CHAPTER 9
BUT THEN AGAIN … NO
Chronic lack of inspiration
Even the most prolific of songwriters sometimes suffer from their muse pulling an extended sickie without a moment’s notice. Nine times out of ten, they’ll go away, have a ride on their private jet pack, take some liquid GHB, search their CD collections for an obscure melody to steal, and they get through it. Occasionally, however, it leads to a flagrant abdication of duty, either through utterly uninspired lines whose impact on the listener most closely resembles that of a soggy piece of toast falling to the floor (jam-side down, naturally), or transparent attempts to fill the gap with lines about … not being able to think of the next line (see p150 ‘Annoying things lyricists do’).
YOUR SONG
ELTON JOHN
…no, let me rephrase that. 
…no, it’s still not quite right. 
…hang on, let me think about this.
It’s infuriating, isn’t it, to read something which is more like a rough draft than the finished article?
So how did Elton and Bernie think we’d feel about the line If I was a painter … but then again, no … ?
What comes next? ‘If I was a painter … what?’ That’s the question he leaves dancing on our lips. But judging by this example, it’s a no-brainer. If he were a painter, he’d decorate half our front room, and then think ‘nah …’ and decide to take up carpentry instead.
DANIEL
ELTON JOHN
Bernie Taupin often did a grand job writing the words for Elton John to sing, but a less forgiving employer might have docked his wages on this occasion.
They say Spain is pretty though I’ve never been, offers Elton. Well Daniel says it’s the best place that he’s ever seen. And he should know, he’s been there enough.
I’ve heard Croatia’s nice. A friend went there recently and they said it was lovely. A lot of people are buying houses out there at the moment, I’ve heard. Mind you, the language barrier’s difficult, and they do like their wars round those parts, don’t they. It’s always a bit unstable. Got any plans for the weekend?
Do you see what I did there? That’s right, instead of writing about this song, I substituted a random conversation I might have with my hairdresser. It doesn’t really work, does it?
Bernie Taupin takes the same approach when writing these lyrics, with equally unedifying results.
I presume Elton must have quickly had a word, or his subsequent records would have included songs about how there’s going to be a cold spell next week, do you know a reliable electrician, and did you see Silent Witness last night?
THE LEBANON
THE HUMAN LEAGUE
Sometimes you hear a lyric where you can’t quite pin down the essence of its rubbishness … for some reason, it just reeks of ‘wrong’. And that was the unmistakable scent that wafted our way when Phil Oakey sang Before he leaves the camp he stops. He scans the world outside. And where there used to be some shops is where the snipers sometimes hide.
I think the root of the problem is in the incomparable mundanity of the phrase ‘some shops’, in a song about a civil war in the Middle East. You can’t help but picture a bullet-riddled branch of Spud-u-like, a rubble-strewn Dollond & Aitchison and Pret A Manger advertising special sandwich-plus-drink deals for Druze & Christian Militia. Perfectly conceivable of course, but … then again, no.
FANTASY SONG TITLES TOP TEN: SHOPS
1. DANCING WITH MY SELFRIDGES
2. JUST A LIDL LOVING
3. SPAR! (WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR?)
4. THE GREEN GREEN GRASS OF BRITISH HOME STORES
5. POUNDLAND OF MAKE BELIEVE
6. LAST NIGHT A DJ KWIK SAVED MY LIFE
7. LIVING DOLLOND AND AITCHISON
8. VISION EXPRESS OF LOVE
9. DOWN BY THE WATERSTONES
10. O SUPERDRUG
BEING AROUND
THE LEMONHEADS
In rock’s great power vacuum of 1993, as grunge was grunting its last and Britpop was but a twinkle in Damon Albarn’s pearly whites, The Lemonheads’ Evan Dando was every girl’s favourite indie pin-up. But he was displaying an increasing tendency to write ditties that sounded more suited to Teletubbies than Top Of The Pops. And so it was that we were faced with the thorny question, If I was a booger, would you blow your nose? … Would you keep it? Would you eat it? I’m just tryin’ to give myself a reason, for being around.
A generation thought about this little conundrum for a short while, then decided to wipe him on the underside of their desk and get on with their lives.
HIGHWAY STAR
DEEP PURPLE
According to a deluded but powerful minority of recording artists, including such notables as R Kelly (Chapter 5), cars are a lot like women. Deep Purple seconded that motion with this 1972 song about a car that was a ‘killing machine’ which was going to ‘break the speed of sound’. Although such a prospect was extremely unlikely considering the state of motoring technology in the early 1970s, they went on to boast of similar attributes enjoyed by their girlfriend.
Nobody gonna have my girl, brags singer Ian Gillan. She stays close on every bend. Is that strictly sensible if you’re travelling at the speed of sound? Surely she’d want to stay at least two chevrons behind to avoid accidents.
Ooh, she’s a killing machine, she’s got everything. Like a moving mouth, body control and everything.
All those male readers whose girlfriends have bodies that just flap and flounder about uncontrollably, with mouths as inanimate as Barbie herself, will surely be green with envy. And most women couldn’t murder a cup of tea, so the killing machine part is also a major bonus, in case you need any enemies taking out.
And what’s that – ‘… she’s got everything’? And then everything AGAIN?!!
Actually, sorry mate, we were on your side for a while but now you’re getting cocky.
S.Y.M.M.
MANIC STREET PREACHERS
That title stands for ‘South Yorkshire Mass Murderer’, since you ask. Not always a popular number at wedding discos and family gatherings, but it made it onto the Manics multi-platinum album This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours in 1998. And considering it refers to the Hillsborough tragedy of 1989 in which 96 people were crushed to death, you’d hardly expect it to be a funky, upbeat audience-participation number.
Nicky Wire is one of British Rock’s finest lyricists yet he seems to be strangely dumbstruck from the start. And during the middle and the end, come to that.
The subtext of this song, well I’ve thought about it for so long, they begin, before singing about how it’s not the kind of thing people want to hear from The Manics. Considering this is the same Manics who covered such topics as malaria-worshipping holocaust victims, dying anorexics and self-mutilation on the four albums before this song’s release in 1998, I’d argue it’s exactly what people want to hear from them. And I don’t think anyone would blame them for not rewriting ‘Walking On Sunshine’ when their guitarist is still missing, presumed dead.
They then sing, the context of this song, well I could go on and on, but don’t even go for a single ‘on’, choosing instead to mutter something about principles being unfashionable.
The chorus simply concludes, South Yorkshire Mass Murderer, how can you sleep at night?
Good question, if we knew who the hell they were talking about. After all, even the official justice campaign for the victims hasn’t ever attempted to lay the blame at the door of a single individual.
The reason for this song, well it may be a pointless one, they sing, before thanking Jimmy McGovern for writing a play about the tragedy. Yes, thanks a lot, Jimmy, you’ve written about it, so we don’t have to. Finally, they conclude, The ending for this song, well I haven’t really thought of one.
So let’s recap. You can’t tell us the subtext or context of this song (or its title, which you’ve inexplicably abbreviated), the reason for it is ‘pointless’, the chorus is vague and ultimately meaningless, and you haven’t thought of an ending.
If only you hadn’t thought of beginning the song in the first place.
FIVE INCREASINGLY REDUNDANT SUBJECTS FOR SONGS
4) YOUR MUM
You might have been under the impression that bad-ass gangstas, the kind who regularly claim to shoot sucker MCs in the face, have suffered from poor upbringings. On the contrary, they invariably have ‘mama’s who could shame Mother Theresa in terms of earthly divinity. And it’s not just hip-hop artists who love their mums. Remember the Spice Girls’ diabetes-inducing tribute? As yet, though, no one has yet written about their dad being bigger than your dad and having muscles bigger than He-Man and the Masters Of The Universe put together. Apart from that clap-awful ‘Tractor Song’. The exception that proves the rule that rock’n’roll must always be a parent-free zone.
See: 2Pac – Dear Mama, Ghostface Killah – All That I Got Is You, Snoop Dogg – I Love My Momma
TRUE
SPANDAU BALLET
‘I know this much is true,’ croons Tony Hadley on this 1984 number-one hit. Yet the only truth we seem to learn from Gary Kemp’s words are that he’s struggling to find anything to write. After musing about being head over heels when toe to toe, suggesting some highly impressive contortionist skills, he tells us, I bought a ticket to the world but now I’ve come back again.
That’s nice. I’ve just been to the toilet. But now I’m back sitting at my computer. Do carry on.
Why do I find it hard to write the next line when I want the truth to be said?
So he’s come clean about his word-drought. But how to melt this particular writer’s block? He mentions thrills in his head and a pill on his tongue, and even listening to ‘Marvin’.
Assuming Marvin means Gaye, not Hank, then you’d have thought it might have helped. What were the working titles for this song – I Heard It In The Pipeline? Let’s Get It Off? Sexual Peeling?
Either way, he gets tough with himself, and commands Take your seaside arms and write the next line. That first bit is from Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, who is described as having ‘seaside limbs and an ardent tongue’. I’ve got to tell you, Gaz, you’ll get nowhere borrowing dirty books from your mate Sting (see Chapter 6).
Here’s a better idea – why not not bother with any more words – just go ‘Uh huh huh huuuuh huh’ and repeat the chorus a few times? After all, writing nonsense worked for Sting too. Have you heard ‘De Do Do Do De Da Da Da’?
MMM MMM MMM MMM
CRASH TEST DUMMIES
I’m sorry? What kind of title is that? ‘Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm’? Were you bound and gagged, or taking part in a cream cracker eating competition when someone asked you to give this a title?
It is, of course, the chorus of this 1993 hit. Yes, the chorus, in its entirety, goes Mmm mmm mmm mmm. OK, can you take that large snooker ball out of your mouth and repeat that please? Mmm mmm mmm mmm.
From this chasm-like imagination vacuum, we can only assume the lyricist is one of those people who just puts an ‘X’ when signing his name, or does his Christmas shopping in one go by buying 50 quid’s worth of John Lewis vouchers. And then when he’s asked if he wants sausage or bacon with his breakfast, he says, ‘I’m easy’. No, mate, you’re not bloody easy, you’re a howling pain in the arse. Make a decision for once in your life.
That scandalous abdication of chorus-writing responsibility is all the more unfortunate given that, otherwise, this is actually quite an intriguing song, lyrically. The verses tell the story of a boy whose hair went white after a car crash, and a girl who wouldn’t undress in front of people due to her birthmarks. Great potential for some insight into the human condition. And what do these Canadian cheesewits offer us to sum up this fascinating tale? Mmm mmm mmm mmm.
In their defence, they might argue that they’re expressing the sheer impossibility of finding words to explain the vagaries of human existence.
To which I can only respond: Zzzzzzzzz …
SCHOOL’S OUT
ALICE COOPER
The original classroom call to arms surely inspired a generation to go to school with their ties slightly undone, but when Alice ran out of steam halfway through, he exposed the limitations of doing away with organised education. Well we got no class, he sneers, And we got no principles. We ain’t got no innocence. We can’t even think of a word that rhymes.
Well, if you can’t think of a word to rhyme with ‘principles’ then I’d argue that you’d struggle in life once school has been ‘blown to pieces’, and would need intensive private tuition to just gain a basic level of literacy, starting with stuff about cats sitting on mats next to postmen called Pat. Mind you, judging by some of the entries in this chapter, you’d have no trouble carving out a successful career as a songwriter.
ALL APOLOGIES
NIRVANA
It’s perhaps understandable that in his depressed and probably heroin-ravaged state, Kurt Cobain sometimes struggled to summon up that familiar creative magic towards the end of his career. So he ended up singing lines like What else could I say? Everyone is gay.
Even he should have realised that this statement, even by the provocative, extreme standards of the punk rock oeuvre in which he operated, wasn’t going to stand up to much scrutiny.
While there’s a strong argument to claim that there are considerably more homosexuals in the world than ever admit it publicly, due to the social stigma and prejudice they face, if everyone really was gay, we’d have a bit of a problem on our hands as a species.
Just imagine it. In order to keep the birth rate ticking over, we’d have to pay pairs of men and women to indulge in the distasteful business of procreating, or at the very least, develop a pretty massive artificial insemination programme.
If, on the other hand, he’d said something similarly childlike such as all girls are smelly and have fleas, we might have been able to carve out a case for him.
SOMEWHERE ELSE
RAZORLIGHT
I met a girl, recalls Johnny Borrell. Well, that’s a fine start. The possibilities are pretty much endless, and we’re all ears. So what happened next? She asked me my name, I told her what it was.
Oh come on, you can do better than that. How about She asked me her name, I said ‘names are for tombstones, baby’? Not massively original, but an improvement. Or how about She asked me her name, I said ‘it’s Rumpelstiltskin, honey, let down your hair!’ Actually, no, that’s Rapunzel, isn’t it? Wrong fairy tale. It’s not actually that easy, this lyric writing business, is it?