”It’s only words,” the Bee Gees sang on one of their early hits,
managing not only to be grammatically suspect, but to underplay the
importance of words. Only words? Try telling that to the
contestants on the new panel game Don’t Forget the Lyrics, on Sky soon. If
they get the right words, they could be going home with £250,000. So, what
is it that makes a memorable lyric? Why do we remember the words to one
song, but quickly forget so many others?
First of all, a memorable lyric is not the same thing as a great lyric.
Certainly, we can remember lyrics from many of our favourite songs, but we
can also remember the words to those irritatingly catchy but irredeemably
trashy songs we’d much rather forget. Agadoo sticks to the brain cells as
easily as Like a Rolling Stone.
A memorable lyric can be created through clever wordplay that toys with our
expectations: Cole Porter’s Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, with the
counter-intuitive answer “I don’t”, or Elvis Costello opening Oliver’s Army
with the line “Don’t start me talking”. Equally, a lyric can stick because
of its simplicity. “I want you so bad” is a long way from being the best
line Bob Dylan ever wrote, but most of us would have a better chance of
getting through the chorus of I Want You than through many of his more
celebrated, but complex, refrains.
If you want to write a memorable lyric, it helps to have something to say that
resonates with the human experience: the ache of U2’s I Still Haven’t Found
What I’m Looking For, the resignation of the Rolling Stones’ You Can’t
Always Get What You Want. To paraphrase Homer Simpson, it’s memorable
because it’s true.
One of the most resonant lyrics is My Way. The fact that this lyric speaks so
clearly and memorably to millions doesn’t actually reflect well on us. As
Frank Sinatra realised, the song is “self-serving and self-indulgent”, but
guess what? We areself-indulgent sometimes, and we all have moments
when we realise that, yes, we bit off more than we could chew, but we got
through it, and do you know how we got through it? Our way, that’s how. No
wonder we can all manage a self-glorifying karaoke version of the song.
My Way’s lyrics were written by Paul Anka, adapting a French song, Comme
d’habitude; but Anka wasn’t the first person to put English lyrics to it. A
then not particularly successful David Bowie gave it a try as well. When his
Even a Fool Learns to Love was overshadowed by the Sinatra song, Bowie
crafted a musical sulk, hinting heavily at the My Way chord structure on
Life on Mars. The latter illustrates that, while a line that resonates
universally can be memorable, so can one that doesn’t seem to have much
meaning for anyone except the writer: “Sailors fighting in the dancehall/Oh
man, look at those cavemen go.” Indeed.
We can just about make sense of that – possibly a reference to an old movie on
television – but do any of us have a clue what “my Huckleberry friend” in
Moon River, might refer to? Surely not, because the writer, Johnny Mercer,
is referring to a childhood memory of his own – picking huckleberries with
friends. Yet it’s an unforgettable line.
One good way to write a lyric that sticks in the minds of real people is to
steal it from the mouths of real people. Lamont Dozier, of the Motown
writing team Holland Dozier Holland, swears that “Stop! In the name of love”
came from overhearing a couple arguing, and, though it seems unlikely, why
should he divert the credit for such a great line to a complete stranger
unless it is true? John Lennon habitually watched TV with a notepad by his
side, hoping to snare great lines, but he and Paul McCartney had their best
source for eavesdropping gems sitting behind them on stage. Ringo Starr’s
mangling of – or inventiveness with – the English language spawned such
unforgettable lines (and songs) as Eight Days a Week and A Hard Day’s Night.
Of course, you can’t hear the line “It’s been a hard day’s night” without
first hearing that ringing guitar chord, and it would be disingenuous to
pretend that many memorable lyrics aren’t actually the result of memorable
music. Somewhere over the Rainbow is a concept that has had huge resonance
over the years, but its power is undoubtedly augmented by the octave leap in
the first two notes of the melody, which gives a physical echo of the
yearning in the lyric.
Music can also give a momentum that pushes us on to the next line of the
lyric. One of the most obvious examples is I Will Survive, a song with an
extraordinary kinetic power. One reason it is so easy to remember is that it
doesn’t suffer from “second verse syndrome”. Even your favourite songs, even
the ones you think you remember, may make you stumble when you hit the
second verse. You know the opening line, and the narrative flow takes you
through the first verse and into the catchy chorus; but the second verse
usually involves a change of perspective, and that’s often where our memory
lets us down. I Will Survive, however, doesn’t seem to bother with verses
and choruses; it just goes on and on, building and building. If you can
start it, you may well be able to finish it.
Lyrics can provide their own momentum, especially in list songs. From Cole
Porter’s Let’s Do It to Paul Simon’s 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover, songs that
feature lists provide their own inexorable logic, their own in-built
memorability. One way to leave your lover might be to leave him “standing on
a station platform in the rain with a comical look in his face because his
insides have been kicked out”. That – as film fans won’t need telling – is
how Ilsa leaves Rick (the first time) in Casablanca. The much-loved movie
contains an equally loved and memorable song. Indeed, the opening line of As
Time Goes By – “You must remember this” – could easily apply to the song
itself.
Which is a timely reminder that, for all the skills of generations of
songwriters, the memorability of a song’s lyric very often depends not on
the words themselves, but on the context in which we first heard them, the
external associations we have with them and the memories they evoke.
