I've got wheels and you wanna go for a ride

Lately, I've been thinking about power-pop music. Not something I ever had much cause to do before. But then I saw Girlfriend at Berkeley Rep (prev. post), the new musical written around Matthew Sweet's 1991 power-pop album of the same name. And also, I'm slowly working my way through McSweeney's San Francisco Panorama, and just read Michael Chabon's essay about power pop and the 1970s band Big Star.

Chabon writes: "[Power pop] is happy music--eminently "poppy"--which depends for its power on the cryptic presence, in a lyric or a chord change or a bit of upside-down vocal harmony, of sadness, yearning, even despair. [...] True power pop is rueful and celebratory at the same time, glorifying desire and frustration, which is why so many power-pop songs concern themselves with the subject of Tonight, or Tomorrow Night, or Saturday Night, or some other night that will only be perfect for as long as it can be deferred. [...] All the clouds of power pop are worn inside out to show the silver lining."

When I read that, it made me think of my new favorite song, "The Luckiest Guy on the Lower East Side" by the Magnetic Fields. (69 Love Songs was one of the things that helped me cope with the busy season at my job.) If you don't know it, here's a fan-created music video:



I guess, strictly speaking, this is not "power pop"--there's no guitars or drums or vocal harmonies in the mix. But it fits Chabon's dictum of "eminently happy/poppy music that is haunted by despair." With its bouncy synthesizers, its wacky spring-like thing twanging away in the background, its sunny title, "Luckiest Guy on the Lower East Side" sounds like it ought to be a happy love song. But listen to the lyrics--and the purity of yearning contained in that last "wanna go for a riiide"--and it becomes one of the most poignant songs I have ever heard. It makes my heart hurt.

The Man Who Turned Me Into a Lyric-Writing Snob

Terry Teachout's loving blog post in tribute to his friend, the lyricist and jazz historian Gene Lees, alerted me to Mr. Lees' recent death--and also made me realize that Lees has had a major influence on the way that I think about lyrics and songwriting. Indeed, if you asked me to list some books that permanently altered my outlook on life, I might have to include Lees' The Modern Rhyming Dictionary: How to Write Lyrics.

I have always written songs, though never in any organized fashion (I can go years without writing any and then crank out two in a month; it all depends on whether I feel inspired). And when I was in high school, I went through a phase of wanting to be a musical-theater songwriter, and asked my parents to give me a rhyming dictionary for Christmas. (Doesn't that seem almost quaint--though this happened less than ten years ago? Nowadays, teens will just rely on online rhyming dictionaries, and not desire a physical book!)

And, fortuitously, my mom bought me not just any old rhyming dictionary, but the one compiled by Gene Lees circa 1970. Not only did it have extensive and easy-to-consult pages of rhymes, it also contained an essay by Mr. Lees, about 40 pages long, about the basic tricks of writing lyrics and the pitfalls to avoid.

I read the essay several times over Christmas vacation that year and can still quote parts of it by heart: "Ee is an easy syllable to sing on sustained notes; that's why there are so many songs with lyrics about 'you and me / by the sea.'" Or "The hardest thing about being a songwriter in English is that there are only five words that rhyme with 'love,' while in French there are over 40 words that rhyme with 'amour.'" Lees had strong opinions and high standards, and was determined to impart them to all of his readers. He's the person who convinced me that any songwriter who rhymes "pen" with "gem," or "another" with "lover," ought to be shot on sight.

In short, Lees turned me into a total snob about lyrics for several years there, and while my standards have relaxed a bit (I like listening to a good mindless pop song sometimes, OK?), he also inspired me to pay more attention to craft in my own lyric-writing, and also to have fun with it. Have fun with sounds, alliteration, onomatopoeia and other echoes. To look for unexpected turns of phrase, or twists on old clichés.

I didn't know that Lees was also a respected writer about jazz, but his essay in The Modern Rhyming Dictionary was so clear and persuasive, and had such an impact on me, that I'd be curious to see some of his other nonfiction writing. May he rest in peace.

Shirts with a personnality

Hi everyone

If you're like me, then you love t-shirts.I wear t-shirts everyday and everywhere. I pretty much have a t-shirt for everyday of the year. That's how much I love tee's.

But I've...



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Une victoire pour une pirate

This is the video for "Comme des enfants," which just won Best Song at the Victoires de la musique (i.e. the French Grammy Awards).

It is written and performed by Coeur de Pirate, a 20-year-old Québecoise whose real name is Béatrice Martin--and lists Sartre, Kundera, and Debussy as "influences" on her myspace page. That's why I love the francophones--you'd never catch Taylor Swift doing something like that, would you?

Not that this song is weighed down with pretentiousness or existentialism, though--it's a charming pop confection. I really like it and am off to download Coeur de Pirate's album!