Feb 17 2012 08:11 AM
For extreme pleasure, a song needs more than words
Song lyrics exist in their own bizarre universe, but what happens when a musician asks you to suspend the rules of grammar, meaning and believabilty all at once?
| As writers on this blog often point out, there is a marked difference between spoken English and written English, a space in which pedantry and pomposity often resides. But what of the divide between sung English and its written counterpart? A gap that until recently I had chosen to ignore. And then I found myself hearing the 1990 rock-with-extra-cheese-ballad-extravaganza More Than Words by Extreme on the radio, and for the first time really listened to the lyrics. I listened intently in fact, and found a raging battle between syntax and hairspray, leaving a trail of mangled tenses, abstruse declarations and iffy telepathic conclusions in its balladic path. Don't get me wrong, I like the song and it transports me back to my sixth-form days when "metal" had a dozen sub-genres (soft metal, precious metal, semi-precious metal, alloyed metal and so forth) and of course it does not matter in the slightest that the words – despite the band attempting to persuade us that "all we need" are "more than" words – make no sense whatsoever. After all we allow many latitude when it comes to crimes against grammar and rhetoric as long as they do it in a way that allows us to enjoy it. Football is the obvious example. On this point I defer to Alan Partridge describing a meeting with a football manager during his days as a sports reporter – from his second autobiography I, Partridge. "I can't remember what he looked like or what colour his team played in, just that he had a strong regional accent and used such a hilarious mix of tenses – 'he gets the ball and he's gone and kicked it' – that he sounded like a malfunctioning robot at the end of a sci-fi movie." I tried to imagine what process these lyrics went through before the band were happy with it. I was in effect subediting the song in my head, and not just subbing actually Fisking the lyrics. I took to Facebook and ended up with this post imagining my editing notes on the song: Saying I love you [present progressive tense in your intro - really?] Is not the words I want to hear from you [Is? Is?? There are words, plural] It's not that I want you [The reader will already be very unclear what you are saying] Not to say, but if you only knew [Denying communication and yet expecting speculation - this reads like commentary from a psychic] How easy it would be to show me how you feel [But to clarify, without words and yet with 'more than' words] More than words is all you have to do to make it real [Again with the 'is'? Are you stupid?] Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me [So you're not saying; but they should know; but then they shouldn't say; because you know?] 'Cause I'd already know [What extension are you on? I am coming to fucking deck you] It garnered an enthusiastic response from many of my friends who rushed to proclaim their own lyrical pet peeves which made me wonder if everyone has them, whatever your profession or musical tastes. Fans of hip-hop should perhaps meditate their way to inner peace though, caring that Sir Mixalot's Baby "has" back rather than "got" back can only lead to a lonely, angry chamber of the soul. So what are your bugbears among the wide world of music? Maybe it's pointless brackets – no one really knows what Meat Loaf won't do but does he need to even tell us?; maybe it's meaning – Alanis Morisette's Ironic has spawned several volumes in this area; or it could be the good old-fashioned trait of not being able to let something go: the gun is yours, Freddie, but the trigger belongs to the gun, so you cannot pull "your" trigger when you kill the man in Bohemian Rhapsody. All right? Over to you. |
http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/mind-yo ... than-words