Clarity in Songwriting: the process in action
A series on songwriting by a singing Stoic Krav Maga Practitioner trying to get through this thing called life.
In a previous post, I wrote about clarifying what kind of songwriter you want to become. In this post I’ll dive into exploring clarity in lyric writing to explore this theory in action.
There’s a lot of mysticism surrounding creativity. Some believe you either have it, or you don’t. It’s a “gift” that precious few are born with. From this vantage point, it is easy to conjure up the image of (insert your favorite artist/songwriter/author/etc) waking up to a fully realized creation just waiting for them to grab hold.
In 2014 I attended the first annual songwriting camp hosted by my hero, Steve Earle. Four days and nights of writing, singing, lectures, break-out sessions, and late-night, moonshine-fueled jams. All spearheaded by arguably the greatest living songwriter on the planet. I might be biased. He might be who I would insert in the paragraph above. However, in one lecture Steve made a comment about lyric writing along the lines of “the first verse drops out of the sky, the second verse you’re fucked.”
Unacceptable.
For decades I surrendered my lyric-writing power to this fickle muse. I agonized waiting for her arrival to rescue me from this curse of the second verse. Most songs I wouldn’t even bother to finish the lyrics until I recorded them, forcing me to mumble through improvised stanzas when my band performed these half-finished songs live (this has led to a rather decent skill at creating off-the-cuff silly songs for my children about ice cream, or any other random topic, but let us not condone this behavior.)
As artists it’s easy to get wrapped up in our own bullshit. Our output becomes a byproduct of our ego and our identity. This is a trap. One that will lead to work that doesn’t come close to what we are capable of, and a catalog of songs that won’t resonate with anyone. The job of the songwriter is empathy, but for many of us, our lyrics lean towards narcissism. In our vain pursuit to be seen, heard, and understood we forget about the listener entirely. We forget the primary reason people turn to music in the first place: to feel as though they are not alone. To be seen, heard, and understood.
So how do we use this apparent paradox to our advantage? To craft songs that allow us to express ourselves while resonating with the listener so that we all get what we need?
Wikipedia defines empathy as “the capacity to understand or feel what another person is experiencing from within their frame of reference… the capacity to place oneself in another’s position.” For songwriting lets tweak the definition slightly: Empathy is the capacity to express a feeling in a way that allows listeners to experience it from their own point of view. To be transported. To be an actor within the song itself, and to experience it from the vantage-point of the protagonist. If we can tap into the core of what it is we are trying to express, and do it in a way that resonates with the core needs of our audience, we can express ourselves in a way that is more universal, and thus can resonate with more listeners.
Lets see this in action (finally!) with a song I recently wrote.
As a songwriter I have a primary goal: to explore the lessons I’ve learned through training Krav Maga in my creative pursuits. In addition, I add a healthy dose of Stoic Philosophy as I feel the brand of Krav Maga my coach has created leans heavily on a similar mindset. I am not perfect at any of this. It’s a daily struggle trying to keep my cool when I find myself in the eye of the hurricane. But I know it to be my goal, and I’ll keep trying until I get it right. Being vulnerable, flawed, but constantly trying to improve is the lens by which I view the world. Add to that a penchant for outlaw old west storytelling and a smidge of a tough guy complex and you’ve got the formula for how I approach my lyric writing.
No Mercy Blues
I decided to write a blues ballad from Death’s perspective. Paying homage to one of my all-time favorites, Death Don’t Have No Mercy by Reverend Gary Davis (and the unintentional Cobra Kai reference is a solid bonus). But rather than focus on the human suffering, or paralyzing fear of the unknown, I wanted to see death through the eyes of the Grim Reaper as if they were having just another day at the office. To quote Joseph Stalin “The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic.” I injected a lot of my own fears within the lyrics, but I did so through the nameless, faceless millions the protagonist visits day after day. My fear becomes subtle vignettes, not the principal narrative. Ideally this subtlety will make those lines poignant, and those lines will resonate deeply with the listener. Only time will tell, the track doesn’t drop until December 1, 2022. But for the sake of illustration, I am including the lyrics
And when I come walking on down your street
You will be haunted by what you see
For I will be dragging that long black train
And there is a seat waiting for you my friend
Yeah nobody likes it when I am near
They scatter like roaches filled with fear
But I am a floodlight, yeah I am the truth
And there is no hiding from this gift I’ve brought for you
You make the same look as the one that came before you
But there is nothing you can do to stop this thing from happening to you
Well once I was younger, once naive
A life full of splendor, of lies I weaved
But now I am wasted, right down to the bone
And this is a curse that will not burden me alone
And while there’ll be sadness and while there’ll be tears
I promise a cleansing for those I kiss
For your air is heavy, with miserable pain
And you will be free from this earthly ball and chain
Through anthropomorphizing Death, I’ve become more comfortable with it. As if I now feel a little empathy for the tedium of Death’s day job. But this isn’t the story of my life-long struggle with coming to terms with its inevitable ending. It’s about writing lyrics. Being crystal clear on what the song was going to become: a song, written from Death’s perspective on another day at the office. By delivering on this goal, and by leveraging Death’s indifference to their task, I crafted a set of lyrics that serve as a reminder that this ride will one day end, and I better get to work. Armed with this level of clarity I was able to write these lyrics in about 15 minutes. I tracked a rough guitar line, sat at the laptop keyboard (I’ve given up on trying to read my handwriting), and after three passes it was done.
This story is not an anomaly. My band, Del Bombers, are going into the studio this month to record 14 songs for a new album. All of them were written just like this. 2–4 passes of the scratch guitar and the lyrics were done. I do not dare claim lyrics are easy for me now (as a Greek I am intimately aware of the backhand of hubris) but they come much quicker. More importantly, I now love the process, which is certainly a lot more satisfying than waiting around to get lucky. The key here is discipline: I DO NOT try and write lyrics until I am completely clear on what it is I am going to say. Sure, as I am coming up with a new chord progression, a line or two will fall out of the sky. But I no longer trust those lines. I don’t accept them as truth. I might look at them as a hint of what the song could be about, but not until I explore the mood, the concept, and the meaning I am trying to express with that song do I allow myself to begin the process.
I wish you clarity, I wish you focus, I wish you intent.
With respect, Kida.
