Songwriting 101

In the U.S., there are 400 (made-up statistic) songs written every minute. Yet, unless you are Janet Jackson, you can’t make millions of dollars with your crappy contrived lyrics. There’s no doubt that there are some good song lyrics out there that will never make it to a karaoke machine, but the facts are that a hit song doesn’t need good lyrics. The lyrics don’t need to make sense to anyone. They don’t need to make sense to the songwriter.

My contention is that I can take any song that’s ever been written and tweak a little here and there and make it better. I’d be happy to take your lyrics and smooth out the rough edges. Send your worthless poetry to me and I’ll make you a star.

Here’s an example. I picked a short song because I don’t like giving things away for free. This, believe it or not, was a big hit for a “rock” band from the 70’s known as Chicago (originally Chicago Transit Authority). It’s called, and I shudder when I type this, Color My World. It has a flute solo, for Christ’s sake. Still, many are the young men that cursed James Pankow for only writing one verse. Slow dancing to Color My World guaranteed 3 minutes of “action”. Imagine what dragging six more lines out for 3 more minutes would have meant. Here goes.

Chicago’s version:

As time goes on, I realize
Just what you mean to me.
And now, now that you're near,
Promise your love that I've waited to share
And dreams of our moments together.
Color my world with hopes of loving you

My version has the much-needed second verse:

As time goes by, I realize
Just what you mean to me.
And now, now that you’re near,
Promises of love that we’re meant to share
And recalling our moments together
Color my world with the joy of loving you

Flute solo

As time goes by, I realize
Just what you did to me
And now, now that you’re gone,
You shared your love with every one of my friends
And recalling our moments together
Color my world, you cheating whore

So, send me your unrequited love songs, your “How could you do this to me?” songs, your anthems for your generation songs. I’ll add the perfect touches. Just give me a credit on the lyrics and I’ll take half the royalties.

Smelly Cat, Smelly Cat, It's Not Your Fault

I had the wierdest near-death experience last night. I was autoerotically asphyxiating myself while watching Girls Next Door and I must have been doing it wrong because I immediately got the hiccups. I was at a loss because holding your breath is supposed to get rid of them. I decided to tighten the choker another notch and the next thing I know I'm seeing my life pass before my nose. I caught whiffs of memories from my childhood; the smell of Topps Baseball Card's powdery "bubble gum", the malodor of my oldest brother Andy's feet when he played the "Smell My Feet" game, the musty stench of our cellar after a knee hockey game. So many memories.

I could recall odors both enticing and offensive. Some I associated with events, such as setting my arm on fire in a bizarre cooking accident. Others I associated with people. I distinctly remembered the perfume of an older woman when I was 16 (She was 18). She kissed me on the dance floor of a party because she knew my friends were watching. She said, "Let's give them something to talk about" and she proceeded to give me the kiss of a lifetime (to that point).

There were no images associated with these memories, only the smells. They ran by in an olfactory montage that I wish I could have recorded on the Aromacorder that I've been trying to invent for the past 10 years. The science of scent is still largely thought of as quackery, but I vow to make a breakthrough before I die.

To answer your question, my wife loosened the choker around my neck a few minutes later and told me to stop playing with myself or I'd go blind. I gasped like a fat man on a treadmill and told her it would be better than being an anosmiac.

Poetry Analysis

This week’s rock poetry analysis from guest blogger Ryan Tougas examines one of the most important rock songs of the 80’s, and perhaps of all time: Sister Christian

Sister Christian is sung as a power ballad by the author Kelly Keagy, who also performs drums on the classic track. The band, Night Ranger, was a seminal force in 1980’s rock and roll. Bands, from Nirvana to n’Sync, consider them as inspirations. Bob Dylan once said, “I was deeba. Down to my last idi…. When I heard Sister Krishna, I had an epfan…. I knew then that I couldna sappen toob betay.” Although, often misunderstood, Sister Christian stands the test of time to this day.

Sister Christian
Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one
To say O.K.

Where you going
What you looking for
You know those boys
Don't want to play no more with you
It's true

You're motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight

Babe you know
You're growing up so fast
And mama's worrying
That you won't last
To say let's play

Sister Christian
There's so much in life
Don't you give it up
Before your time is due
It's true
It's true yeah

Motoring
What's your price for flight
You've got him in your sight
And driving thru the night

Motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight
(repeat twice)

Sister Christian
Oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one
To say O.K.
But you're motoring
You're motoring

Sister Christian is, at its core, an allegory for the difficulties of a religious vocation. One can sense the hardship and privation that a nun must feel when she gives over her life to her God. The boys that don’t want to play no more with her are probably the same ones that she had to forswear when she took her vow of chastity. The time came for her to give up all of her worldly possessions when she found “Mister Right”; an obvious reference to God.

One surmises that before Christian became a nun, she worked for an airline, hence the line “What’s your price for flight?” Keager has given us an archetypal character that has abandoned the material trappings of life in the 80’s for Mister Right. Despite the loss of her previous self, in the end, she has God in her sight and she’ll be alright tonight. Since she made the decision of her own free will, she’ll be okay. This feeling of fulfillment is felt by all of us and gives the poem its ultimate moral. Everyone can be glad that Sister Christian has taken her vocation seriously and her work will benefit others. That way we don’t have to do it.

When debating the meaning of Motoring it is important not to take it out of context and to look inward to our own souls. Keager could, just as easily, have used whittling or doodling or bubbling. The present active participle form of virtually any two-syllable action verb could have been used and made just as much sense. Upon deep reflection, it becomes obvious that Sister Christian took up motocross to tend to that section of American society; the downtrodden losers. There is no more noble calling. Perhaps she will be able to help some of those lost souls find Mister Right.

Ryan Tougas is the founder of the Rock Poet Society, a group with chapters all over the country. It was formed in 1997 to debate and discuss contemporary rock lyrics and occasionally jam.

Julia B. Buxton's Haunted Bridge

Having crossed its span over 18 million times in my life and being an amateur paranormal investigator, I can say with virtual certainty that the Julia B. Buxton Bridge is haunted by one or more evil spirits. There is no better explanation for the inordinately high number of breakdowns and accidents that I have witnessed on that bridge over my 30 years of driving. How else can you explain the depressing feeling that grips you as you cross the mighty Connecticut?

I suppose that part of the gloom could be due to the sad prospect of leaving Agawam behind as you travel to your significantly less charming destination. How then do you explain the anger and violence that threatens to explode from your chest as you cross westbound, back to our beloved hometown? For those of you lucky enough to work in Agawam, the daily crawl over the South End Bridge is an expedition fraught with peril. Many is the time that I have had the feeling that someone, or some thing, is pushing me to swerve from the line of cars patiently waiting in the right lane to escape the bridge’s clutches and slam into the car cruising down the left lane. Something wants me to force the car of that VIP (that is bypassing the entire backup in order to dive onto the off-ramp at the last second) into the guard rail and hopefully over it to land upside-down on the other side. I’m able to resist only by realizing that the VIP who deserves to get home before all of the rest of us might be a fellow Agawam citizen. Godspeed, whoever you are. Maybe you should call ahead for a police escort. We could all stop our cars, get out and kneel with our foreheads on the pavement as you pass us if that would help.

I also think we need to get Jennifer Love Hewitt to come to Agawam and speak to whatever entity is responsible for causing cars to run out of gas or break down smack dab in the exact middle of the bridge. Maybe she could convince the spirit or spirits to wait until the rotary to cripple the car. It’s at least a weekly occurrence that some poor soul is stuck waiting for a tow while two lanes of angry motorists alternate glaring angrily at each other and at the victim of some ghost’s cruel joke.

The traffic situation at the evening rush hour is getting worse. Just getting onto the bridge is grueling whatever direction you’re coming from. Even after you successfully escape from the bridge, you are in danger of being struck waiting to enter the rotary. My cars have been hit twice and my wife’s once while waiting for cars to pass. Apparently, the driver (assumedly not an evil spirit) behind us has decided to go ahead and enter the rotary while looking out their right ear. The evil spirits haunt that off-ramp too.

Perhaps it’s time that we move up that timetable for redesigning and reconstruction of the Route 57/Route 5/South End Bridge and South End rotary. Right now it’s on the same schedule as the project to finish the other end of Route 57. If the current letter writing campaign to get these projects in motion isn’t getting any traction, maybe the Governor and the Massachusetts Highway Department would be swayed if they knew about the dangerous poltergeists and other supernatural phenomenon that we are experiencing way out west. Granted, an exorcism may be cheaper, but the projects are already “planned”. Let’s just get going on them. I want to see them completed before I cross that bridge one last time.

Really?

Justin Timberlake has had three number 1 hits in this country. Really. It's true. I looked it up.