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12/17/20
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Over-thinking in lyric writing
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I'm an inveterate over-thinker---and 'it takes one to know one'. I get a lot out verbally and in print---but thank goodness for music, in which if you can't listen you're unqualified and just don't get it. And there are PLENTY of the garden variety egomaniac all over the biz. Why we laugh at Spinal Tap: it's SO true. We all KNOW those guys. (Jazz is full of 'em, BTW).
BECAUSE there's no SINGLE listener perspective it ain't a bad idea to have at least a little of the universal in a song, and that includes instrumentals---classical themes too. Who can't hum the 1st phrase of Ein Kleine Nachtmusik? Who doesn't immediately hear an up arpeggio followed by a down---even if they have no clue WHAT they're hearing and humming? Or who doesn't fall in love and get their heart broken at least once? The Unabomber---especially with his current 'housing' situation?
These are all themes everyone can relate to. The gifted writer will find a 'wrinkle' and they'll be fresh again. The fine craftsman will dip into formula more. The hack is unworthy of our attention.
There are also clever, effective devices---like Randy Newman's 'unreliable narrator', SO clever b/c if you dislike the storyteller you'll also hate what's being told. That's EXACTLY the reaction Newman wants---he's talking about prejudice; the North-South mistrust, etc.
The great Joe Raposo did the opposite---all the way to the bank; to Sinatra's payroll---and everybody's hearts. It's downright un-American not to love the Muppets, and Raposo put It's Not Easy Being Green in the mouth of Kermit, and the rest is history. Raposo didn't play with people's minds or ears---and he didn't sidestep life's problems either. He clothed everything in language that expressed hope through it all. And if it's 'sung' by a horse cartoon or Miss Piggy it's once removed from people who are at the same time getting a sermon in RAPOSO'S voice.
What could be more clever or effective?
And some writers don't think ENOUGH: The Bergmans are pros, I respect their craft and they started out with a terrific lyric for Sinatra: Nice and Easy. Pure sex, and done to a turn. But IMO they cop out, going for the easy rhyme or alliteration. There's a Hallmark card quality that ain't my favorite and seemingly every lyric they did for Legrand had one wince-worthy line that damn near ruined otherwise fine work.
Ex:
When lonely feelings chill the meadows of your mind...'
It particularly bugs me b/c it's the 1st line of a classic song, one of my favorites just to play on guitar: You Must Believe in Spring. (in fairness, the rest of the lyric and the idea is wonderful. And Barbra Streisand, a famously tough lyric critic who once asked Stephen Sondheim to write a 'bridge' to a perceived gap in Send in the Clowns, AND he DID adores them, so what do I know?).
(But I STILL say check out both the English and French lyric to Legrand's Once Upon a Summertime, by Johnny Mercer and Eddie Barclay respectively. The Bergmans ought to study at their feet. Way beyond Hallmark and Norman Rockwell---this is art at it's most moving, and no 'tricks'.
I got hot hot hot (thank you, Lionel Richie) when Paul Simon publicly said this, when Carole King's Tapestry came out ('72?) about his FRIEND and COLLEAGUE he did sessions with (she played electric bass and was known as Carol Klein; he played guitar; both sang---this was the late '50s):
'When I hear Carole King's lyrics I think of toast'.
Nice guy---and I said to myself 'Oh, f*** that arrogant little jerk. With friends like that...'.
But in his heavy-handed way he DID have a point. Her lyrics are very well-crafted, but to my ears (understandably) formulaic. Did she deserve the 'toast' taunt? I think not, Smackwater Jack had bite:
'You Can't Talk to a man
With a shotgun in his hand'.
Hell no! I mean I wouldn't.
IMO the lines from the very well put together Too Late Baby didn't have quite the same bite:
'Used to be so easy living here with you
You were light and breezy, and I knew just what to do'.
Almost boilerplate in comparison, but what the hell, she's Carole King, and that LP deserves every bit of its success (even if my sister led to my thoughts of strangulation, playing it over and over (AND, lest I forget, singing along. In the adjoining, thin-walled room).
Oh, the joys of growing up!
See, these fine craftspeople weren't getting paid to think, but to churn out hits, and FAST (meaning specifically pre-Tapestry Carole King). That takes a LOT of skill and self-confidence---also stealing when necessary and a whole trick bag for EVERY assignment (Gerry Goffin, King's then-husband was the lyricist back in the Btill Building days, and she was as good a pop melodist as Rodgers was for Broadway---really one of the greats.
Paul Simon? Brilliant and in love with (AND controlling as f) his own work. An artist-dreamer-philosopher. He's LOST in thought. And here's the thing: even under contract and the gun from Columbia with Simon & Garfunkel (plus Walter Yentikoff, who took over as president in the middle of Simon's tenure---as per Robert Hilburn's authorized biography---DETESTED him. He delivered---and the songs were both loved by the public AND works of art.
And, against all 'reasonable' advice, Simon broke up S & G and went on his own. Risky, and he sure has balls---AND great self-belief. And he just grew and grew. Even the huge flop The Capeman was reconstructed as a concert piece and succeeded because the music was so strong.
But he was as unfair to King as I suppose I am to the Bergmans. He's anything but dumb, and oughtta understand that King was doing a different kind of writing--you don't have time to be a ponderous 'artist' when that damn chart'd better be ready by 9 AM. You don't think. You & Gerry roll up your sleeves, burn the midnight oil---and make it happen. Do it over and over it does give writers chops---and needed speed.
Simon, conversely, was writing for himself (and Garfunkel's way better instrument). The fact that his songs are so often covered are a testament to their quality.
AND his thinking...
I
12/22/20
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Keep the Door Open
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In recent days of these very intense times I've found my own deeply held views in flux: debates with Trump supporters I otherwise loved and respected; a bad misstep accusing a very dear friend who is a Christian and lives, rather than preaches, her faith of wrapping herself around Jesus, and in so doing robbing herself of self-love and self-respect.
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Really?
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These and other exchanges led to a good long look in the mirror---and I didn't love everything that image reflected back. Well, I do believe in the human potential movement, begun ca 1960s; and Freud and his disciples; had an early disappointing experience with my faith of birth, Judaism. I also have along the way formed strong opinions about my craft, music. The way I expressed them brings to mind a humorously-titled David Brinkley tome: Everyone's Entitled to My Opinion. Unlike my Christian friend I was giving, not living (read: teaching by example) my views.
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Which leads to broaching an intertwined theme defined by its rather loaded name: dogma. (How human could a word be that begins with 'dog'? And people so entrenched seem to get off on 'dogging' those with the perceived temerity to hold opposing views. Oh, the HUMANITY!)
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That mirror spoke to me, said 'Get over yourself and especially how set you've become. Try being a little more open. You may even learn something' Gotta pay attention to talking mirrors!
So I've arrived at a personal compromise and in the words of Rod Serling, it's 'submitted for your approval':
In art and life (art being a wonderful teacher if we only pay proper attention) it can't be a bad idea to 'keep the door open'---and make sure you also keep a broom right next to it'.
That way after you've coolly examined the facts (or artistic ideas) and arrived at balanced and reasoned view you can always grab that broom and sweep out the s%^t.
Happy holidays!
Hexa
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12/16/20
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Bobby Lenti---1951-2020
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How do you write about a recently departed close-as-brother?
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Let me count the ways:
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You start at the beginning (upper LH corner to you reading musicians):
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Early Years:
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Back in '68 I lived at 1465 E. 87th St.---between Seaview Ave. and Ave. N. Down towards the Ave. N corner, other side of the street lived the Cohens. Mark was my friend, and in the basement apartment lived a fellow named Lenny Leibowitz. The mists of time have pushed Leibowitz and what he had to do with music to the recesses of my sexagenarian brain (he seemed to mostly be a 'good time Charlie' with good intentions as host of a---well garage bands don't play in basements, so let's split the difference and call it a 'band', of the hard rock ilk.
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Well sir or madam, if Leibowitz has settled in as a minor character in this reminiscence, the protagonist that came down the stairs or through the back door one fine day will never be forgotten by this writer.
Like the song says, and I paraphrase: This was the start of a beautiful friendship.
For Bobby mostly shocked me when first I laid eyes on him---I'd seen hippies and various long-haired types on TV or magazine articles. Never up close and personal. There he was, all of 17 and don't you know oh-so-self-assured. My 'fassination' only deepened when I scanned and took in the dress manner: Hush Puppies or Bates; formal shirt and slacks. Had he just come from HS? A job? All I knew was 1. I'd never seen a hippie dressed like he was, and 2. I wanted to know more about this rara avis. I was 14 and searching, especially for heroes.
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I'd struck gold.
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Bobby unpacked his SG Standard (I soon bugged my parents until they bought me one---and another blow was struck for hagiography), plugged into a house amp---and blew me away! Coming right out of every white boy's (and a few girls') guitar hero, Eric Clapton with a dollop of Jeff Beck (I never heard Jimi, but my ears were young) he wailed. He was already a legend, said to have the most far-out vibrato of Brooklyn rockers. And even then he knew what he played was but a tributary of the river called black music---chiefly the blues.
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And blues was our bond: I remember not long after meeting Bobby that wintery day having my photo taken, SG #2 in hand (#1 was stolen from drummer Brad Alexander's basement, and it didn't take but a little bitching and moaning to get my folks, wanting only peace, to pony up a 2nd time). The Magic Marker caption I put underneath: World's Greatest Blues Guitarist (although the ox-strong yet lamb-gentle Steve Goericke, while horsing around mock kicking my ass xed out 'guitarist', replacing it with 'liar'. I had it coming, I'm sure).
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So Bobby and I wasted no time piling into heated discussions of blues guitarists. When Buzzy Feiten (now Buzz) joined the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, a cocksure 17-year-old who had every right to a healthy ego---he already had the goods---we kid musical aspirants were all blown away---Bobby; Harmonica playing-blues singing Corrin Huddleston; drummer Alan 'Rudy' Schildkraut (way better know by his professional name, Alan Childs, a very successful rock/pop drummer); Don Turner; the Pomonas---Anthony and 'Penis' (Dennis); the nickname at least partly chosen for alliteration---and the proverbial 'cast of thousands. We were basically white black wannabes, but we had to go through the white boy players 1st. Almost everyone, unless they have super-hip parents, acquaints him/herself with the 'mother' culture. (For me, actually hanging out with and making music with black kids from Brownsville and E. NY would come a mere 2-3 years down the road). So our guys were Buzzy; Eric; Jimi (the lone 'spade'---but no resisting genius); 'Greenie'---Peter Green (RIP).
Bobby always dug Jeff Beck more than I. I had the albums and dug, but Beck had the least lasting effect on me. He was lyrical; had a sound---but there was a guitar trickster side that never appealed to me. But I did learn his solo on Stevie Wonder's Lookin' For Another Pure Love, causing new friend Hollis 'Jay' Gouge to incant 'You sound just like the cat!' And I wore out the grooves on Sonny Boy Williamson and The Yardbirds. But Bobby was a Beck believer.
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FF to the latest '60s-earliest '70s: Bobby's already become a pro, still living at home. His GF at the time---the 1st in a long line of knockouts, over whom I was not a little jealous---was a Mary Ellen. (The procession next went to Laurel---who I hit on when the coast was clear, and was politely rebuffed by---all the way through 2 wives and some now-adult offspring he was a fabulous husband and father to, ending with Laura, for 15 blissful years (and Laura, if you read this I can never know the depths of your grief, but please stay strong).
By19 he was playing dates at the storied Fillmore East and touringwith the likes of Robert John and The Tokens. (He proudly recounted to me
of a night he was absent-mindedly practicing---amp on---in a hotel room somewhere in America. Someone knocked on the door to say 'Man, I'm really digging your playing'. Someone named Stevie Wonder.
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Bobby was in Johnny's Dance Band in the late '70s. I know nothing of them but that they were wildly popular and evidently good enough that Paul Simon (in disguise!) went to at least 1 performance.
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Somewhat contemporaneous with the JDB tenure Bobby formed Bobby Lenti's Blue Eyes (I still have a CD with him on the front cover in a doctor's whites, holding a stethoscope to a woman's 'northern territories'---the joke being a play on his song (I Don't Need No Doctor) Just Give me the Nurse). By now his impressive skill set had grown to include a beautiful singing voice; superb (and funny) songwriting ability---lyrics & music; beautiful acoustic playing---Gospel to Country to Delta Blues to whatever Rock requirements he was called on to dip into.
Bobby and I lost touch for a good while. I had moved away from rock (never blues though). Once, at 17, (it was a very good year) I heard Charlie Christian; Bird; and the above-referenced Mr. Wonder---no turning back but no disrespect toward my former heroes either. Everyone grows and moves in their own way.
And thus began a life of poverty!
Bobby & I reconnected in '09. Oh, I had visited once and caught his band another time (I'm told hiding under a blanket in a car's backseat as a gag) in Doylestown. Now settled in Lansdale, PA, he called and surprised the hell out of me---he had a home studio and wanted to record me, free of charge. This led, starting in '16 to yet another Bobby Lenti role in my life: engineer/producer/manufacturer on 2 projects. And did he do a bang-up job? Guess.
Bobby passed away from bastard Covid-19 maybe a week ago---despite doing everything as received wisdom advised. But a bout with cancer and MS so advanced he walked, slow and crab-like with 2 canes lowered his resistance and he succumbed.
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Now there's a hole in my heart that will never close. Dear Bobby, we all love you so. Rest well, my brother...
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Targo
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Hera
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Itaka
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Hexa
This is your Review quote. It's a great place to share audience and critics’ reviews of you or your work, and to get site visitors excited.