Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Lyricism - Part 1 (Wildfire)

Growing up in the 80s, I was a fan of lots of different music. But towards the end of the decade, hair metal ruled my car's cassette player, my walkman, and my boombox. Having no actual musical talent, or vocal ability, I decided to focus my interest in music towards writing lyrics. Of course, I was a teenager without a band, a partner to write the music, or any rhythm, so the lyrics turned out to be pretty pathetic.

On a related note, when I went to college, I realized that all of my short stories, poems, plays, etc. were awful. If I wanted to advance my writing skills, I could not afford to try to expand on the work I had done previously. I needed to break clean from the bad habits I had developed and think in new ways. So all of that work was purged in order for me to learn and grow.

Somehow, the lyrics I wrote avoided the fire. Every few years I would uncover the folders of lyrics, laugh about it, and then put them away again. Why? Was I hoping that one day Bret Michaels would call and beg me to write lyrics for the new Poison album?

Well, they have resurfaced again. Underneath several empty notebooks (notebooks and pens tend to be my guilty purchases) were three folders, falling apart, looking pretty ragged, but distinctly titled "Lyrics" on the front.

Some of the lyrics have disappeared into rifts in time. Written in pencil (apparently my writing instrument of choice in high school), they have faded like an ancient spirit. But some still exist. And they still haunt me. Complete with notes for where guitar solos should be added, they remain. They remain in my head, on the paper, and they squeeze the creative life from me when they appear.

I understand what I have to do. These lyrics must be purged like the rest of my high school writing was purged. I must remove them from my existence before they fester and infect everything.

But simple fire is not enough for these lyrics. Oh no. Not only do these lyrics have notes about instrumental breaks, but they also have notes about what "type of song it would be," like heavy metal, a ballad, blues, etc. The lyrics are also separated into albums, including certain songs marked for release as singles, clearly defining the musical career of this genre-breaking, crossover appeal group that was going to take these lyrics to heights not even The Beatles or The Fine Young Cannibals imagined. Such detail, such pomposity, can not burn in a simple fire. It must be examined, explored, mocked, and then lobotomized with extreme prejudice.

Therefore, in an effort to rid the world, and myself, of these ridiculous expressions of lyrical content, I will be presenting selected lyrics from several "songs" here to allow the proper disgrace they will undoubtedly bestow upon me.

As an example, I will expose the cliche-ridden first song on the first album (entitled "Midnight Anthem") in the first folder. This, such as it is, is a lyric called "Wildfire." I am sorry.


(Fast guitar and drum lead-in)

It starts in the streets
It rules over all
No one can stop it
You're back's against the wall

Bridge: It hits when it's not expected
            It doesn't really give a damn
           When it hits you're in deep, deep trouble...

Chorus: It spreads like wildfire!
             It strikes fast and hard!
            You burn like wildfire!
            You can't help it, you can't stop it!

(guitar solo with drum lead-in)
It's out there, it's looking for you
It's crawling, lurking, it's everywhere!
There's nothing you can do
There's nothing you can say

(Chorus x 2)

(Guitar Solo)

(Chorus x 4 to fade out)

No comments:

Post a Comment