyme scheme readily apparent and later on the lines can be reorganizedinto complete sentences i£ the writer so desires.I now have a rough verse—emphasis on rough—but its important tomove along and tell the story. Refinements can wait. In that spirit I plungedirectly into a Chorus I.Oh Problem Child(I'm thinking of a parental sigh of concern, hence "oh." I'm reminded ofNegro spirituals. Believe it or not I'm thinking about "Old Man River," or"Deep River." I go to my notes for words that are related to "problem":solution, question, and try to think of others—enigma} I get out the thesaurus:issue, mystery, dilemma, riddle, quandary, obstacle, difficulty, predicament, puzzle.*)You ve got to work this puzzle out(This is an impulse buy and not very satisfying, what about . . .)You 're a puzzle that you must work out(Kind of a tongue twister with "your" and "you" in the same sentence butIkeep it for nowand go to the next line.)I cant tell you what it's all about(This is nothing more or less than a blatant '60s cliche. "What it's allabout" makes me feel a bit faint so I'll try . . .)The solution is still in doubt(It's probably better, certainly more personal to change "the" to "your.")Chs. I: Oh Problem ChildYou re a puzzle that you must work outYour solution is still in doubt(The chorus is most likely destined to end with the words "Problem Child"so I'm going to begin to introduce "-ild" rhymes at the end of some of thelines.)All these dreams unreconciled142 Jimmy Webb(The line doesn't make perfect sense but it rhymes and it's the right numberof board feet so I'm leaving it in for the time being. I want to move on toanother rhymed couplet similar to "work out/in doubt." Remember we'retalking about someone who lives on an emotional roller coaster. I'm think-ing there has to be a "middle ground" for this person. The word "between"comes to mind, between something and something else.)Between the silence and the sound(I stumble onward.)And what you 've lost and what you 'vefoundThere has to be a middle ground(I decide to make ground an inner rhyme and finish with another "-ild"rhyme.)There has to be a middle ground where life is not so wild(Now how to finish the chorus? Inspiration strikes!)Oh and that's the problem, oh that's the Problem ChildTo recapitulate and evaluate:Vs. I: When you cross that line between brilliance and madnessThen you're out there on your ownJust when you re overjoyedYou might be destroyed like Icarus, too close to the sun.But it's hard to come downfrom that dizzying heightBurning alive just like a meteoriteChs. I: Oh Problem Child,You're a puzzle thatyou must work outYour solution is still in doubtAll these dreams unreconciledBetween the silence and the soundAnd what you've lost and what you'vefoundThere has to be a middle ground where life is not so wildOh and that's the problem, oh that's the Problem Child(I'm not overly pleased. There is a triteness to the "silence/sound"and "lost/found" rhymes. There is a forced quality to the rhythm of the~£nne&PtiUfi 143chorus and a "busyness." I like the verse a lot better than the chorus.)It's good to take a break after writing a verse and chorus to stretch andthink about what's been done that's good or what may be disappointing.It's also a good time to consider what form the song is likely to take whenit's finished.In this case "Problem Child" is moving ahead predictably as a verse/chorus/verse/chorus form and it is probably too early to determine if abridge or other addition will be needed. I decide to try writing anotherverse (Verse II) and since I like the first one it makes incredibly good senseto create a template of Verse L This can be accomplished easily by countingthe syllables in each line and marking the rhyme scheme with letters of thealphabet. "A" must rhyme with "A" and "B" must rhyme with "B," etc.VERSE I.(no rhyme).(no rhyme).(no rhyme)BIf this template is neatly copied onto onionskin or similar transparentmaterial, it can be kept clean and intact while it is used to overlay the lyricin progress. The syllable count and rhyme scheme of any line can bechecked quickly and efficiently. The number of syllables in each line of thenew verse and their rhyming partners should line up perfectly with this"road map." Why? Because the music of different verses will continue tobe for all practical purposes identical and if a lyric is written to this templatethen it will more than likely fit the same music even if there are someminor anomalies. For instance . . .Problem Child, where do your answers lie?Compared to:Problem Child, (we can) work this trouble out144 Jimmy WebbIn a case like this it is common for the writer to compress the fourthand fifth syllables of the second example into the same space (beat) nor-mally occupied by only one syllable. Though sticklers for detail will "Tsk!Tsk!" and shake their heads in reproach if the syllable count is not exactlythe same from verse to verse and chorus to chorus, most professionals nor-mally give themselves some leeway.Reviewing the "letter" I try to center on the emotional message. Twolines pop into my head like magic:/ know it's pretty up there in that world of visionsSofar awayfrom the hard decisions(Disastrously, neither one fits the template—count out the syllables foryourself. The first line is only one syllable over but the second one is a yardtoo long. Equally detrimental is the fact that the rhyme scheme isn't evenclose to the one on the template. Altering a rhyme scheme or radicallychanging the number of syllables between verses or choruses is most oftenconsidered inelegant and amateurish. Even though I think the lines aresuper I reluctantly continue my search.)I know you used to think you knew all the answers(Its a very close fit and also unfortunately very similar to Bob Dylan's"Like a Rolling Stone," and also a tongue and brain twister of the firstorder. Basically it sucks. Again, desperation is mother to invention.)When you cross yourfingers and hopefor salvationYou're on thin ice in a heat wave(I have conjured up a would-be provincial witticism or "saym " here andI'm liking it. The template tells me that I have a rhyming couplet comingup straight away and I decide to build on the cautionary tone of the open-ing lines.)'Cause when you think you've got it madeThat's the time to be afraidBeware when you're having too muchfun(This is just good old-fashioned Baptist guilt working overtime. I decide itwould be even spookier to say . . . )~£nnes*HltA 145God knows when you're having too muchfun(Seems okay so far.)'Cause you're hound to come down, better watch thatfirst step(Take my word for it, it is going to be impossible to rhyme step.')'Cause you're hound to come down and you're hound to get hurtAnd you're bound to befoundface-down in the dirt(I couldn't resist the tendency of the last two lines to rhyme inwardly—"bound/' and "found." I went with it—breaking my own rule about adher-ing to the rhyme scheme on the template. There is a beat missing between"found" and "face-down." I interject the word "lying")Vs. II: When you cross yourfingers and hopefor salvationYou're on thin ice in a heat wave'Cause when you think you've got it madeThat's the time to be afraidGod knows when you're having too muchfun'Cause you're bound tofall downAnd you're bound to get hurtAnd you're bound to befound lyingface-down in the dirt.(I'm thinking about abandoning the catchy inner-rhyme scheme of the lastline because the message is awfully grim. It has a kind of "I won t say I toldyou so" fatalism that seems cruel and pointless.)I'm anticipating trouble with the second chorus because I'm not overlyenthusiastic about Chorus I. I make a template anyway, hoping it will allfall into place. Maybe I'll write a Chorus II and it will be so good that Ican throw Chorus I away and just use the new one!CHORUS TEMPLATE(Oh Prob) lem AB_B146 Jimmy Webbc(Oh and that's the prob lem. Oh that's the Prob lem Child) AConcentrating on the first two lines of Chorus II for a while, I demon-strate a technique often used on troublesome couplets utilizing therhyming dictionary. First by free-associating some beginning lines to thissecond chorus:Oh Problem Child,is there something you don't understand?The template tells me that the end of the next line should rhyme so I go tothe rhyming dictionary and find "-and." There are eighty-one words in thebasic list. Other rhymes can be found by adding "-ed" to "AN." Tediousas it may seem, the real songwriter will consider each one of these wordsas a possibility and determine their degree of usefulness by mentally link-ing each one to the line under consideration.Oh Problemand at other times I have found myself subliminally "borrow-ing" something I did not intend to appropriate.So when an amateur songwriter submits a tape of songs to a profes-sional songwriter in hope of assistance he is committing what is essentiallyan unnatural act for the following reasons:1. The professional songwriter is usually not equipped logisticallyfor the promotion of someone else's music.2. He is preoccupied with his own endeavors and unlikely—except in very rarefied circumstances—to diminish his ownchances of placing a song with an important artist by taking onan amateur song as a cause celebre.3. He is letting himself in for serious legal trouble by even acceptinga tape from an amateur. (It is sad that a few greedy individualshave spoiled the 1960s spirit of free and easy camaraderie byharassing brilliant men like Billy Joel with long and costly nui-sance suits.)In reference to the latter and most pressing concern I spoke withgood friend and angelic chanteuse, Nanci Griffith.I was introduced to Julie Gold and a week later she gave me "From aDistance." Otherwise I don't know how Julie would have ever beendiscovered as a writer. In 1986 Christine Lavin introduced me to herand Julie asked, "Can I send you some things?" And I said, "Sure!"This must have been at Folk City or the Bottom Line, and a weekafter she sent me "From a Distance" we recorded it. At the time I wasopen to listening to people's tapes, but since then I've been sued bysomeone I never heard of or had access to, and because of that I'vebeen very, very hesitant to take tapes from someone I don't know.It is a paradox. It is possible to get into trouble by listening—bothlegally and creatively. On the other hand—and this is my view—we run aJimmy Webbmuch higher risk when we go through life wearing earplug airingto .i young ;.nd member of a ver. :ul band who was standingat the bar in the Bottom Line, in New York City. His band was enjcrunaway hit and I was engaging him on the su: :he abysmal igno-rance that young writers exhibited toward even fairly recent material likethat of the Beatles. "You know," 1 said, '"there's a record on the charts rightnow that has a line verbatim from "Blackbird." " "What a shame." hereplied—fervently sympathetic. "Yeah," I blundered on. " "Take these bro-ken wings and learn to fly; ' I sang in sarcastic imitation. My companion's. turned white. "I wrote that." he said. "That's our recordI am sure that he didn't mean to plagiarize McCartney, but it ismv certain knowledge that he was not a hairsbreadth from a trouncing [jht-hundred-pound lawyer. Is there any excuse for this] Sadly I writethat I am hard pressed to think of one.In 1971 when Harrv Nilsson and I were chumming around Londonbet and he w. rding the Nilsson Scktmlsson album produced bvRichard Perry one of the best albums ever made^ . he came to me asover a snifter of brandy. He asked me. almost contritely, if he could bor-row the phrase "up. up and away" for a delightful send-up song calledtta Get IDown .'.: been to vm knew a sailor br:name: her for .: couplt of days.7 the bubbly wajC:(':e morning comesWhat ifFm latejGotta get a up~EHYIC&PUUA 9Gotta big daySorry cant stay gotta run yeahGotta get homePick up the phoneGotta let some people know Fm gonna be late.—Harry Nilsson,"Gotta Get Up"I was impressed by his thoughtfulness in "checking" with me eventhough the phrase "up, up and away" had first appeared in a 1 94 1 radioshow about Superman. (He was asking to borrow something that hadalready been borrowed.) Knowledge of and respect for the work of others isthe first essential ingredient in the development of a truly effective techniqueif for no other reason than because, as John Gardner states, "All great writ-ing is—in a sense—imitation of great writing." That is the way my careerstarted, imitating the writers of songs that I heard on the radio in my earlyteens. As new songwriters we walk in the footsteps of colossi. Whatever ourfield—country, rock, pop, blues or Broadway—it is from their influence thatwe will ultimately derive our chances at "genius" and "originality"So what about before the Beatles? Those same Beatles who, like PaulSimon and Art Garfunkel, were heavily influenced by the graceful andcrystalline harmonies of Don and Phil Everly? Who wrote those EverlyBrothers songs? Many of the great ones—"All I Have to Do Is Dream"and "Take a Message to Mary" come to mind—were written by Felice andBoudleaux Brvant. (How many songwriters in the twenty- to thirty-year-old bracket know who wrote "Wake Up Little Susie"?) And before theBryants (who were they influenced by?) there was Hank Williams. Andbefore that what about Noel Coward, Larry Hart and Harry Warren?Charlie Chaplin? "Now wait a minute!" I can hear you saying. "You don'tmean to say that Hank Williams was influenced by Charlie Chaplin?"There is a unilateral qualitv to influence and emulation that transcends"styles" of music. "Smile," Chaplin's heartrending and ironic masterpiece,would seem to be the mirror image o{ Williams's "I'm So Lonesome ICould Cry." (Arthur Fieldler, who achieved near deific status conductingthe Boston Pops Orchestra for over thirty-six years, said there were onlytwo kinds of music—good and bad.)ens[o jiM\n WebbRecently a friend of mine was talking music with his thirty-year-olddaughter, a journalism major at university who wants to specialize in cov-ng tin* entertainment field. "Well, probably the greatest was Cole," heaid "Oh wall, Nat King Cole . . . right," she replied."No, darling," he said. "I mean Cole Porter." She gave him a blanklook. "Dad, who's Cole Porter?" (Sammy Cahn was right about theSongwriters Hall of Fame Museum. We needed one desperately.)Ot course (so they say in America) it all goes back to Stephen Foster.There are irritations associated with many musicologists and their blindacceptance of Fosters position as the father of all American musical things—one being that it is commonly supposed that he invented the "form of the.American popular song." Specifically it is stated that he originated the so-called A/B structure (which we will hereafter refer to as verse/ chorus).Consider this verse and chorus from the ancient Irish lament "Kerrick Fergus":Verse: If I could go over to Kerrick FergusOr else to Antrim or to BallingraveThen the deep sea ocean I would swim overThe deepest ocean my love tofindChorus: But the seas are deep and I cant swim overNor do I have light wings toflyBut if I had me a Kerry hoatsmanThen I would row my love, my love and /.*In England and America this song more than likely metamorphosed into"The River Is Wide" (also known as "There Is a Ship") a verse/verse/verse form, the last of which goes:The water is wideI cannot get o'erNeither have IThe wings toflyGive me a boatThat can carry twoAnd boat shall rowMy love and IThe exact technical description of a "chorus" is included in a subsequent chapter.~£nne&tuitA IIPerhaps Foster only reinvented or imitated the verse/chorus structure ofthe Irish folk song. What he was, without embellishment, was the firstfamous American songwriter and creator of the first truly "native"American songs. (He was also a bit of a political agitator, becoming a writerof antiseparatist propaganda ditties as tensions between the North andSouth increased.) It is widely accepted that his "native" quality—whichpresumably owed a great deal to the work songs, chants and spirituals ofNegro laborers—all but disappeared with Fosters death (January 13,1864, in New York City) and did not reappear in American musical cultureuntil the 1880s.Another major irritation regarding Fosters preeminence as the Fatherof American Pop Music is that such hero worship for the most partignores the contributions of theChild is there something you don't understand?with abandwith abby-landwith ampersandwith analysandwith backhand. . . Except that these strange rhymes have little or nothing to do withthe song I am writing so I need to scan the list of rhymes and find themost likely candidates, the ones that have some logical connection.hand —is the answer close at hand?no-mans land —are you tired of no-mans land? or—do you live in no-man's land?Problem Child, I can see the puzzle in your eyes^Hnz&tuMk 147From a list of over 440 words I distill the following:recognize —there's a look I recognizeanalyze —that's so hard to analyzevisualize —that I cannot visualizeI find some other possibilities that do not readily pair themselves with"there's a puzzle in your eyes!' But I make a list of them because they seem torelate to the overall situation and subject matter:apologizecompromisecriticizeimprovisefantasizesacrificesympathizeliesThese suggest some other combinations:Oh Problem Child,willyou ever make a compromiseor become a sacrifice?Oh Problem Child,do you ever try to see the liesin the truths youfantasize?Oh Problem Child,do you ever think to sympathizewith the ones you victimize (criticize)?The related rhymes in a given list represent a huge open-ended mosaicof possibility that can be organized in thousands of different ways. A lotdepends on the writer s patience and the strenuous application of intenseconcentration over long periods of time.Problem Child,are you really quite so unconcernedwith the lessons left unlearned?148 Jimmy WebbOh Problem Child,tell me of the secrets you have learnedwhat wisdom have you earned?Oh Problem Child,can you hear the questions in the air,does an answer wait somewhere?Oh Problem Child,don t you know that life is hardlyfairare you so devil-may-care?(and hundreds of others.)Oh Problem Child,can you tell me where your answers lie?What is your alibi?What principles apply?Where does your reasonfly?How do you justify?Why don t you simplify?Is it hard to qualify?How can you rectify?What is your reply?What does it signify?When willyou testify?What willyou verify?Another pairing:Oh Problem Child,Who, What, Where, How and Why,Where do your answers lie?It is obvious that there are potentially countless versions of these firsttwo lines but one of the factors that will cull the more unsuitable is theimminent "-ild" rhyme at the end of the third line (see template). Whatkind of "-ild" rhymes are left? Unreconciled and wild have been used inChorus I which leaves . . . :~pnne&mitA 1491. defiled2. reviled3. smiled4. wfW(used)5. beguiled6. mi'M7. self-styled (styled)8. unreconciled (used)Another process of comparison and elimination becomes necessary. Ihave several pairs of opening lines, some of which I am quite fond, but whichof these can I logically connect with one of the remaining "-ild" rhymes?Oh Problem Chili,can you help me try to understandis the answer close at hand ~ild?For the life of me I cant logically connect this couplet with any of theremaining "-ild" rhymes. You try it.Oh Problem Child,willyou ever really understandthat you live in no-mans land bewildered and beguiled?Oh Problem Child,when I see the puzzle in your eyesthere's no look I recognize in that vision so self-styledOh Problem Child,do you need tofind a compromiseand avoid a sacrifice to the gods you have reviledOh Problem Child,do you ever try to see the liesin the truths youfantasize, do you know that you re beguiled?Oh Problem Child,are you really quite so unconcernedwith the lessons left unlearned and the innocence defiled150 Jimmy WebbOh Problem Child,tell me of the secrets you have learnedwhat wisdom have you earned, what life is this you've styled?Some of these are hopelessly far-fetched but you have to be on tiptoeto reach the cookie jar. (You will not find the perfect solution to suchproblems without making a fool out of yourself once in a while so don't beafraid of it.) Eventually, by using a process of trial and error while search-ing for semantic connections between dozens of different rhymes andlines—and always following the template, I come up with Chorus II:Oh Problem Childdo you ever try to see the liesin the truth youfantasize?Do you know thatyou re beguiled?Do you live a nightmare of despairin yourgame of solitaire?Don tyou care that life could be so sweet and mildOh what's the problem, what's the Problem Child?Before you start I must tell you that I'm decidedly unhappy with boththese choruses. They seem complicated and unwieldy. The disproportion-ate effort that I am investing is not being repaid with any dramaticimprovement. What is wrong mostly? First, the rhythm of the rhymescheme is overly complicated and the message is obscure. (I literally don'tknow what I'm talking about—a sad state of affairs.) Second, I am severelycramped by the lack of available "-ild" rhymes. Conclusion: Retire fromthe field of battle for the time being, consider going in another direction.—WRITING SESSION II—After some reflection I've decided to throw both of these choruses out.I don't have enough "-ild" rhymes for two choruses even i£ they are onlyslightly different. Couplets such as this one make me uncomfortable:Do you ever see the liesin the truth you fantasize?The rhythms and rhymes seem forced and I doubt if adding music is7HHe&tHttA 151going to help very much. (In fact it may even make matters worse.) I desire asimpler chorus; just one version with a smoother rhythm and a clearer mes-sage. What do I like about what I have so far? I like the fact that the secondchorus is composed of questions, especially the last line—"what's the ProblemChild'/ better than the preachier"that's the Problem Chili1of the first chorus. Ibelieve that putting the second chorus in the interrogatory was a significantbreakthrough and will prove to be much more sympathetic. First thing I'mgoing to do is get rid of the emotional but rather meaningless "oh."Problem Child,you re running wild(Changing it to a question.)Problem Child,why do you run so wild?What struggle are you making that's so unreconciled?(Unreconciled is a rhyme from discarded Chorus I. Doggedly I go to the dic-tionary to learn its precise meaning: unreconciled—unaccommodated,unattuned, unconformed, unresolved, etc. There is a struggle going oninside this person that needs to be reconciled.^)What struggle deep inside you is so unreconciled?(Good.)What are you runningfrom, where are you running to?(In spite of the grammatical error—we are not supposed to end sentenceswith prepositions—these two lines paint a vivid picture of personality intransition, even turmoil. "To" and "from" are opposites and oppositesalways work aesthetically. I decide I'm going to end the next line with aword that rhymes with "from." Become, numb, overcome, some, succumb, all sug-gest themselves and are related if only distantly to the subject matter.There are a few possibilities that I caution myself to stay away from: bum,dumb, scum, slum?)What will you become . . .(The next line has to end with a "u" rhyme: clue, you, do, few, through, pursue,in order to rhyme with "where are you running fo?")152 Jimmy Webb—when the runnings through?—whatever will you do?(or)—what is to becomeof a mixed-up kid like you?(Okay, lets think about that one. I wish I had a better reference than"mixed-up kid.")Problem Child,why do you run so wild?What struggle deep inside you is so unreconciled?What are you runningfrom, where are you running to?What is to become of a clueless twerp like you?(Just kidding.)What is to become of a crazy kid like you?(I would like to think of this line as affectionate and perhaps a littletongue-in-cheek.)Do youfeel exalted or do youfeel defiled?(Opposites working for us—and the line tells us that our subject is out oftouch with his real feelings.)How long since you cried or really smiled?(There's something unsettling about the grammatical balance of this line.I'm trying to ask, "Are you truly involved in the emotions; you seem to feelboth positive and negative?" and failing miserably.)How long since you laughed or even smiled?(It's natural-sounding language that says, "I'm concerned about the factthat you don't seem very happy.")You may not give a damnbut Baby here I amTell me, what's the Problem Child?(Okay, a couple of things. The writer/singer is saying, "I'm available, I~£nne&tuitk 153care, I'm listening," which is an important part of the message. The song isfriendlier now and more sympathetic. Phrasing the last line as a questionputs on a different twist, a double entendre. Adding the two words "tellme" says, "Confide in me, I'll understand/')NEW CHORUSProblem Child, Awhy do you run so wild? AWhat struggle deep inside you is so unreconciled? AWhat are you runningfrom BWhere are you running to CWhat is to become Bof a crazy kid like you CDo youfeel exalted or do youfeel defiled? AHow long since you laughed or even smiled? AYou may not give a damn Dbut Baby, here I amL)Tell me what's the Problem Child? AThis is a good chorus utilizing interesting language. It is true to the originalpurpose of the song, not overly complicated in its structure and it seems thatit will not be so difficult to write the music. It has taken considerable effortto get this far and perhaps the reader is not used to making so much fuss overone lyric but most successful writers are at least this persnickety and perhapseven more so. "True Colors," a mega-hit for Cyndi Lauper (by Tom Kelly andBilly Steinberg), was originally written and rewritten for Kenny Rogers severaltimes before finding its rightful niche on the charts. Indeed, rarely does a lyricarrive in full bloom and neatly arranged on a single page, as a quick perusal ofStephen Bishops Songs in the Rough project (published by St. Martins Press)will surely confirm. It will reassure the writer who worries too much aboutmessy pages of start-overs and crossed-out lyrics that many of the greatestsongs in recent history have graphic beginnings that are not so much humbleas inscrutable. Songwriters' notebooks often resemble nothing quite so muchas collections of graffiti.Our architectural metaphor may appear to be in a bit of trouble. Wehave a blueprint/floor plan (form) and have even begun to erect somewalls (lyrics) yet, strictly speaking, the foundation is not in place. This154 Jimmy Wkbb"foundation" is the chord structure, and "building" a song differs frombuilding a house in that our "foundation" can be added after the walls goup or even after the roof (melody) is raised. Remember that writing a songis a fluid process wherein the major components can be freely interchangedalmost as though we are working on a zero-gravity construction site inhigh earth orbit.Verse I: When you cross that line between brilliance and madnessThen you re out there on your ownJust when you re overjoyed, you might be destroyedLike Icarus, too close to the sun(Change): It's so hard to come downfrom that dizzying heightBurning alive just like a meteoriteChorus I: Problem Child, why do you run so wild?(Change): What struggle are you making that's so unreconciled?What are you runningfrom?Where are you running to?What is to become of a crazy kid like you?Do youfeel exalted or do youfeel defiled?How long since you laughed or even smiled?You may not give a damn(Change): But Baby, here I am OR: (two alternatives)So tell me what's the deal?How do you reallyfeel?Tell me what's the Problem Child?Verse II: When you cross yourfingers and hopefor salvationYou're on thin ice in a heatwave(Change): 'Cause when you've got it madeThat's the time to be afraidGod knows when you're having too muchfunCause you're bound tofall downAnd you're bound to get hurtAnd you're bound to befound lyingface down in the dirtRepeat Chorus"pHYie&HtltA 155jp1CW « 4-.J -4 *-4111V£tol1CHO^S vcRse*CHotfuSI made a couple of changes. "It's so hard to come down!' for one. IVedecided to change "what struggle deep inside you" in favor of "what struggle are youmaking?" " You may not give a damn, hut Baby, here I am" is trite; I'm thinking ofperhaps "So tell me what's the deal, how do you really feel?" "'Cause when you thinkyou've got it made" doesn't nearly fit the template and it is equally effective tosay, "'Cause when you've got it made" and then we still face that very wordy andawkward repetition of "bound tofall down, bound to get hurt, bound to befound . .."which I'm going to leave as is for the moment.The form seems largely complete. The choruses are substantial (theymight even be overly long). In my mind another verse and chorus is out ofthe question, the only possible change being the addition of a short bridgeor instrumental before a final chorus. It is time to put the lyric to one sidefor a while and look ahead to the music.$mGIVE US A TUNE THEN, JIMAnd he played it high and low and he played it in the middleHe played a simple tune on his tiny littlefiddle . . ,—Jimmy Webb,"A Simple Little Tune"From 1950 on, to a considerable degree words and music became subordi-nate to the rhythms evolved from blues, Latin and Caribbean music. Thisincreasing emphasis on rhythm is an ongoing process that we might easilyperceive to be reaching its zenith in the '90s with the advent of rap andhip-hop. A legendary singer/songwriter whose roots lie deep in the foun-dations of the Brill Building recently stated in an interview that the nextdecade would see the complete demise of melody. We can only hope thatthe outlook is not quite so grim.What is melody? Technically it is simply a series of single musical tones. Wehave all heard a person, even one completely bereft of musical skill, "peck-ing out" a rough tune on a keyboard. This series of musical tones is usu-ally of modest duration, then repeats, perhaps with some minor variation,and it is this repetition that serves to familiarize the listener with a "tune"almost immediately. (In classical music the definition of melody broadensconsiderably to include the most prominent series of tones or "leading~Ennes*nUk 157part" no matter how lengthy or convoluted.) Imagine melody as a kind of"roof line" above the song form—just picture it graphically like this:Each time the graph rises, falls or stays put, another syllable of thelyric is usually sung. The notes must do one of three things: they mustascend, descend or repeat. The changing of the tones is no more significantthan is their repetition. Alec Wilder makes much of the fact that repetitionof notes was a vital, stylistic trademark of Gershwin, Berlin and many oth-ers. In my own song "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" no less than fivewords are sung to the same repeated note in the first line. It becomes amost delicate matter then whether the composer decides to move a toneupward or downward (and how far) or bravely decides to "let it ride." Itcould be said that the whole challenge of composing melody is defined bywhich of these three choices a composer makes plus one other. The fourthis duration. The composer must also decide to what degree he or she willelongate or truncate a given tone, depending on the syllable to be sung, therhythm or meter of the lyric and the number of beats available. We willfocus on the question of duration presently, but for the moment, what ofthis initial problem? How, why and where to direct a succession of tones?Melodies are, for the most part, rooted in diatonic, minor and chro-matic scales, which are common to different andspecific keys, thesemodes sometimes being referred to as key centers. Since the beginning oftime, melodies have been constructed using specific modes or arrays ofnotes drawn from these particular scales such as the diatonic, minor,melodic minor, etc., and organized into modes such as the Lydian. This iswhat a child does when he or she pecks out a melody using only the blacknotes of the piano. They are utilizing the pentatonic mode. In modernsongwriting, notes are chosen from all over the scale, and in all but thesimplest nursery rhymes melody usually incorporates chromatic elements,that is to say, both black and white notes.158 immy Wi:bbThe "distance" between these tones, indeed the distance between anygiven note and another, is called an interval. If you can count to eight youcan easily compute these intervals and speak about them knowledgeably.Using a C-major scale for clarity—and keeping in mind that the numberof half steps between intervals is the same in all keys and a mathematicalabsolute—here are the names of the intervals in the diatonic scale.T3 DOljci:IT1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th (octave)What of the other notes—the so-called "black notes"? (Even though itis only in the key ofC major that these notes are actually black and then onlyon a piano keyboard.) They are either augmented (sharped) or diminished (flat-ted) versions of the common intervals, augmented meaning that the interval israised (+) by a half step; diminished meaning that the interval is lowered (-) bya half step. (Depending on how they are approached. If a melody is descending, amodified diatonic interval would be considered diminished and vice versa. Ifthe melody is ascending the same interval would be considered augmented.)2ndQr3rd 4th3-5thiter 2&&- faS-&rM-7th 8th (octave)~£nne&*HUA 159By counting half steps the interval between a given note in a melodyand the note that follows can be given a numerical designation regardless ofthe key signature. Now a brief discussion of what constitutes a key signature.A diatonic scale can begin on any one of the twelve notes available. (Thereare only twelve notes available even though they may be sounded in differ-ent octaves, lower or higher on the keyboard.) A key signature is a musicalnotation that has been developed to alert the musician immediately towhich of the twelve available diatonic scales is to be used for a particularpiece. To the musician who reads music it indicates how the notes shouldbe altered in reference to the C-major diatonic scale which is used in theprevious example. Here is an example of a key signature, in this case E-flat.It indicates that the diatonic scale on which the key is based begins on anE-flat, which is simply the third note in the C-major diatonic scale loweredby one half step. (When a note is flatted, it is lowered by one half step.When it is sharped it is raised one half step.) So remembering the C-majordiatonic scale, which has no sharps or flats, refer carefully to the followingexample wherein the E-flat major scale is represented by a key signaturewhich notifies the musician that the first note of the scale (E) is lowered ahalf step, that the fourth note of the scale (A) is lowered a half step andthat the fifth note of the scale (B) is also lowered a half step. This createsanother perfect diatonic scale, one that is in the key of E-flat major.1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)-^ ocfev& ^i> 4M i?(s) 4M1II1 1zII5II16 1111And to continue, here are examples of all the available diatonic scales,the key signatures that indicate to the musician which scale he is to playand the alterations that the key signature imposes on the original "whitenote" C-major scale.C Major C* Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)C Major Dt. Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)C Major D Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th(octave)C Major Et Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)C Major E Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th(octave)C Major F MajorC Major F* Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th(octave)C Major Q> Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)C Major G MajorC Major Al> Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)C Major A Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)C Major Bt Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)C Major B Major1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)1st 2nd 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th 8th(octave)162 [immy WebbThe mathematical principle of counting the distance between differ-ent notes in any of these scales and assigning them a numerical value isconsistent between the scales and is an inviolate formula. For instance inthe key of C major the distance between C and the G above C is an inter-val of a perfect fifth.i _ -O(7 half steps)In the key of E-flat the distance between E-flat and the B-flat above isan interval of a perfect fifth.mfc^(7 half steps)lespecially defined by the differences between male and female, and soa song that can be sung easily in C major by a male songwriter may be unsuit-able for a female or a singer with a different range. There are other reasonswe experiment with different keys. It is a belief widely held and a theory thathas been debated for centuries that different keys have diverse emotionalcharacteristics, that sharp kevs are brighter, flat kevs warmer and C majorrather neutral or nondescript. Some composers and authors have assignedactual colors or specific textures to certain keys. Alec Wilder states unequiv-ocally that "each key possesses different characteristics and enhances either^uneSHxltA 165aggressive or passive points of view." He goes on to say that D-flat is "warmand romantic," that D-natural is "forceful," and that E-natural creates a"soft, pavane-like mood." A famous friend—one of the most accomplishedsingers in the profession—hears different "colors" in different keys: D majoris green; F sharp major is purple; E natural, a bright yellow. Others allege tohave found that certain instruments in the orchestra perform and sound bet-ter in one key than they do another. The key of A major was associated byclassical composers with Italy, bright sunny weather and a joyful attitude."Spring Song" by Felix Mendelssohn is in A major, as well as Beethoven's tri-umphant "Ode to Joy."While a working knowledge of all keys contributes immeasurably toan overall comprehension of the purely mathematical nature of music,modern electronic keyboard instruments will immediately transpose anykey to another and the writer with limited theoretical knowledge can andshould unashamedly adjust the instrument as is convenient. In otherwords—the amazing truth is—in our contemporary era the writer whouses a keyboard need only know how to play in C major. Guitar playerswill have always known the magical capabilities of the capo (a deviceattached to the guitars neck) in changing the key of the guitar at will.(Irving Berlin only played in C major and had a mechanical piano espe-cially constructed which shifted the action in order to play in other keys.)"Writing music is easy. What's hard, is knowing which notes to use,and which to let fall to the ground." So said Johannes Brahms, an unforgiv-ing fundamentalist who insisted on dotting all the is and crossing all thet's. (Brahms seems to be toying with an architectural metaphor of his own.Is he picturing himself high on a scaffold with trowel, mortar and bricks inhand?) His is a negative premise, but given the fact that a composer cansequence notes in an arbitrary or (worse) obvious fashion, and that there areliterally millions of sequences possible, it seems logical that at least oneaesthetic approach could evolve from the exclusion of cliched options.Prior to the '50s, in the so-called Golden Era of "professional song-writers" we find a great deal of gratuitous inclusion. Imagine the whole atti-tude of the era in this way: "Let's use all the notes! All the white ones andall the black ones!" This mind-set made for a rich feast—an orgy of chro-maticism whose American origins probably lie in the augmented fourth,minor third and dominant seventh tones of the "blues" scale, thoughMichael Feinstein has pointed out that the same flatted third and seventh166 Jim 3bare prominent in Jewish tolk rr. authenticform or Jewish tolk music' mav have been equallv influential.C majorlj= „ o i *O " ° "Blues -: K;e::"r:% ?0 »- ^J"M - - O ?o "=1* ;'-r^Ir.*'* r-.y j^'*/ ZrJ -1 £-> -/ gr- "-"II III II HITT \1 «r'Th :nething undeniably corm- about melody and/or harmonvpcoceeding m mcrements of successive half steps as when a barbershopquartet sings the las: :A~::-.ce of How Dry I Am" traditional song—Anonymous).I get more than mv share of half-step composition in most romanticclassical music It is this kind of whining, which somehow almost alwaysmar at ot tune, especially on stringed instruments, that has; .a ssk : a bad name. The use of sequential half steps probably;hed its peak int; ng :oms ofthe Mctorian era. when well-bredladies fanned their passions with lace-bedecked fans as the half steps cas-caded r ;: die key boards of ill-tuned spine ts Most of this music pro-duces the same effect on my srine as listening to someone with dry. scary~tnne&tHUA 167skin rubbing their feet together, which is to say that in my hearing themost beautiful melody is usually developed in intervals of a whole step ormore (up or down). Michael Feinstein, in his book, complains that ColePorter frequently used "step-wise melody" as in the standard "Night andDay." "I find it boring," wrote Feinstein. The word "chromatic" (chromati-cism) is a somewhat ambiguous one and has a duality of meaning thatshould remind us of Leonard Bernstein's contention that it is ambiguityand duality which make great art possible. Fittingly there are two distinctdefinitions of chromatic tones according to Webster's Seventh New CollegiateDictionary (G. & C. Merriam Company).A. Of, relating to, or giving all the tones of the chromatic scale.This is the definition of chromaticism that makes my skin crawl,implying as it does a consecutive employment of half steps. It is my beliefthat rarely if ever should three half steps be sounded in sequence in amelody unless the composer wishes to deliberately achieve an antiquatedor obvious effect. In support I cite Webster's definition of the chromatic scale: Amusical scale consisting entirely (my italics) of half steps.B. Characterized by frequent use of non-harmonic tones or of har-monies based on non-harmonic tones. (Refers to notes not includedin the diatonic scale, diverse from the simple triad.)This definition is the one that Bernstein has in mind when he refers tothe "chromaticism" of late-nineteenth-century composers like Wagner, saidto be the inventor of chromaticism, not to mention the leitmotif or intervalas a melodic building block. I prefer the term "chordal" in reference to thelater music of Ralph Vaughn Williams, Samuel Barber, Benjamin Brittenand even Burt Bacharach. "Chordal" composition derives its character fromthe combining of diverse harmonic and chromatic elements, the emphasisbeing on the interlocking texture of relatively complex chords in progres-sions. "Frequent use of non-harmonic tones or ofharmonies based on non-harmonic tones" does not imply that the nature of the music is schmaltzyor obvious. Rather, it points out a new direction in twentieth-century musicwhich began with simple dissonance, evolved through the whole-tone scaleof Debussy, and was then refined and defined by Stravinsky (only to crashand burn in the serialistic orgy of Schoenberg and his followers), a mathe-matical dead end that doesn't concern us.168 Jimmy WebbA melodic move from the root to the augmented fourth and then upto the fifth as in Leonard Bernstein's and Stephen Sondheim's "Maria"represents a tasteful use of chromaticism. From the root to the augmentedfifth and then down a half step? Good and well. Bernstein used this inter-val as a unifying device in the whole score of West Side Story.pL J 'impMa - ri - a Ma - ri - aIn modern songwriting a lot of diatonic context is needed to supportevery single half step.The key to writing interesting—even brilliant—melody is to lead theear in a path which is both pleasant and to some degree unexpected. (For themoment those of you who wish to write unpleasant melodies are excused.)Half steps in a series, because of their adjacency, hardly ever come as even amild surprise. The contemporary composer probably instinctively under-stands this and makes a mental note: In a melodic line use half steps sparingly.All of these "black and blue notes" were absorbed and thoroughlyexploited in ragtime, dance tunes and film and theatremusic until the ban-quet abruptly ended in the late '40s. The guests woke up with slightly sourstomachs craving something with more roughage. The table was set for afresh course but the five-star chefs, wealthy and aging, lacked the energy orinclination to reinvent an American musical cuisine. (They had completelyoverlooked the potential of the electric guitar for one thing.) Enter "rock'n roll"—home cooking. Pop music suffered greatly. We found ourselveslistening to "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini" (PaulVance and Lee Pockriss), "Flying Purple People Eater" (Sheb Wooley)and other milestones of the decline of Western civilization. But there werealso signs of hope: Goffm and King, Bacharach and David, Anka, Leiberand Stoller, Mann and Weil, Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman, andBoudleaux and Felice Bryant to name a few. These new writers of poptunes differed from their predecessors in two major respects, and as a con-sequence have sometimes been criticized by the old dragons as well as "blues'n roll" purists. First, their lyrics were, well, lightweight at first glance. For rea-sons that are hard to pin down there was a new populism influencing~£nne&tHitA 169American taste after World War II. Gene Lees in his foreword to AlecWilder's book advances this theory: 'After World War II the networkowners turned their attention to television, more or less abandoning radio,leaving local stations to play records of a constantly declining quality."Culture by default. The taste of sour grapes is ill-concealed in this obser-vation, and though it contains seeds of truth, it completely ignores the factthat when Elvis Presley recorded Arthur Crudup's "That's All Right" in1956 (the year of my birth) a new American art form was born whole,every bit as valid as the "Jewish/Blues" genre which spawned Tin PanAlley and the "Golden Age of Songwriting" in the first place. So the NewGiants wrote lyrics for adolescents! So what? It is said that Irving Berlinwasn't above writing a song for money, and besides, many of these new lyricswere gems of considerable elegance like Gilbert Becaud and PierreDelanoe's "Let It Be Me" (English translation by Mann Curtis).Also, the newcomers had all but abandoned chromaticism, paying morehomage to Palestrina than they did Mendelssohn. Do you think it wasbecause teenagers were too stupid to understand "black notes"? Sorry. Itwas because of the preceding three decades of chromatic obsession. It wastime, then, to cleanse the musical palate. High time to drop some notes tothe ground.The great innovator of popular melody in our generation was BurtBacharach. The very first notes of "Baby, It's You" (recorded by theShirelles, 1 96 1), evoke a minimalist virtually pentatonic mode. In "Walk onBy" (recorded by Dionne Warwick, 1964), Bacharach's melody isforthrightly diatonic in its haunting minor key. His more adventurousskips of fourths and fifths are apparent in such songs as "Are You There(With Another Girl)" (©1965, Hal David and Burt Bacharach), whichincludes the line "I hear the music coming out ofyour radio," or "My Little RedBook" (©1965, Hal David and Burt Bacharach), introduced in the 1965film What's New, Pussycat?, and 1964 s "A House Is Not a Home" (first hit-ting the charts with Brook Benton's version on July 18, 1964, immediatelyfollowed by Dionne Warwick's release on August I of the same year). Hisinfluence was a breath of fresh air to a public that had tired of schmaltzbut could not completely surrender to three-chord rock 'n' roll. Bacharachpunctuated his clean, classically influenced melodies with idiosyncraticaccents and even introduced polyrhythms to the Top 40. ("Anyone WhoHad a Heart," which made its Billboard debut by Dionne Warwick on170 immy WebbDecember 7, 1963.) In a nutshell his style is one of unexpected or innova-tive skips, combined with surprising and uplifting changes of key (modu-lations) and well-considered variations on key phrases. At the moment weare not particularly concerned with changes of key but "skips" and "varia-tions" are important concepts. What is a "skip"? The half step is not a"skip" consisting, as it does, of two adjacent tones, and a whole stepdoesn't qualify either, as whole steps are also "neighbors" in a diatonicsense. The interval of the third whether major or minor exists in a kind ofgray area, i.e., yes it is a skip of sorts, but is so closely related to the root ofa chord that it would seem to be living across the street or at least on thesame block. Your musical dictionary might tell you that a third is a "skip"but in your conversations with singers a "skip" will more likely be under-stood to be an interval that exceeds a major third.Upward SkipsnV ijf hr» «»Teh u o wo qo"V* r-» *> S* ff«3 •& o °1st 2nd 3rd 4thDownward Skips4+ 5th 5+ 6th 7- 7th 8th(octave)_ i iiinV/L *» r» '\fr\ ** i"V VW |i1st 2nd 3rd 4th -5 5th 6th -6 7th 8th(octave)In melody writing "skips" are almost always interesting. The fact thatthey are sometimes unsingable or awkward to the ear might be perceived asa necessary evil. During one abysmal historic era, the "skip" of one to fourplus (augmented fourth), also known as a tritone, was thought to be ofSatanic origin and was therefore banned from the liturgy of the Romanchurch. Writers should not be surprised if singers react in a similar fashionwhen asked to sing an augmented fifth or a major seventh. The carefulcomposer weighs the risks and guards against abuse of this importantdevice.Even as the writer should be wary—with good cause—of stringingtogether too many adjacent or near adjacent tones, discretion should alsobe exercised toward the excessive use of radical "skips."~£nne&HtHh 171t jUn.Lju iig^ vtToo many adjacent tones*m^m ^^mToo many sequential skipsForgetting "sound" for the time being, look at the following exampleas a two-dimensional representation of graphic art.4 i 7i J ^ m %p =Visually weigh the balance between adjacent tones and skips. This aes-thetic balance cannot be taught, but the composer should be aware thatthere are only two kinds of notes in a melody: more or less adjacent notesand more or less separated or "skipping" notes. Neither should predomi-nate to excess. It is a smooth blend of adjacent and "skipping" tones thatcreates beautiful tunes. As an exercise, noodle out a melody on your guitaror piano (afront strain or eight bars). Try to create a nice balance betweenadjacent tones and the occasional skip. Don't be afraid to sing the melodyover and over to determine its facility and ease of motion. Singing is theultimate test. Most professional songwriters have sung themselves intolaryngitis during the course of one or two writing sessions and (while we reon the subject) composers must differentiate between what is humanly pos-sible and what is wishful thinking in regard to the vocal range of asoprano, alto, tenor or whatever. A tremendous emotional surge can begenerated by beginning a song low and finishing it high while the com-poser blithely writes the singer out of the picture. Many immortal songshave been written within the span of an octave and indeed a singular pro-fessional cachet is attached to the composer who can execute this eleganttrick. He will be much beloved by singers of disparate abilities and yea ver-ily he will be covered even unto future generations. (It is advisable to tryout songs with experienced singers before carving them in copyrightedstone.)Now about variation. We know that pop songs are repetitive in that majorelements of the form, verses, choruses, etc., repeat the same musical con-172 immy Webbtent—sometimes ad nauseam. In melody writing variation refers to thepractice of emulating or varying rhythmic and/or tonal materials within asingle verse, chorus, bridge, phrase, or song. Variation is notthe complete oppositeof repetition. In order to be effective the variation must remind us ofsomething we've already heard. These are Leonard Bernstein's words fromhis Harvard lecture: "... What is a variation anyway? It's always in oneway or another, a manifestation of the mighty dramatic principle known asthe Violation of Expectation. What is expected is, of course, repetition—either literal or in the form of an answer, a counterstatement, or whatever,and when those expectations are violated, you've got a variation." Hecould have said: "When some of those expectations are violated"—toviolate all expectation is to depart. "MacArthur Park" will provide somereadily accessible examples of variation. At the outset the first two linesare identical: same melody, same key (D minor), everything. This is rep-etition:I re- call the yel-low cot- ton dress It was foam-ing like a wave on the ground a - round your3J1 'J ^nJlJl 11^^^^ 1The birds like ten - der bab - ies in yourhands And the old man play - ing check- ers by the trees.When the chorus commences the melody changes to different notesbut their relationship to each other remains the same—another way of say-ing the key has changed.Departure -Mac - Ar - thur Park is melt the dark all the sweet green ic- ing flow- ing downThe melody is reiterated in a different and major key for two bars only, andthen there is a departure. A departure is the inclusion ofnew musical material.The original phrase is repeated again during the second line of the cho-rus but this time a fourth higher. In truth it has been transposed (moved)into a new key.~£nni&iu\th 173In effect, transposed to C Majorm B U"Some- one left the cake out in the rainThe last line consists of mostly new material except that the rhythmcontinues to mimic that of the original motif (a fragment or portion ofmelody that is recalled).I don't think that I can take it cause it took so long to bake it,-I | r r hj- cj ijIver have that re - ci - pe a - gain,In the middle section of "MacArthur Park" (a new song altogether)this recurring rhythm is used at the beginning of the verse with similarmelodic notes, except this time in a major key, and also the direction oftravel is reversed (inverted).T *There will be a - noth - er dream for me Some- one will bringThis principle of variation is common to most pop songs. Once thelistener is made aware of its existence the practice becomes obviousand ubiquitous. In the Beatles' "Yesterday" for instance, compare thefirst word "yesterday" to the last two words in the same line, "far away" andthen "here to stay" Same rhythm, identical descending pattern in thenotes but a different position on the scale. Notice how the melody in thefirst line runs up the scale and how that rhythmic pattern is repeated inthe second line except that the notes ripple down the scale. Think of thefirst two lines of "Heart and Soul" (Frank Loesser and HoagyCarmichael) or the first three lines of "Blue Moon" (Lorenz Hart andRichard Rodgers). There is little to be gained by belaboring the point.174 Jimmy WebbAlmost any song will contain at least one or even half a dozen instancesof variation, and perhaps one of what Bernstein refers to as "transforma-tional operations."I . Inversion—a melody is inverted when ascending intervals are madeto descend by the same degree and vice versa; i.e., the melody isturned upside down.Theme Inversion2. Augmentation—increasing the time value of the notes in themelody.RhythmicallyAugmented Version of Theme3. Retrograde—playing the melody backwards.Retrograde Version of Theme4. Diminution—decreasing the time value of the notes in the melody.Diminution of Theme5. Modulation—repeating the melody in another key.6. Imitation—the repetition of a motive, phrase or theme proposedby one part in another part with or without modification."Call and Response"1Vocal me odv-k 12 3 41=!—11a"1*' fr* • ,*1—,=i r '; 1^ =Orchestra~£nne&HtitA 1757. Harmonic progressions—the advance of one chord to another(while the melody remains the same) or according to the principleof substitution.8. Dynamic changes—varying the intensity or loudness of musicaltones.PP (soft)9. Deletions—deliberately omitting certain portions of a melodicphrase.DeletionsTheme I | % J, J) jg= §S=^10. Permutations—variations of increasing diversity and/or complexity.Theme|i j. M J -irkjB^F minorpull I £^gG minorJ. JM(. J ^^gpA minor Retrograde^ ^PPA minor Retrograde Inverted(§ pjl g ^^P176 Jimmy Webb"Plus the infinite interplay of all these with one another." Bernsteinadds. It is this "interplay" with its universe of possibility that is both theheaven and hell of the melody writer. (Harmonic progressions are notillustrated, as a subsequent chapter deals exclusively with chord structure.)Most of the time the placements and durations of these "transforma-tions" are suggested if not dictated by the lyrics if the lyrics comefirst; i.e., if alyric line is repeated something similar and supportive should probablyoccur in the melody. On those occasions when the lyric is set to the musicthe melody's variations will suggest to the lyricist where to repeat or omitrhythms, phrases or even complete lines of the lyric. As an exercise, writeor noodle an eight-bar phrase of melody and then vary it in the next eightbars, trying a different key, turning it upside down, playing it backwards orfitting different notes to the same rhythm. Also, try setting a simple lyricto a tune and notice how the lyric pattern will suggest repetition, rhythmicchanges or other transformations in the melody.One factor that anchors a lot of amateur melody in the backwater ofthe mundane is its predictability and this is caused in the main by the writ-ers' choices of direction. To explain: As listeners we are very accustomed tocertain pat solutions to melodic problems, lines of least resistance, partic-ularly at the ends of verses or choruses and these cliches are pretty muchdefined by the direction, the up and down motion of the tune.P = * mThere is nothing particularly awful about the example except thatit's already been written about a half million times. A way to freshen thisup is to reverse the direction of travel between one, some or all of theintervals.ORThis technique of carefully altering the direction of the melody's travelcan be applied to any portion of a tune that sounds derivative or a bit stale.~£nne&tuHA 111We are all capable of grinding along in the well-dredged channels of othercomposers' passages. It requires a real effort of will and relentless self-criticism to blaze a trail.Besides fastidious little changes in the inner workings of a melody linethere is an overall emotional direction involved. When drafted effectively alyric will usually begin with a question, puzzle or ambiguity and thenbuild to a revelation or declaration, an emotional payoff or high point.When a composer sets such a lyric to music it is only logical to assumethat one of the primary functions of the tune will be to enhance the emo-tional dynamic of the lyric (or vice versa if the melody comes first). Howdoes a melody do this? By changing direction effectively. Lets look at acouple of stupid examples that aren't actually meant to insult your intelli-gence.First, when a lyric makes a literal reference in the physical plane—i.e.,"My heart soared"—the melody should probably travel in the direction ofthat physical reference, though not always.Good ^ ^% f 2my heart soared%Not so goodimy heart soaredConversely (bear with me) what if the lyricist has written "The moondescended"?Goodi J r V>The moon des - cendNot so gooded* P^iThe moon des - cend ed,The point being that the music can help the lyric on its intended pathor impedeit. What if the lyric says "My heart stopped.,,, The composermight follow this lyric line with a three-count rest:178 Iimmy Webbp ^3S I I 3fcmy heart stopped! when our lips met (etc.)Or "My heart waited perfectly still." The inaction or indecision of theheart can be typified by repeating the same note and then resting:my heart wait- ed per - feet - ly still un - til you kissed meOkay, these are really obvious examples of a correlation between phys-ical direction in the melody and literal references to direction in the lyric.In reality direction is dictated by extremely complex and subtle semanticfactors. The composer (and lyricist) will be sculpting a comprehensiveemotional line that will extend from the beginning of the song to the end.Each syllable and note should be scrutinized to ensure that the melodyand lyric are moving in the same "direction," both in a literal, objectivesense and in the broader emotional context. Bernstein said of this: "... Acomposer setting words to music seeks those notes which he considersmost condign to the semantic values of the words he is setting." (Or—heprobably would have said—( — c u —OOUUAAI IEEThe last one, E, pinches the glottis and is particularly hard to sustain.Double consonants should also be avoided on elongated notes and are attheir most vulnerable when used for a dramatic finale:$ i 3E* iI thought that I would meltThe singer not only has to sustain the relatively difficult vowel on ahigh note but must close the complicated double consonant at the verylast instant. (Alec Wilder believed "the terminal consonants M, N, L, R, aresung with ease. S, z, ch, sh, as terminals are difficult.")When a composer writes two or more notes for the same syllable it iscalled melisma.180 immy WebbOh say does that— star spang - led ban - ner— yet— wave-O'er the land brave.Predictably this practice is frowned upon in ultraconservative circlesthough examples can be found subsequent to Francis Scott Keys "Star-Spangled Banner." Jerome Kern and Cole Porter wrote some of these.Referring to a Kern song called "Make Believe" Wilder grouses, "... Ineleven instances the lyric employs one syllable to fulfill the needs of twonotes" and castigates Kern for "flagrant misuse of this license." (Pull over,Mr. Kern. We're going to have to see your Melisma License.) Many tradi-tionalists are horrified by this practice, ignoring the fact that much of whatwe recognize as a blues vocal style is composed in great part of melisma asare the delicate ornamentations of American folk and country singing inthe main. Our national music—rock 'n roll—would be poorer or perhapsnonexistent without it. Where melisma is most repellent is in a contextwhere it obviously does not belong, that is to say, in the music of the tradi-tionalists. Nothing causes us to cringe more than to hear the "straight"singer gilding an old standard with an awkwardly executed soul riff or—even worse—singing an idiomatic song in a stilted, formalized style, devoidof melisma or any other semblance of feeling. The use or avoidance ofmelisma is a matter of taste and authenticity. It cannot be denied that anexcessive number of notes over too few syllables will create an awkward,sophomoric impression—the word "pompous" comes to mind—andshould be a matter of reasonable concern. It is worrisome if not downrightannoying as we approach the new millennium to see a tendency amongtodays Super-Divas toward melismatic one-up-girl-ship, i.e., "I'll bet'cha Ican sing more complicated notes than you can!" In regard to such intrica-cies what w "reasonable" concern? I am somewhat notorious among singersfor writing "rangy" tunes, difficult intervals and even the odd untidyvowel/consonant at the end of a line. I defend some if not most of myexcesses in the name of originality and creativity. If the writer makes noattempt to break the rules on occasion it is doubtful that the end result willever be distinguished. Many singers welcome a challenge if the temporary*£HnesmitA 181stress involved enhances an overall effect, which is to say that a singershould not always be cocooned. I have crossed the line at times. Once, whenI was producing a female supergroup and working them pretty hard for sev-eral days in a row their lead singer showed up for work one evening with anote from her larynxologist. The tongue-in-cheek message politelyrequested that she be excused from singing anything above a high C.There may be a certain cynical sort out there who is thinking that allthis blab hasn't really taught anyone how to write a melody. How true.Great melody has an illusive consistency that is unteachable. If the heart isthe bow and the soul is the violin and the brain is the musician, thenmelody is the fragile result of all three in love with the same idea."Inspiration" this has been called though some say there is no such animal.Oscar Hammerstein was skeptical about pure inspiration but granted that"the legend of inspiration is . . . not a completely silly one if we broadenthe base of the word and let it include the stored up memories of thewriter's emotional reactions, then inspiration figures very largely in what heputs down on paper." There is no denying the existance of synaesthesia,which is the practice of allowing music to influence your nostalgic reveries,remembrances and romantic flights of fantasy. Inspiration, if we regard itas anything other than pure myth, must be linked to this doorway of thesubconscious. This writer believes in inspiration and believes that withoutthis indescribable flux melody and lyrics are meaningless rote. There arecertain ways to jump-start the heart, soul and mind into a heightened cre-ative mood that can easily be called "inspiration." Got any old demos orother tapes lying around the house? Not cassettes or CDs mind you, butreal old-fashioned "reel-to-reels"?Before continuing you may want to search the garage for that antiquetape machine you threw out about ten years back. As an alternative, gotany mediocre tunes languishing in sequencer memory? All right. Preparean herbal tea or other beverage of your choice, settle yourself in a comfort-able spot and play them backwards.[A WHILE LATER]How was it for you? Feel better? Neurons firing? I'm no psychologistbut I can propose a very simple explanation for why this works: As song-writers we are used to thinking in a certain specific way. We develop stylis-tic peccadilloes over time and these become mental traps. Eventually we182 Jimmy Webbmay be composing inside an invisible cage of habit. But when we hearsomething we have written inreverse order our songwriting brain is liter-ally turned "wrong side out." Every musical decision, every solution to aproblem, is approached 180 degrees out of phase. Reversing the tapebrings on a kind of forced originality, pseudo-inspiration if you please, butit gets you to thinking, doesn't it? One of my more well-known songs isfrom an earlier melody played backwards.Would it surprise you to know that lots of important melodies havebeen written to the exact same chord progression? There are the obviousones of course: "Blue Moon" (Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers) and"Heart and Soul" (Frank Loesser and Hoagy Carmichael) are a pair, notto mention "Louie, Louie" (Richard Berry), "Wild Thing" (Chip Taylor)and "La Bamba" (a traditional Mexican folk song). A good jazz musiciancan improvise hundreds of different "tunes" over the same chord progressionand the composer in search of ideas need look no further than this time-honored technique of "making up" a melody as he goes along. WhenRoberta Flack recorded my "Do What You Gotta Do" (©1966 EMP), Icouldn't help noticing that her version of the melody bore scant if anyresemblance to the original. Lovely as it was, it was not the same. Since I'mnot inclined to get overly excited about this sort of thing, I began absent-mindedly to sing the original melody along with her as the record played.My God, what a gorgeous duet it was! A deliberately missing part perhaps?(A young man who had died suddenly without completing the lead vocalin a duet?) The point is that chord progressions are not actually subject tocopyright. The writer can gain a lot of experience by improvising; hum-ming or whistling along with instrumental tracks that have already beenrecorded and changing the notes around. A cautionary note: When we talkabout "changing the notes around," we are not talking about co-opting anexisting tune and changing it just enough to avoid a copyright infringe-ment suit. According to Michael Feinstein the traditional term for thiskind of skullduggery was to "write a melody sideways." Advertising inter-ests commonly indulge in this practice in lieu of paying a reasonableamount of money for use of a well-known song. They will shamelesslycopy an artists writing style, vocal sound, arrangement, whatever servestheir purpose. Harry Nilsson and Randy Newman have been notably pro-faned in this manner.^HnestHftA 183It has already been mentioned that a turn on an unfamiliar musicalinstrument focuses musical resolve. It is as though somehow within the tonalcoloration of the instrument itself are dynamics that stimulate creativity. Bernsteinsays yes ... a lot of this spooky, metaphysical stuff like the "sadness" of aminor key is nothing more than a physiological response to the overtone series.(Experts attribute this to major and minor dissonances in the harmonicseries that create what is called in acoustics "interference" which disturbsthe ear.) In support, who can deny that one of the launching pads ofmelodyis the deep-throated drone of bagpipes, sitars, didgeridoo (AustralianAboriginal instrument) and such, and that every note imaginable is lurkingin their dreamy drone in varying degrees of prominence. Given such a feastof possibility and the subtle differences in the tonal coloration of an unfa-miliar instrument the brain will automatically begin to make choices and itis these unconscious preferences that are most interesting. What are wetalking about now? Subliminal composition? Primeval race memory toneselection? Freudian folk singing (the baby was frightened by a boat whistle,etc.)? Whether this is deep insight or shallow speculation I will leave to thepeople in the white smocks. For my money the brain often responds posi-tively, negatively or emotionally when given a choice of frequencies reflex-ively and automatically. In the sound of the sea or the wind through thetops of the trees or the city redolent with impossibly long echo at fouro'clock in the morning, there is always a musical offering. We prefer somesounds to others and these are music to our ears. Some we reject as nonde-script or as noise. Others are so obnoxious that they cause us to interferewith our own hearing by placing obstacles in our ears. My point? Most if notall of our preferences regardingfrequency or texture of sound are involuntary.I was completely stricken by a remark that Arthur Garfunkel made inmy presence a few years ago while musing aloud. "We [human beings] areeither so much alike, so virtually identical in the inner workings of ouremotions that we actually feel the same things in the exact same way or weare so completely different—even alien to each other—that we have notthe slightest inkling of what another feels when he, for instance, prickshimself with a thorn."Music would seem to offer a means of subjecting this question to afacsimile of scientific analysis. Vast majorities of the population seem toreact similarly to a sad song, a happy one or a sexy one. How else can we184 Jimmy Webbaccount for the phenomenon of the "hit" except to say that it strikes aresponsive chord in a great many listeners at the same moment in time?Such a reaction indicates that there is a part of the subconscious that con-cerns itself specifically with musical material. It is that part of the brainthat tortures us by endlessly repeating a meaningless tune that we havenever particularly cared for or indulges in "ear-stalgia," that delicious senseof being transported to another space and time by a fragment of melodyfrom the radio of a. passing automobile.There are a couple of different ways to put this part of the brain towork for us because it not only remembers melody but is eminently capableof coining an original phrase without any assistance from the consciousmind. This faculty can also be programmed to solve ongoing musical orlvrical problems with little or no effort of the will. I can hear those brakesscreeching, people! But—if you get nothing else from this book—under-stand that the subconscious composer in all of us is a real being, a validcollaborator, and that to ignore his or her existence and not avail ourselvesof this immense resource is foolishness. "I write lying down so I can go tosleep easily. I write about ten minutes and sleep for two, on the average,"quipped Stephen Sondheim in a lecture, implying a deep connectionbetween creativity and sleep.One of Victor Herberts most famous songs was "Kiss Me Again."Michael Femstein recounts this anecdote: "He woke up in the middle ofthe night with a melody playing insistently in his head, wrote it down on apiece of paper at the night table, and went back to sleep. When he wokeup in the morning, he had no memory of the melody or even of havingwritten it down, but there it was."Billy Joels River of Dreams album consists predominantly of songs thathe discovered—some of them fully realized—in that same subconsciousportfolio. As I spoke with him I realized that I too, have found musicfloating on my own river of dreams and wondered about how many timesthis may have occurred without my being consciouslv aware of it. Ofcourse there is the self-aware (lucid) scenario when the dreamer hears asong full-blown.Recently I dreamed that I was in my dressing room nervously waitingto go onstage when the door suddenly burst open and a bevy of nakedchorus girls step-kicked their way into the room singing one of the funni-"EHvtc&ntith 185est songs IVe ever heard in my life. Unfortunately when I awoke only avague impression of bosoms remained. In my case it is as though a psychiccustoms officer searches my luggage for compositional contraband eachtime I cross that shadowy frontier between the land of dreams and thephysical one. Here is a line that recently came to me in a dream: "Tonightwill be like a dream and tomorrow we will remember itas a dream." Notdevastating, but what I think I meant was: "Tonight will be so beautiful,tomorrow it will seem like a dream." Better. At the optimum, waiting for asong to appear in a dream and then sneaking it into the real world intact isa low-percentage maneuver. It is more likely that the traveler returns with afragment of melody or a song title or something cribbed from anothercomposer. It is as though the subconscious doesn't make a very fine dis-tinction on the point of plagiarism or even accurate reproduction. Itsstrong suit would seem to be free association, recombining little chunks ofwhatever is in the mix into a collage. (Musical jokes are abundant.) Everyeffort should be made to perceive these happy accidents as significant, tothe extent of keeping a pad and pencil or tape recorder on the bedsidetable because dreams fade quickly but in that shadow land where the twostates of being commingle—usually called the alpha state—the consciousmind has a good deal more control. It can remember, direct, program, askquestions, etc. Not only that but with practice the alpha state can beentered with relative ease, and in fact you enter the alpha state at leasttwice a day (like it or not), when you are falling asleep and when you areregaining consciousness. It is at those times, particularly when fallingasleep, that the subconscious is acutely vulnerable to suggestion. Try it. Ifyou have a work in progress go to sleep thinking about it. Concentrate onsome specific aspect of the problem as you drift off. Sometimes the answerwill come to you before you are fully asleep. Other times you may obtainresults on the opposite end of the process as you awaken. Results will varya great deal according to the individual; you should not be disappointed ifnothing happens the first time or even the second. Over time however, thesubconscious can be trained to automatically enter this mode at nap timeand solutions will almost certainly begin to surface.There are other portals to the alpha state that can be accessed fromfull consciousness. Transcendental meditation utilizes "mantras," short,autohypnotic phrases that are repeated at length mentally to the exclusion186 Jimmy Webbof "background noise" in the brain. "Biofeedback" is a purely physicalelectronic technique that feeds the subject an audible tone which is thenbalanced by a kind of controlled relaxation. Recent innovations utilizevisual stimuli in helmetlike devices. In my experience none of these is aseffective as the mysterious machinery that causes sleep but they are on themarket and some may find them effective in varying degrees.Another subliminal source ofmelody is a bit more haphazard and a lotharder to explain. Imagine that you are camping out in relative solitude onthe shore of a lake. It is that bewitched hour of twilight. The sun has justset and somewhere, across the water, music is playing which can only barelybe heard when a gentle breeze blows from the right direction. The melodyand chords are indistinct, familiar and strange at the same time. There isnot enough musical material available to enable your ear to identify anyparticular tune. Your brain begins to fill in the spaces automatically,nudged by the physical beauty of the moment and the vague musical stim-uli drifting in and out of your consciousness. Vague is the operative wordhere. Once the music is positively identified its catalytic effect ceases andthe brain stops inventing. I am at a loss to explain or name this phe-nomenon except to say that it is undoubtedly some sort of "instant alpha"and that in my experience it most closely approximates what the poets havecalled "inspiration." Sometimes we hear "phantom melody" in the cross-play between two stations interfering with each other on an old tube-typeradio, or in music "half heard through a closed door," in the hum ofmachinery like large fans, or in the slap of windshield wipers and the roarof rainfall on a convertible top. All we need in order to search out the tap-root of creativity is the willingness to surrender our souls to the soundsthat surround us.This kind of environmentally driven inspiration reminds me that oftenwe can take melody directly from our surroundings without meditation ofany kind. While scoring a heartrending scene for a film many years ago—aman has justfound out that his wife is dying of cancer and has stepped out of her doctor'soffice into a street blocked by a massive traffic jam—I noticed the discordantangry/melancholy din of the automobile horns themselves. I scored thescene with a melody based on those intervals and taking it one step furtherused actual car horns for instruments. Our respective environments are richwith random tones and rhythms of all kinds, most often generated by tech-~£nnes*ulitA 187nology but also inherent in nature. These can be transferred directly ontothe composers palette.So far we have discussed naked melody bereft ofharmony and by extensionmodulation, substitution, alternate basses, suspension, dissonance and all thesensual "rubs" that are inherent in a modern chord structure.Even the unsophisticated music writer can understand all these devicesand incorporate them into his or her musical repertoire with no great dif-ficulty. Some of the grainiest, most disturbing progressions in all of musichave been spawned in the "open tunings" of folk musicians and blues play-ers where the mechanics of producing a given chord have been reduced tothe careful placement of a single finger or perhaps two (at the most three)in the proper position on the neck of the guitar. My one and only song-writing experience with a guitar ("Ocean in His Eyes," ©1973 CanopyMusic) resulted from experimentation with a "D tuning" that guitaristand friend Fred Tackett taught me.From the low E string up:D, A, D, F#, D, D or D, A, D, A, D, F# or D, G, D, G, B, ESimply by depressing one, two or three of the strings in random com-binations (I used my thumb a lot) interesting, dissonant chords can be cre-ated, remembered and possibly even organized into a semblance of a chordprogression. The tunings themselves can be altered and many professionalmusicians have extensive collections of variations on these. Tunings are anintroduction to grainier, more sophisticated chords, but there is anotherway to become acquainted with complex chord structures and to put themto practical use almost immediately. What follows is not misrepresented asbeing a viable substitute for a proper course in music theory. It is a way toquickly enter a new world of sound, an introduction to what has beencalled "chordal" composition.How then to enrich our chordal textures in order to create subtle dif-ferences in ambiance? Most writers will no doubt be aware that it is child-ishly simple to create a major triad or chord of three tones from the root,third and fifth tones of any of the twelve diatonic scales. (Do not confuseroot and tonic. The tonic is the first note of the scale in a given key signa-ture. A root is the lowest note of a basic triad wherever it may be on anyscale.)188 Iimmy WebbpmajorC major E pmajor A majorM M 'rEb Major (tonic)&^^ & SZ^^UC Root Eb Root A Root TonicG major (tonic) F Major (tonic)ss p msTonic TonicIf by any chance you have not done this before, practice by picking anynote at random on guitar or piano, locate its third and then its fifth byreferring to the interval chart and play each chord. Follow this chart:Atf&fcif S^£ctu^e F&JaJl Gt^JtotfrfadLDo this until it's automatic. Then begin to invert the triads like this:i 5IE H~£nne&mith 189c fJl*x%~ FlA-aX^K*. *&' &and?%*-Cuu&*C $**£%> "F"Jkc*Jl%u. V Fi~t%«.Gt+CaJLPractice until you can invent and invert any major chord at will.Now for a simple chord progression: Play a triad on the first note ofthe C scale,then a triad beginning with the fourth note of the C scale (F)and finally the fifth note (G), back to the fourth note (F) and finish on thefirst note like this:i tg=§^ 1=(5 half steps) (2 half steps)I IV(7 half steps)This is what is known in musicians' short speak as a I—IV—V—I pro-gression. Indeed these Roman numerals represent the simplest form ofchordal notation as they refer to the relative position of each chord in anydiatonic scale. (Standard numerals in this text will refer to the positions ofindividual notes of the scale: I, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Half steps will be desig-nated by pluses or minuses, for instance, C-sharp is 1+ or 2-. A perfectfourth is just 4. G-sharp is 5+, or 6-, etc.)iktAb Major& ¥$I (5 half steps) IV (2 half steps) V (7 half steps) ID Majorgg gI (5 half steps) IV (2 half steps) V (7 half steps) IRepeat the above process with each of the twelve diatonic scales oruntil exhausted. Practice until it is second nature, then put each chord in190 immy Webbthe progression through its first, second and third inversions with ease.You are now playing in different keys depending on which note you startwith.Next, change any or all of these chords into minor triads with one sim-ple move: by lowering the third tone one half step. (The fifth tone stays inplace.)C minorPractice again all that you have learned but alter the major chords tominor chords by lowering the middle tone (the "third") one half step andmaintaining that interval through the first, second and third inversions.Work until you are comfortable with, and understand, the differencebetween major and minor chords.Now that we have introduced minor chords we are ready for what iscommonly known as the I—VI—IV—V progression. This is the "Heart andSoul" progression that for some inexplicable reason every child in Americacan play based on four hands. It begins with a major triad on the tonic,moves to the sixth tone, which is a minor chord, then to a major chord onthe fourth tone and ends with a major chord on the fifth tone like this:"[Hne&mitA 191CMaj Amin Fmaj Gma| CMa| Amln Fma|I viExperiment with the sounds of different inversions on these fourchords. You will discover that some variations are more pleasing than oth-ers as one chord changes to another.IMM VI ow%.) IY Y'C2^2w)IBiiBiI YI(l«tX) IVC2W>; YC-^%-)The overall practice of inverting the positions of tones in chords is alsoknown as "voicing." Repeat the preceding progression on different notes ofthe twelve available. Change the "voicings" by experimenting with differentinversions as one chord leads to another, and "doubling" (playing the samenote an octave—or eight tones—higher or lower simultaneously).i 3 c a^cOoMl)mmT&&u* ^4 ' Hifc^"Next, lets explore some simple suspensions, known informally in thetrade as "sus chords." Start with a C-major triad but instead of sounding192 immy Webbthe third tone, substitute the fourth tone one half step higher than thethird tone:C sus 4t X&i 4 6G-#(AI?) a^1 You are playing a "C-sus 4." Practice resolving and suspending the "C-sus 4" by moving the fourth tone one half step down to the third and thenback up again.Csus4 C Csus4 C^ PNow, as before, practice the exercise on each of the twelve differentkeys until you can solve the problem repeatedly and mathematically. It is onlya simple manipulation of numbers.E^ SUS4$s j5^Ebsus4^E l>iaA sus4 A sus4^^ i^2=A different kind of "sus chord" is a "sus-two." The second tone of thescale is substituted for the third:Csus2*Csus2 C^ ^Try to become proficient in devising "sus four" and "sus two" chordsin all keys and to understand the practice of "resolving" the suspendedtones.What if we suspend both the second and the fourth tones simultane-ously? A very pleasing resolution will result:sus4C sus2sus4C sus2i ~^P ^E C» Alto*iit(**) C* **3great numbers of black poets and countrysingers who either preceded or paralleled his heyday and without doubtput their stamp on him: "Gwine to run all night, gwine to run all day."During the late 1800s black performers began to copy white minstrelshows which were, in themselves, copies of black minstrel shows. It is saidmany a white person probably got their first taste of real black music inwhorehouses, but the breakthrough into the white world of music publish-ing was first accomplished by a northern Negro named James A. Bland,who composed more than seven hundred songs for black minstrel shows.Another African American forerunner, Ben Harney, was always assumedby blacks and whites alike to be a white man.To return to Foster's work, it suffers somewhat in comparison withthe generic folk music that predates him, those seamless masterpieces thatsomeone once said had been "worn smooth by millions of voices like peb-bles in the bottom of a stream" and benefited from being fitted together ina vivid New World mosaic. Such songwriting entailed collaborationthrough time and space. No single human being lives long enough to writea song in this way. It is in the Scots, Irish and English ballads and reelstransplanted to the Deep South, subtly altered by African and Christianlaments, pounding rhythms and "field hollers," that the roots of modernAmerican songwriting reside. Am I stating the obvious? There are perhapstwo generations of young American writers, most of whom do not knowthis and might not care if they did.Is rap music "new"? It seems obvious that its American roots lie in the"talking blues" tradition of the Delta country . . . and even so unlikely a com-12 JIMMY WliBBposer as Schoenberg introduced "Sprechstimme," a kind of classical rapwhctc the singer lets the note immediately fall or rise as in speaking, produc-ing something between the two. There is probably no literal discernable dif-ference between the emotional content, convention and stylistic applicationof a modern rap song and a fifteen-hundred-year-old Maori war chant. Partof any contemporary musical attitude is a tendency to ignore or minimize themusical engenderments of the past. Our generation did:Why don ty'allfade away? Dont try to dig what we all say . . .—Pete Townsend,"My Generation"I still remember the exasperation I would feel on a Sunday afternoonwhen my father brought forth his collection of "Mugsy" Spaniard and"Fats" Waller records. When he started spinning the "Big Bands," I leftthe house, a little closer to being one of John Gardners "ignoramuses." Butthis book is not about the history of American popular songs. Such mate-rial is readily available though none is likely to eclipse the seminal work byAlec Wilder (American Popular Song: The Great Innovators, 1 900—1950),There is another even more practical reason to read and listen. It isfrom the poetry of Dylan Thomas, Patrick Cavanaugh, Pablo Neruda,William Carlos Williams and other mad and gentle spirits that we learnthe use of words. We learn that hard words can describe delicate thingsand soft words unspeakably horrible things. We make friends with newwords and perhaps we decide that there are some with which we wouldrather not be acquainted. We discern the way in which these words can berhymed or not rhymed. We see the way they can be jammed together inunlikely alliances that delight and entertain and describe in a way that noword can when standing alone. We learn that words create the colors thatpoets use to paint images on the mind itself. We come to understand thatnot all great poetry is lyrical but that all great lyrics are poetic. As RichardRodgers said of collaborator Oscar Hammerstein, "The work of my col-laborator and friend has been called poetry; it has been called light verse; ithas even been called song-writing."Which is to say that all great lyrics use the devices of poetry—metaphor,simile, imagery, alliteration and meter, among others. There are those whowould have you believe that as a songwriter you are somehow exempt fromthe literary standards of true poets, novelists or other intellectuals. This is~£nne&pnitA 13what I call the Least Common Denominator Syndrome and a spiritualdead end. There is no intrinsic virtue in ignorance.In a similar vein when we listen to the violin concerto of SamuelBarber or the choral and orchestral works of John Corigliano or any of thesweeping symphonies of Ralph Vaughn Williams we learn that chords areliving things; powerful engines that carry melody from one place toanother. We learn how effortlessly melody can soar and that a chord canhave a different bass than its root. We learn that we can substitute one chordfor another and that dissonance is pleasing and essential. In just one of theVaughn Williams symphonies we find enough inspiration and raw har-monic material to underpin a thousand songs. Many of the great com-posers set folk songs and other lyrics to their music, among them Purcell,Beethoven, Vaughn Williams, Britten, Mendelssohn, Haydn and Copland.The legacy of the great composers is to have shown us the far boundariesof musical expression. It is our responsibility to pay attention.Not to say that I advocate borrowing piecemeal from classical com-posers or any other source. The story is told about Arthur Schwartzexplaining to friends that he had taken on a particularly stringent series ofprofessional obligations, and that the friends wondered aloud, "My God,isn't that going to take an awful lot out of you?" "Yes," he replied. "But notas much as it will take out of Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms." There is noth-ing more humbling than to proudly play a new song for a couple of friendsand have them say, "Oh yes, but isn't that 'Come Back to Sorrento'?" Then,of course, they cant resist humming the offending notes to point out obvi-ous similarities. (That one has never heard "Come Back to Sorrento" islittle consolation and less of an excuse, as already noted.)Sometimes these benignly malicious observations can be taken with agram of salt. A dear friend of mine from London and an ace publisher—on a well-lubricated evening about five years ago—proudly produced abook at the end of our dinner. "This book," he said with much emphasis,"has every melody ever written inside." (Shades of Johnny Carson and EdMcMahon.) "Therefore," he continued, "it also contains every melodythat ever will be written." "Not," I said even as I opened this marvelouscreation and looked wide-eyed at the neat columns of musical phrases innotation, organized in every conceivable category by all composers back toand including the first caveman. "You're on!" I shouted. "Fifty pounds!"(Who is ignorant of the fact that a Cockney is unable to refuse a wager?)14 Jr 3B'Bv the Time I Get to Phoen: t concealing a deep msecu-ntv that I was not onlv a charlatan but fifty pounds poorer. It was an hourlater. The table was cleared—when Tern- Tor that was his name) pounced."Aha.'" he sau: t vou. mate!" He proudly pointed out a phrase byinj that—excepting one semi-quaver—was note for note the first lineof "'Bv the Time I Get to Phoenix." I refused to pay. 'After all, this was thesame man who had once bet me a hundred pounds on the outcome of a_ • :_v - he had previously taped off the te.In the pop music field begging, borrowing and stealing is so prevalentas not to even cause the proverbial evebrow to be raised. "The guy whowrote 'Handv Man* [Jimmv Jones," Boy George chortled, "tried to sue us-3L Chameleon.' I might have heard it once, but it certainly wasn'tsomething I sat down and said, 'Yeah, I want to copy this.' We gave himten pence and an apple." I must risk observing that on this particular occa-sion Mr. George would have done well to steal more and gloat less."'Artists evervwhere steal mercilesslv all the time and I thinkWebbLets test it. In the first example we can substitute the A-major for theA-minor because only one note has changed. (The C-natural is replaced bya C-sharp).Am A major substitutionm nit "i* it')(Common tones Uncommon tonesconnected bysolid lines)Dm D major substitution$U^= lt» C l»lt»)(Common tones Uncommon tonesconnected bysolid lines)We're on safe ground here. The contending chords share two commontones—the E-natural and A-natural. This obviously holds true for substi-tuting the D major for the D minor the second.Perhaps your concentration may be wavering, but stay with me for amoment and we will open a wonderful golden door. So far we have twosubstitutions for the second chord in the four-chord progression.Both subs share the note E-natural, which is the third tone in the C-major scale, the key in which we are playing. This is called in the parlancea common tone. So the game is to isolate a tone in any given chord (triad) orscale and find all the other chords (triads) that share that tone. Each ofthese new discoveries should more or less smoothly substitute for the orig-inal chord without creating any noticeable sonic disturbance—i.e., unbear-able dissonance, clams, bad notes (provided that the substitution doesn'tinterfere with an existing melody).How would this principle work on the second chord of our originalprogression?C, A minor, F, G (one, six, four, five) or (I, VI, IV, V)The A-minor triad has three tones in ascending order: A-natural, C-natural and E-natural. What other chords will contain the A-natural?Easy. We know it's in the A-major triad!mmpnne&n\UA 197i 1| el)|ii HVISubstitution A major shares common tonesA and E (concert) with original A minorIVIt also happens to be the third tone (second voice) in the F-major triad.And now can you make a D-major triad?CD F Gi ( v i ii»I II IV VSubstitution D Major shares common toneA (concert) with original A minorThere it is! The fifth tone (third voice)! So far we have three substitu-tions, chords that we can sound in place of our original. Take a momentand play the progression using each one, becoming familiar with the dif-ferent sonorities. Notice how the A-natural changes position (according tothe chord substituted) almost as deviously as the little pea hides itself in ashell game.C F F G^m aIVSubstitution F major shares common tonesA and C (concert) with original A minorIVWell, we didn't get a lot of bang for substituting the F major insteadof the A minor, did we? Regrettably we ended up with a redundancy: TwoF majors in a row. We'll drop that. We also find A-natural in the D-minortriad.Dminm$IVSubstitution D minor shares common toneA with original A minor198 Jimmy WebbSomething that's a little harder to see is the F sharp minor. Addingthat one!C Fjfm F GI te piJt(iv IVSubstitution F# minor shares common toneA with original A minorLooks like we're just about at the end of our rope. Nope, there's hope!Remember the A minor triad also contains a C-natural. That should giveus three more chords to play with but one of them is a C major which is ano-win because it wouldfollow a C major.$IV(If the chords don't change, you don't have a progression.) Then whatare the other chords that contain a C-natural? I really ought to let youwork that one out for yourself but I haven't got the heart. F major (whichwe've already identified as redundant) contains a C-natural but that's outfor previously stated reasons.What does that leave? Well . . . A-flat. There is a C-natural in an A-flat chord. But surely that won't work with those accompanying blacknotes, A-flat and E-flat, will it?J,mtaVISubstitution Ab major shares common toneC with original A minorIVHmmm. Melodious. Much nicer than the A-major substitution in myhumble opinion. Okay, add it to the list:^HytCStHltA 199Original chord: A minorSubstitutions: A majorD minorD majorA-flat majorEventually you will also discover F minor. There's another right infront of your nose. Can you find it? Uh-huh—C minor.Substitution F minor shares common toneC with original A minor Substitution C minor shares common toneC with original A minorAre we running out of gas? Well, there's still that E-natural, the fifthtone in the A-minor triad. Any chance of hooking up with that?Remember our rule—if the two chords have a common tone the substitu-tion is probably kosher. E-natural is common to both chords so, yes, an E-natural triad will work even if the results are less than sublime. It should beobvious that the E minor is the easiest substitution in this case.Substitution E major shares common toneE with original A minorSubstitution E minor shares common toneE with original A minorThe other voices in the E-major chord—the G-sharp (its the sametone as the A flat already used) and B-natural—will not share a common tonewith A minor when expanded to a three-tone chord.E aft Bi m m MSame as Al>already usedNo commontonesYou can try it anyway if you want. You will find yourself listening to adreadful half step that is not so much a surprise as a dull thud. Given,200 mmy Webbthere are other kinds of substitutions, radical ones, dissonant ones, but ourexamples—arrived at mathematically—have a splendid pragmatic func-tion for the songwriter. They will subtly alter the harmonic substructurewhich supports melody without necessarily changing the melody itself. Itsthat marvelous common tone, you see. No need to change a specific note ofmelody. Change the supporting chord to another that shares the samecommon tone.Please remember that the I—VI—IV—V progression is only presentedas an example. The principle of substitution will function perfectly in anychord progression on any chord in that progression. But to develop morechallenging examples of progression first learn some more chord types.Going back to our first C-major triad, raise the fifth tone (G) one halfstep to G-sharp.C C-Aug (C+) C C-Aug (C+)£ %This is an augmented chord (technically an augmented or raised fifth)and usually notated in the studio this way: C aug 5 or C 5+. Play with it.Move the top voice up and down to resolve the augmented fifth. Put itthrough some inversions.Its very close cousin is the C diminished which is arrived at almost aseasily. Move the two uppermost voices (the third and fifth tone) down onehalf step (C flat 3, flat 5).Cdmin Cdmin& mGoof with it—moving the voices up and down. Notice its relationshipto C minor. By playing a C minor and lowering the top voice a half step—voila!—you get the same animal (by playing any minor and lowering thefifth one half step, you get a diminished chord).Cmin C dim C min Cdimm m~[HM&nxitA 201Play this progression a few times:C C-Aug C Cmin Cdim C% ^PS£Now remember what we've learned about inversion.C C-Aug cI !i-mm I i j JfRoot 1st Inv. 2nd Inv. Root 1st Inv. 2nd Inv. Root 1st Inv. 2nd Inv.Cdim CH i i m i'ri j JrRoot 1st Inv. 2nd Inv. Root 1st Inv. 2nd Inv. Root 1st Inv. 2nd Inv.Even inverted its still pretty boring stuff. But not when its putthrough a transformation that still surprises and delights me after all theseyears, applying the principle of substitution. I'll do one first.Original ProgressionC CAug Cmin1+CdimS^SubstitutionsC a\>kviCminWI?VIII like it better but how did I work it out? I made some informed choicesbased on the principle of substitution. The first chord (C) I left alone. Inthe second position I took the augmented fifth (A-flat) and made an A-flattriad out of it. In the third position I took the C and turned it into its closecousin, C minor. Ironically enough, the next chord in the original pattern isC minor so I had to change it. Borrowing a G—its fifth tone—I included a202 immy WebbG major. Nowthis ishealthy." So savs Peter Gabriel, even though one must wonder if MtGabriel would be so sanguine about an interloper collecting monies on acopyright that was obviously derived from one of his songs. RJLMJaMichael Stipe concurred during a recent conwasatkm with me when hestated. "There's going to be some emulation and there's going to be someblatant stealing—that's pop music at its besti—and that's good and fine."In my view part of rock 'n rolls roguish image of itself is tied up in thisoutlaw "its only rock n' roll" mentalitv. Of course this is augmentedsome considerable justification by the hand-me-down traditions of bluesand country players in that long-lost era of provincial tutelage, butrne the stakes were not so high as to induce a nosebleed. RvCooder maintains to this dav that during some friendly jams with theRolling Stones in London in the earJy '70s that Mick Jagger and companypurloined virtually all the licks, motifs and rhythmic patterns for theirhumongous Stuky Fingers.If we carried such concerns to extremes we would never get a melodywritten but would become full-time researchers instead, perhaps lettingour computers devise complicated and never-before-heard combinations.It is a mathematical fact that only twelve notes can be arranged m multi-ples of millions of unique sequences. Surely all the melodies have net beenwritten."I^khc&phUA 15In this light it would seem foolhardy for a composer to imitate tooclosely the well-known melodic lines of a Puccini or Gershwin, eventhough inspired imitation can sometimes be raised to the level of an artform. In his book Nice Work Ij You Can Get It (Hyperion), Michael Feinsteinreports that Gershwin was rumored to have stolen themes for his concer-tos from works by Rachmaninoff, who was said to have been quite out-raged. Andrew Lloyd Webber, in spite of his megalamoney, has been con-stantly assailed by detractors and musicologists who claim that he owesway too much to Puccini and others, though I must say that in my ownview Puccini has been least damaged in the exchange. He's not the onlyone! Jerome Kern, according to reputable sources, also pilfered a duet froma Puccini opera. These stories go on and on. One of the most memorablecontemporary examples is the stunning Glass Houses album (1980) by BillyJoel. Here is a sometimes tongue-in-cheek then deadly serious pastichethat is akin to fine art forgery. Joel demonstrates that like a virtuoso stand-up impressionist he can run the gamut of imitating pop's most sacredcows: the Stones, Sam Cooke, the Four Seasons, just to name a few. Onesong m particular, "Through the Long Night with You," sounds so muchlike Lennon and McCartney circa 1965 that the first time I heard it I wassure that it was a Beatles record I had overlooked. (It has become one ofmy favorite songs.) Many critics seem to have missed Joel's point entirely,not realizing that this kind of imitation was deliberate, and obviously so.The writer was not at a loss to create songs of his own but was paying afascinating and deft homage. How does an artist get to the point wherethey can imitate another at this level of perfection?Linda Ronstadt, on being asked what a young person should do ifthey wanted a career in the music business, replied, "Learn to read music.Learn to play an instrument." While the untrained take great delight inpointing out examples of musically illiterate geniuses there is profoundtruth in Linda's deceptively simple answer. Of course if one intends to be alyricist and nothing but a lyricist then it becomes a moot point. But purelyricists labor under one serious handicap: they have to find somebody towrite with. Many people who collaborate in the contemporary field writeboth music and lyrics, and so these encounters become what might becalled double collaborations. Each of the partners could write a complete songm a pinch.The songwriter does not need to be a virtuoso pianist or guitarist. It[6 Jimmy Webbsuffices to have a repertoire of interesting chords—not just simple tri-ads—and to know how to fit them together and write them down. (To beable to quickly jot down a chord pattern over a printed lyric line is to savehundreds of hours "backtracking" in order to remember what has justbeen win ten especially when there is no recording equipment readily avail-able. The muse surprises capriciously.)At the outset 1 played almost exclusively by ear but fortunately I had aGod-fearing spare-the-rod-and-spoil-the-child Southern Baptist motherwho insisted that I learn to read music, at least well enough to be churchpianist, which I accomplished by age twelve. When I became a profes-sional songwriter at seventeen I quickly realized the benefits of knowinghow to read music. To know how' to read music is, in a sense, to automati-cally know how to "write" music. I found myself supplementing my mea-ger income by transcribing other peoples songs off a tape and onto a leadsheet at five dollars a copy. I could put my own songs onto lead sheets. Icould write simple chord charts for demo sessions and insure that thechords were played exactly the way I wanted them. (What songwriterhasn't winced on hearing an oversimplified version of his or her subtlechord progression?)Eventually I would write parts for full orchestra, and indeed in 1968at the age of twenty-one I was fortunate enough to receive a GrammyAward for orchestration. All because Mama made me practice at leastthirty minutes every afternoon.In recent years I have had occasion to regret the fact that I did notcomplete a full course ot study at a conservatory but it is clear that even abasic musical knowledge, particularly of chordal theory and notation^sight singing, musicianship, etc.) goes a long way in the songwritingracket. It is never too early or too late to start. (I recommend highly someof the software programs available for computers such as Performer orFinale which enable a keyboard player to see at a glance the notation of anychord played on the keyboard and just as easily print out such notation inhard copy.)The ambitious songwriter cannot learn all from books, computers orwell-meant advice. There is a popular cliche that the artist must suffer,preferably over a long period of time, as much emotional trauma, povertyand self-loathing as possible, up to and including death if necessary morder to create. Certainly we know of great artists who have lived unhappy~[nne&mUfi 17lives. Conversely we are led to believe that the callow, carefree youth hasnothing of import to offer. His observations may seem to have weight butthey are to be mistrusted and such precocious seriousness may often beridiculed. Among other things financier Otto Kahn said in the presence ofGeorge Gershwin, according to author Frederick Nolan (Lorenz Hart: A Poeton Broadway, Oxford University Press): "He declared that although Georgeexpressed the genius of young America, Gershwin—like America—hadnot yet experienced 'the ordeal of deep anguish, besetting care and heart-searching tribulations' necessary for true genius."When I was twenty years old I found myself wandering aimlessly andawkwardly through a swank Beverly Hills pleasure dome surrounded bycinema stars and movie moguls—as well as a few out of work film com-posers who were feeling not much pain. A bejeweled, matronly ex—cabaretsinger homed in on me like a great white shark on an injured flounder."So, you must tell me!" she ordered. "How do you write music that soundsso grown up?"At the same affair I bestirred myself from my usual shyness and wastalking with a small but amiable group about the future of rock music onBroadway. It was in those days that Hair was breaking all records at theAquarius Theatre and Jesus Christ Superstar was in the offing—as well as avery interesting "album/opera" called Tommy. "I think"(at this point, itwas like the famous E. F. Hutton commercial—the room went silent)"well see a lot more rock musicals on Broadway." After a moment of dubi-ous silence a famous film composer lurking nearby blew his nose and saidloudly, "You sound like you almost know what you re talking about."But what if, in fact, the exact opposite of his aggressive and embarrass-ing prejudice is true? Isn't it possible that in our younger years—notexcluding childhood—human beings are like fresh rolls of film taken fromsealed canisters, unfogged and unexposed? And if that is true then surely itis the intensity of experience that marks us with knowledge and intuition,not longevity and repetition. Much like a frame of film when it becomesoverexposed, it seems to me that one of the battles of aging is to maintaina passion, a sensitivity to our own feelings as well as to the vulnerability ofthe world around us. Without being able to expose ourselves to pain—tobreak down and cry if need be—we don't have what we need to be song-writers or even human beings. The reverse is true. Without recognizing thegood things life has to offer—the priceless gift of the distant laughter ofis Jimmy Webbchildren—we become sour pedants. It matters little the grave importanceoi whal we have to say. No one wants to hear our dreary self-pitying voice.When 1 am stale—and every songwriter has awakened on some god-forsaken morning feeling like a bag of potato chips mistakenly leftovernight in the sauna—I find that "experience" is exactly what I need.Then it is time for a change of venue. It is out in the world that I find themeans ro reload with a fresh roll of film.A pilgrimage does not have to entail an expensive air ticket to theC ireek Isles. It can be a visit of a few days to that small town or neighbor-hood where we grew up—perhaps for a talk with that special teacher whogot us thinking about music in the first place. It can be time spent com-pletely alone—like a friend of mine who walked completely across theUnited States. It could be playing with another medium—watercolor, per-haps, or a sport like rock climbing or learning to fly an airplane. I havealways found that—given a rest—the muse will return. Miraculously shereturns with gifts—the subliminal impressions of people, places and situa-tions that can become the raw stuff of those precious ideas. LeonardBernstein said that the most important thing he had learned from HarvardPhilosophy Professor David Prall was a sense of interdisciplinary values—that the best way to "know" a thing is in the context of another discipline.This is as close as the Western mentality can approach describing the atti-tudes of Zen, the "watercourse way" of Eastern philosophy that teachesthat the best way to conquer a problem may not be to attack it head on.Given, "experience" is important. But that is not necessarily related tohow many years one has lived. It is important because, as writers, we needto "experience" as much of the texture of living as humanly possible. Wealso need to absorb it through the senses of as many others as practicable.Almost by definition a songwriter is reflective, self-obsessive, brooding andapart from others, but there is danger in this loner mentality—both to hiscraft and to his emotional well-being.One afternoon my six-year-old son Charles brought a little playmateto my worktable and proudly explained that his daddy was writing a bookabout songwriting. "My dad does songs," he crowed. "Every single songhe's made has been a great success!" Would that this were true! But thenagain consider for a moment that it is eminently possible for a song to be asuccess without being a hit. "Didn't We"—while internationally well-known—was never a "hit." "The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress," recorded by"pHne&niltA 19Glen Campbell, Joe Cocker, Joan Baez, Linda Ronstadt, Judy Collins—never a single, never a "hit"—yet it recently found its way onto a respectedlist of the "Ten Most Perfect Songs Ever Written." (I add in the samebreath that "MacArthur Park" recently appeared in a book about theworst songs of all time. My friend Gerry Beckley, whose recording withDewey Bunells "Horse with No Name" also appeared, is busily at workon a book called The Worst Books About Songs of All Time.*)The implication is that we might be in error when we set out to write"a hit song." The ramifications are disturbing. The worst one being thatwe may tend to model our efforts on the current rage. The next worst: Wemay believe that such a thing is possible when it is not. (The factors affect-ing the successful outcome of the release of any given song on any singlerecord are so diverse and unpredictable as to represent a perfect model forthe Chaos Theory.) Sometimes great songs are written. Sometimes theyalso become "hits." Sometimes mediocre ones do as well.What we can do and what will give us the most joy and the bestchance for success in the long run is to write a good song. Everyone has onegood novel in them, it has been said. I'm not sure that this is fact but letsassume that every soul also harbors one great song. It is from such a singu-lar beginning that the careers of Randy Newman, Tim Hardin and JoniMitchell blossomed.The songwriter s lot is not necessarily a carefree one. I have watched inthe last few years with severe misgivings the inexorable progress each ofmythree oldest sons has made toward becoming one of those creatures and Iwould not want to be in their shoes for all the tea in China. But theirhearts are set on it as was mine. It is an honorable profession—if only theworlds second oldest. I would hope they remember that in a best-case sce-nario ninety percent of what is written never receives the slightest notice.The sensitive, expressive songwriter has to be as tough as an old boot, aparadox that is irreconcilable.But let us set out anyway with a reasonably complete knowledge ofwhat has gone before. (If we would be Toads let us be aware wherewith weCroak.) By studying some examples of word writing we should eventuallycome to an understanding of form. With a knowledge of form we canlearn more about chord structure and melody in order to develop a tech-nique. Together we will write a good song.Ej££IN THIS ROOM YOU LL NEVERMAKE A MISTAKEI'mfixing a hole where the rain gets inAnd stops my mindfrom wandering . . .—Lennon & McCartney,"Fixing a Hole"In 1980 I uprooted my family from the relative comfort of SouthernCalifornia and moved to New York State smack in the middle of the worstblizzard of the decade. While in college, I had written my first musical—asophomoric attempt called Dancing Girl—which contained a passable bal-lad entitled "Didn't We?" The theatre arts department at the small collegeI had attended declined to produce the musical—a disaster for me since Ihad written the show instead of taking my midterms. In spite ofmy disap-pointment I found myself infected by a theatre bug which will forever livein my blood. At the end of the 70s I had come to New York to try some-thing new. I wanted to write a real musical.Within months, due to the influence of my powerful friend, DavidGeffen, I had the undivided attention of Michael Bennett—creator of AChorus Line, Dreamgirls, Ballroom, Coco, and so many others—who ruled "TheStreet" (an insider's term for Broadway) from the seventh floor of a beauti-~fcnne&PHHfi 21ful old building on lower Broadway. I quickly learned from my new friendand mentor important truths about songwriting that had eluded me untilthat time.The first one he pointed out to me in typically dramatic fashion whenfor the first time he presented me with my office space on the seventh floorof his building, a small skyscraper completely devoted to the theatrical arts:costuming, dance, and set design. I realized with some nervousness that Iwas tobecome what amounted to a "composer in residence." We walkedinto the room, a small dance studio with large windows facing the street andfull-length mirrors on the walls, unforgiving mirrors, real optical ones, notpolystyrene, reflecting us—imperfections and all—as we stood there. Helooked at me—Michael had a way of easily commanding complete atten-tion—and said with a smile, "In this room, you can never make a mistake."At first I was surprised, not knowing quite what to make of the remark. Ihad written songs beside the undulating surf on the south shore of Kauai. Ihad written one song at an Italian villa in Varese—an estate slightly past itsprime—on a piano barely in tune. Another I had written in my scarred andrusting Volkswagen on the way to a fraternity party in Newport Beach.Many I had written in my fathers garage in San Bernardino. "Up, Up andAway" I wrote in a practice room at college while skipping a theory class."Wichita Lineman," in the former Philippine Embassy on Camino Palmeroin Hollywood on a green baby grand. (How it came to be green I will neverknow.) I wrote "MacArthur Park" in Laurel Canyon on a nine-foot YamahaGrand that I had purchased with the royalties from "Up, Up and Away." Iwas sleeping under it at the time. It and a dozen decorative pillows were myonly furniture. (It resides today in decaying serenity in my living room.)Now this small, handsome, intensely energetic man with all-encompass-ing dark eyes was proposing something I had never before considered possi-ble: "In this room you can never make a mistake." Let me try to be clearabout what he intended with that assurance. He wasn't referring to moralmistakes. He wasnt saying: "You will never be rude needlessly to someonehere or fail to fulfill an obligation that you will have promised to fulfill," or,"You will never have too much to drink here and write a piece of shit." Whathe was saying was this: "Here I am establishing, arbitrarily, a magic perime-ter. As far as your creativity is concerned this is a charmed circle." I'm sureyou understand the obvious implications of this concept but let s explore itfurther—not as physical space but as a state of consciousness. What22 Jimmy Wi:bhMichael really meant was that there is no crossed-out, blotted word on paperor half-croaked note or stumbling, tripping step toward the songwriters goalthat is unseemly or shameful. He meant to say—as I understood him—thatcreativity is a blameless process. That to exist at all it must function unself-consciously and without guilt, that it is a poetic license to kill, and that anyother attitude is negative, self-defeating and constipatory. He meant in thetongue-in-cheek ceremony of that moment to set me free from trainingwheels, to give me wings and extend pardon and forgiveness to our futurecollaborations no matter how fatuous, pompous, amateurish or downrightstupid they might prove to be in the name of believing in the serendipity ofpossibil-ity. He also meant to say: "Z will not blame you for failure or keep a scorecardon your efforts as long as they are earnest, as long as you are sincerely dedi-cated to the things we will try to create here."As I tried out a few exploratory chords on my new Yamaha baby grandand supervised the installation of some recording equipment he explainedto me that he had never commenced the development of a Broadway proj-ect as director or choreographer without immense self-doubt, wonderingto himself: "This time am I going to be able to do this?" Again I under-stood. When we, as artists, try to imagine perfection in the work weintend to do then we are inhuman if we are not daunted. We are intimi-dated by the abstract quality of the task and the potential for failure. It isstage fright without the audience.That is why it is so important to draw an imaginary protective circlearound ourselves and step inside. The place where we write is importantwhether it is a physical room or a spacious loft in the heart and mind. Wemust clear a safe space around us. There are nerveless creatures on thisearth who could probably perform brain surgery in a rivet factory butmost of us can all too easily lose that tenuous thread woven of concentra-tion and inspiration when interrupted. There is a perverse part of many ofus that welcomes that kind of distraction. It is that part of us that is sub-liminally delighted with being completely snowed in and unable to go toschool. It is indolence without guilt. So for those of us who have a nervoussystem and still want to get some work done, tranquillity is m order. Theprimary ingredient in that tranquillity might be to pardon ourselves inadvance for any real or imagined inadequacies and approach the work withthe attitude that we will see what happens, make the best of it and enjoythe journey. Paradise is the road to Paradise.~£Hne&mUA 23There are many pragmatic reasons for having a completely dedicatedworkplace, whether it is a small room in the home or a separate office/stu-dio or even a favorite boulder in a quiet part of the woods. One of the mostimportant is continuity. We need to be able to leave a work in progress forhours or days at a time and return to find it completely undisturbed. Thisafternoon when I came back to the coffee table where I've been working athome, I found this very manuscript glued to the table with a healthy por-tion of coagulating strawberry jam—courtesy ofmy young daughter. Thereis also continuity ofthought in a given work period to consider. Rampagingbands of eleven-year-old Civil War reenactors do not make for concentra-tion. Some may find this kind of advice trivial but a surprising number ofpeople will attempt to do creative work in conditions bordering on chaos. Isuffer from intense loneliness while I'm writing and crave human compan-ionship. My assistant bringing me a cup of tea is akin to an angel visiting adoomed man on a desert island with a magical elixir. On the other hand itis virtually impossible for me to abandon self-consciousness and write any-thing meaningful (particularly a lyric) with another person in the room. Ihave found it better to think of songwriting as work—to set up specifichours when this work is to be done and tough out the feelings of isolation,even to use those feelings as raw material. Do I mean that songwriters shouldwork an eight-hour day, five days a week? There is a well-known songwriterin Los Angeles with a string ofTop-40 smashes nothing short of spectacu-lar. She claims to work twelve hours a. day. Most writers are going to find afterfour or five hours of intense concentration that they are ready for an Adviland a B movie. What seems to work best for me is a period of intensefocus—say, thirty-five minutes and then a stretch, an unfocused stare outthe window (since I'm lucky enough to have one) for five minutes or sobefore returning to the anvil. The right side of the brain goes into rigormortis if it's pinioned in the same attitude for too long, resulting in frus-tration, angst and lack of progress. It is amazing sometimes how tenaciouslyand blindly we can pursue an artistic goal—feeding on anger or stubbornwill—achieving nothing, only to return the next day and in a more relaxedstate see the answer immediately and effortlessly. When working indoorsit is important if not completely essential to have a sensory escape—awindow with a view or a porch or patio with access to the outside world.(Important works have been written in prison but they're not importantnecessarily because they were written in prison.)2A Jimmy Wi;hbI use a tape recorder, nothing elaborate. (It is a cassette model SonyProfessional.) I will explain exactly how and why I use it. (If you are mak-ing a demo ar the piano make sure you place a folded towel or kitchensponge under the tape machine and remove all loose objects—cigarettelighters,pens, cups and saucers—from the top of the piano. It also pays toplay (he piano a bit softer than usual and to place the microphone squarelym front of the vocalist.) From the very first tentative chord of the writingsession I have my machine running and locked in "record" because eventhough I am going to be jotting down notes on paper and keeping a rea-sonable pace with my own thoughts there are going to be times when mybrain darts ahead, instinctively doing something impulsively and so quicklythat my conscious mind will not be able to follow. It may even be something nomore mysterious than a mistake. (Even though many times these so-calledmistakes are no such thing. They are the subconscious traveling at light speed afew nanoseconds in front of the conscious mind.) In such a case I will not(except on the very rarest of occasions) be able to remember exactly how Idid what I did because in the strictest sense I didn't do it. No worry. I haveevery note on the tape recorder. If I want to seize that lovely mistake andmake it useful I simply rewind the tape and listen to it repeatedly until Ilearn it well or else write it down on the pad in front of me.The tape recorder also enables me to consolidate my gains and mini-mize my losses. Lets say I'm twenty-five percent into the cassette reel andI've managed to rough out a complete verse with a melody. I don't want torisk losing even a nuance of what I've already accomplished but I don'treally give a damn about the trial-and-error rubbish that sits on the firstquarter of the tape. I immediately rewind to the top of the reel, and whilethe verse is fresh in my mind I record it again right at the "top" (or begin-ning) of the tape. If I make a mistake or forget something while recordingI have the original "pass" (or performance) at the end of the tape that I canrefer to. Now I have my verse safely in storage at the top of the tape. I con-tinue writing—perhaps embarking on a chorus section by trial and error. Iwill continue in this way, storing valuable sections at the top of the tape—being careful not to erase anything previously stored—and recording overthe detritus. If for some reason I decide to abandon the song temporarilyor indefinitely in an unfinished state I throw my work tape in the trunk;nothing lost, no harm done. (I might review it six months later and findthat it's not as bad as I thought.) I can work this way on a song at intervals~£nneSntitA 25of weeks or even months and never lose my train of thought, never forget aword or note. (One frustration is that sometimes the performances onthese low-tech recordings are better than the ones that I do later in a pro-fessional recording studio.) Near the end of the process I record the nearlyfinished song at the top of the tape and then I have the whole remainingcassette for any changes or rewrites. It works.I keep a legal pad on the piano in front of me and use it in conjunc-tion with my tape machine and in much the same way though sometimesseparately and independently. The first page might be consumed withtedious trial-and-error chicken scratches, forging a lyric for the first verse. Iam stopping occasionally and matching what I've written with what I'msinging and playing on the tape machine. By and by I develop what mightpass as a serviceable verse. It might not be perfect—in fact I know that itwill get better—but its intent is what I'm concerned with at this early stage.So I flip over a leaf on my legal pad and I copy it out carefully—warts andall—at the top of the page. Perhaps I'm bored with word writing at thatmoment and I go back to my tape to try to write that soaring chorusmelody. I probably already know what the content of that chorus is going tobe. I may be sure of a hook line or title that I intend to incorporate in thatchorus (fulfilling the intent of my half-finished verse). I dink around withmy chorus line, singing along with the piano and getting a feel for it. Mytrusty tape machine—my guardian angel—is purring steadily. "Okay," Isay to myself, "this could work." (I have been known to talk to myself.)Below my crude verse on the legal pad, I begin to sketch in the lyric to thechorus and to doodle in some rough chord symbols above the lyrics,reminders that are going to help me learn my own song and save merewinding the machine every time I misplace a chord. Let's say I've used upmy second page roughing out the verse and chorus. I flip over the leaf andhave a beautiful blank page for my first rewrite. The whole evolution ofthe song is on that legal pad. I usually don't cross anything out because Imay want to go back to a previous state of evolution and use somethingthat wasn't as bad as I might have thought it was. So it goes, for page afterpage of development and improvement with nothing lost or forgotten. Ifthe tape is stored for any reason the notes are stored with it.Another thing: The workplace needs some magical symbols. Hangingat eye level over the piano in my studio is a magnificently detailed drawingof Gaudi's Sagrada Familia that I brought back from Barcelona after a tourJIMMY Wl BBof the cathedral. To me it represents the frozen architecture of music andthe depth of feeling and commitment one man can bring to a work of art.1 he selflessness of it, the sacrifice of it, the authority of it, open a window in mysoul. Many artists have come to call this feeling inspiration though there areskeptics who insist that there ain't no such animal. On the wall close by is.1 picture of Michael Bennett and me together on a porch swing in happierdays, It's only a Polaroid but it never lets me forget what he expected ofmein my workroom or the profound truth that in the pursuit of art there areno mistakes. (Hopefully I will not be deliberately misunderstood on thispoint. In the performance of art there are mistakes aplenty.)The sharpest memory is fallible. It is not such a difficult thing to keepa small, spiral-bound notebook in a briefcase, wallet or purse. Now wecome out of a movie house and a couple is having a knock-down, drag-out,bare-all at curbside while waiting for a cab. He says to her in a loud voicejust as we step out on the street: "Someday you'll know how big a mistakethis is!" He's yelling. She's very upset. We empathize but not overly so. Weare groping for our notebook. "SOMEDAY YOU'LL KNOW HOWBIG A MISTAKE THIS IS." We see the top of the charts. We're song-writers first and human beings second. We really should use a notebookfor this. It beats Ballantine's cocktail napkins (so hard to iron out afterthey've been through a wash and dry cycle) or car parking stubs (you givethem back to the attendant forgetting that you've got a Top- 10 title writ-ten there) or trusting in your wife or boyfriend ("What do you mean youforgot it? It was something about a mistake. 'YOU'RE MAKING A BIGMISTAKE'—was that it? Oh, merde . . . !").Larry Hart was infamous for writing some fabulous lyric on nothingmore than a scrap of paper and then mislaying it, among these "A ShipWithout a Sail," according to biographer Frederick Nolan. One storywhich may or may not be apocryphal has Richard Rodgers, Hart and afemale companion in a Parisian taxi after a near automobile accident thatcould have proven fatal. "Oh my goodness, my heart stood still!" gaspedthe woman. "Hey, great title for a song," said Larry (as so many of us do)while Richard Rodgers calmly wrote the title down in his notebook.Weeks later during a songwriting session, Rodgers remarked to Hart, "I'vegot a tune for that great title of yours." "What title is that?" came thereply. "My Heart Stood Still," said Dick as he thumbed through his note-book. "Never heard of it," Larry replied. (In hope of preventing automo-bile accidents involving title-stricken songwriters attempting to drive andmake notes simultaneously, the author recommends