April 30, 2004
Five Verses
OK.I've been putting this off, because it's insanely difficult, and although I have (strange to relate) actually written a couple of songs, I am very much not a songwriter. Plus, there's something awfully final about considering your life in song. There are so many possibilities, and so much scope for being stomach-churningly wanky, self-important, pretentious and so on.
On the other hand, the question was quite clear in its use of the indefinite article. It's not the song about your life, it's just a song about your life, any old song, any old song, any, any, any old song. (You look neat, talk about a treat, you look dapper from your napper to your feet.) One of many. So, like, don't get so hung up about it, man. Stay frosty.
Still, it's a dilemma. I toyed with the idea of doing it in a book musical style, but that needs too much wit and detail and, most of all, content. It needs a proper verse structure, maybe a few jokes, and an expository function within the show. Do I look like Oscar Hammerstein?
I toyed with the idea of something bluesy:
Found my screensaver done crashed
Posted to my blog about it
Then had to do some work in Flash
Yes, well. I think we can all see that wasn't going anywhere.
If I phrased it as an operatic aria, I could get away with just repeating the same two lines for five minutes, but that would be cheating. Country and Western? Can't get the Nashville twang. Rap? And risk looking like a Welsh policeman? Victorian Music Hall just isn't me, and Dr Love has already taken care of good old D-I-S-C-O.
I reckon we're probably looking at something with a vaguely rawk flavour, and I don't mean nu-metal. Besides, it would be appropriate to the subject matter -- child of hippiedom and all that. The temptation to go all out Tricycle Spoons is almost irresistible, but I think I can hold off the Norse/Tolkien fixation (and the Entire Masai Nation) and aim more glam than prog; more urban freak than windswept tor. An embrace of the ridiculous, drug-addled and delirious, dazed and confused. Something Diamond Dogs-esque. Break out the platforms, the face paint and glitter. Insert guitar breaks and long drum solos as appropriate. Take a deep breath, and here we go.
Dancing around the funeral pyre
Burning all the norms his parents chose to flee
Freed from place, bequeathed a better chance to see
Drenched with sweat
But still can't get
More than halfway
To his heart's desire in this vicious cabaret.
See that boy, so slow and gentle
Dance on moonbeams, sentimental
Facing off the tyranny of the blank page
Works up quite a righteous rage
It's all fake
Mr Heartbreak
Has nothing to say
Still he's gotta say it, to his own dismay.
See that boy down on his knees
Worshipping at the altar of sleaze
In a cellar like a church with the door ajar
Dancing in the dark, where the boys are
Found Nirvana
But he's gonna
Throw it all away
Tomorrow's gonna be another fucked-up day.
See that boy inside the man
Never had any kind of plan
Latches onto moments like they're gonna stay
Comes as a surprise when they just slip away
Lives for magic
But it's tragic
How that fades to grey.
Dances round the border like he's Cassius Clay.
See that boy, watch that scene
Digging the dancing queen.
Slavish insecurities, so squeaky clean
Falls into the vortex on his laptop screen
Clings to songs
To carry on
And not betray
His heart's bitter desires in this vicious cabaret.
Whoa. Like, cram in the references, dude!
Facing off the tyranny of the blank page"
My favorite part. This was much more then I could have expected. Very nice. Posted by: ryan at May 2, 2004 09:45 PM
