Cowboy Confessional

I just returned from a wonderful and sweaty weekend of camping, jamming, and listening at the Strawberry Music Festival.  And from this I may have fallen out of love with Lucinda Williams.

Don’t get me wrong.  She’s a nice enough sort, and if like me you love gritty tunes that sag from pain, she can belt out a few that will hurt you.  But during her set on Saturday, she admitted to writing one which highlights a major songwriting mistake — something budding tune tailors should avoid.

She sang a yet-to-be-released tune called “Honey Bee”, which in an uncharacteristic turn is an upbeat ditty about her being in love.  With any luck it won’t last, because she should not be allowed to write songs when she’s in a good mood (at the same event, Harry Manx quipped “The blues isn’t about feeling bad.  It’s about making other people feel bad.”)

“Honey Bee” is a concatenation of cliches and predictable references.  I recall one verse going something like My sweet honey bee, I’m so glad you stung me.  It got worse from there.  This is not the worst example of cliche claptrap with a score.  A one-record group called Bloodline (who musically were an extremely talented bunch) were notorious for cliche abuse, including one tune called “The Good Luck You’re Having”, which contained an unbroken string of of that crud (I’m suspicious by nature I guess, hold my hand close to my vest).

The problem with cliches or with Williams-like obvious rhymes is that the audience is always disappointed (my two camp mates looked at each other, then at me, and groaned audibly when Williams sang the bee/stung line).  Audiences always listen to the words, and want something that is at least interesting (which doesn’t explain pop music, but then again nothing could).  Surprising the audience with the unexpected or a unique twist on the old line keeps their attention.  Think Tom Waits or James McMurtry.

When writing/revising a song, you should examine each lyric and kill anything when has been said by everyone else.  If you used a line that you heard from a friend, a neighbor, or on a TV sitcom, then end that lyric’s life without mercy.

It can even get down to a single word.  An A&R buyer once listened to my song One Heartbreak Away from the Grave, and said the use of the word “babe” was too predictable in a blues song.  He’s correct (though not so correct that I’ve bothered to rewrite that bit).  One word can kill the ownership of an audience, breaking the storyteller’s spell.

Sorry Lucinda.

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