Why can't we be like dolphins and just send the message without symbols? A dolphin wants to send "apple" to his friend and the next dolphin receives "apple"--the concept, not the word for the concept. If people were like that, songwriters might be out of a job. As it stands, though, we're really needed to say all those things other people would like to say to each other and can't quite do it.
Songwriting really is a language. And the better you are at it, the better the recipient gets what you're trying to say. So how do we ensure that the other person is going to get the actual message and not get tangled up in the symbols of the message? Well, first of all, learn to speak the language you're writing in. Learn to express yourself clearly when you're simply talking to someone. That's a start. Have you ever heard a jumbled up song and then heard the person explain what he was trying to say and it's just as confusing as the song? Some people don't really know how to say something clearly when they're just telling you a story, much less put it in a song clearly--translated into their second language (songwriting) .
But let's consider our control group to be songwriters who do know what they're saying, who do know how to communicate clearly when they speak. Now whether they can get that message across, in song form, is another matter. As I've said in many other articles: pictures....pictures...pictures. Give the listener something to look at. Show it, don't say it. Let the listener in on your movie. That's pretty much the mantra of every writing coach, whether s/he is discussing songs, screenplays, short stories, novels, whatever. In fact, bring all the senses in. Bring in taste, hearing, touch, the works.
Recently, I heard a wonderful explanation and suggestion by Nik Venet at his ongoing workshop. He suggested that everyone take one of their lyrics and get two highlighter pens. He said to highlight in red all the concrete words--words that refer to things which can be perceived by the senses. Then he suggested the writers highlight in blue all abstract words--anything conceptual, not concrete. Obviously, there should be a balance between the two and sometimes by doing this, it's clear that there's not. When you look at a page filled with blue and only one or two dashes of red, the problems in the song become much clearer.
What is done with the concrete words and images, then, is what determines whether the writing is first or second level. I maintain that metaphors build a song down, rather than out. They give it that other dimension. "The Dance," by Tony Arata (recorded by Garth Brooks), for instance, could be viewed as a visual song, with a lot of concrete--a good balance. But what gives it depth is that "the dance" is metaphorical. It stands for much more than simply a dance. This happens more often than not in great songs. There will be a meaning, which is very clear in a literal level. Then you get to go to the next floor down, which is the real meaning, symbolized by the concrete words.
Where writers often get into trouble is that they hurl metaphors like a mad scientist might mix ingredients. There are all sorts of abstract ideas being presented by symbolic pictures but before the logical thread of one is followed out, it switches to something else. Sometimes that's called "mixed metaphors." And that's easy to spot. Perhaps a more subtle version is the use of one metaphor which simply doesn't compute. When you follow the logic of that symbol, it would not lead to the conclusion you want, so you write yourself into a corner. Using metaphors, similes, analogies, and other symbolic literary conventions without thinking each one out logically beforehand is like a novice taking apart your computer and rewiring. I don't think so.
But once you get the hang of it, using concrete words in a way that says something symbolically can deepen the meaning of what you write immeasurably. First we will be moved by the literal story, or we will at least be intrigued. Then we will want to look into it further. Metaphor can give the listener gems to discover hearing after hearing. Every time I hear "Desperado," or "Blackbird," or "The Beat of Black Wings" by Joni Mitchell, I discover something else about each song. I also discover something else about songwriting. And, as in the case of all great art, about myself.
© 1995 Harriet Schock
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