A Lyrical Pondering

Over at Dark Sparks, Stranger Ken has written a poem, The Old Words, in which he recalls a line from one of Bob Dylan's songs. We had a brief discussion of this in the comments and, as old fogies will, ended up bemoaning the fact that "they don't write 'em like they used to."

Or do they? The fact is that we may not know of some great lyrics to songs written today because we tend not to listen to the new music. I also admit to an affliction that my father suffered from when I was young: I can't hear what they're singing!

So I'm issuing a challenge to all my younger readers (yes, Rusty, that means you!). Show me that the songwriters you listen to are producing lyrics every bit as good as those of the sixties. Put us wrinklies straight!

To give you an idea of what you're up against, I am giving the lyrics to a few of the songs we listened to in those bad old days. And I can start with the song that Ken wrote about, My Back Pages by Bob Dylan. Believe me, this is one of Bob's easier songs; he was often much more obscure!

My Back Pages

Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin’ high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
We’ll meet on edges, soon, said I
Proud ’neath heated brow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth
Rip down all hate, I screamed
Lies that life is black and white
Spoke from my skull. I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
Girls’ faces formed the forward path
From phoney jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history
Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, though, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
A self-ordained professor’s tongue
Too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
Equality, I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I’d become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My existence led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow.
Ah, but I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.

Remember that Bob was young when he penned those words. He shows an amazing maturity of understanding that those things that seem so clear to him in youth will later be shaded into many more nuances of meaning. In some ways it's an unusual song for Bob. He was known much more for his abrasive "protest songs" in which he gave his opinion on the burning issues of the time.

If we cross the Atlantic, we find that British songwriters were also quite capable of an appreciation of both the limitations and glories of youth. Take a look at this song by Cat Stevens:

Father and Son

Father:
It’s not time to make a change,
Just relax, take it easy.
You’re still young, that’s your fault,
There’s so much you have to know.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I’m happy.
I was once like you are now, and I know that it’s not easy,
To be calm when you’ve found something going on.
But take your time, think a lot,
Why, think of everything you’ve got.
For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not.
Son:
How can I try to explain, when I do he turns away again.
It’s always been the same, same old story.
From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen.
Now there’s a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go.
Father:
It’s not time to make a change,
Just sit down, take it slowly.
You’re still young, that’s your fault,
There’s so much you have to go through.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I’m happy.
(son - away away away, I know I have to
Make this decision alone - no)
Son:
All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside,
It’s hard, but it’s harder to ignore it.
If they were right, I’d agree, but it’s them they know, not me.
Now there’s a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go.
(father - stay stay stay, why must you go and
Make this decision alone? )

I think that song expresses very well the tension between age and youth, something we used to refer to as "the Generation Gap".

Returning to America, I want to point out the great observer of life, the poet of empathy, Paul Simon. Consider the understanding of the human condition that went into the lyrics of this song:

The Boxer

I am just a poor boy.
Though my story's seldom told,
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
When I left my home
And my family,
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station,
Running scared,
Laying low,
Seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go,
Looking for the places
Only they would know.
Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job,
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores
On Seventh Avenue
I do declare,
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there.
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone,
Going home
Where the New York City winters
Aren't bleeding me,
Leading me,
Going home.
In the clearing stands a boxer,
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains

I have taken out the "lie-la-lie"s since we're looking just at the words. No doubt those of my generation will re-insert them as they sing along in their minds.

Finally, I'd like to take you back to Britain for a look at a more light-hearted view of life. The Small Faces defined the Cockney cheeky chappie in a way that was not to be repeated until Madness came along in the early eighties. Two members of the band, Steve Marriott and Ronnie Lane wrote a song that is so quintessentially British that I'm not sure my American readers will understand. Have a look at this (and, if you're British, try not to smile in recognition):

Lazy Sunday Afternoon

Wouldn't it be nice to get on with me neighbors
But they make it very clear they've got no room for ravers
They stop me from groovin, they bang on me wall
They're doin me crust in, it's no good at all,
Lazy sunday afternoon, I've got no mind to worry,
Close my eyes and drift away
Here we all are sittin in a rainbow(do do do do)
Cor blimey hallo missus Jones, hows your Bert's lumbago?(Mrs Jones: Mustn't grumble)
I'll sing you a song with no words and no tune
I'll sing at your party while you suss out the moon, oh yeah
Lazy sunday afternoon, I got no mind to worry,
Close my eyes and drift away, yea
Aroo de do de do, aroo de do de di day
Aroo de do de dum, aree de de do dee
Theres no one to hear me, theres nothin to say,
And no one can stop me from feelin this way
Lazy sunday afternoon I've got no mind to worry
Close my eyes and drift away
Lazy sunday afternoon I've got no mind to worry
Close my eyes and drift a-
Close my eyes and drift away
Close my eyes and drift away...

I had to include that one just to show that we weren't always grim-faced and serious. And besides, I like it...

So there we are, folks. Beat that if you can!