If you want to write it is important to remember that it goes hand in hand with reading. You should read widely; getting a feel for both the form and matter. If you want to play music it is important to listen to music; to analyse it, figure out the chords; to go gigs and check out what the players are doing, how they’re making that noise, what the structure of the song is. Any aspiring musician or writer that doesn’t do this is a fucking fake in my opinion. Without analysing and criticising the work of others we would not gain much perspective on our own work. It infuriates me to know there are aspiring musicians out there who don’t go to gigs – all the time I’m becoming less and less interested in playing music and instead turning to literature as soul food.
I’m not too keen on bands talking about authors openly in their lyrics. I don’t mind lyrics which reference novels or poems, but I don’t like to be told authors names in song. Why? Because it just seems like showing off and name-dropping most of the time. It just proves Schopenhauer’s idea that we will eventually always go for the matter (the person) over the form (their work). There’s a big, wide line between appreciating someone’s work and aping the person themselves. Music is the place for the exhibitionist, not literature. Literature is a safe haven; a refuge.
One redeeming factor of referencing literature in lyrics is when the band use footnotes on their sleeve. The two Zatopeks records do it. Maybe I’d have never heard of Sophie Scholl without their lyrics? However, like Caitlin was saying we don’t need to be told what every single reference is about, as it would likely spoil the mystery and the hunt for that information.
Bands with good, weighty lyrics – with references to literature or not – seem few and far between now. I never have to look too far for lyrics that provoke, inspire and stun the soul in my collection of 80’s punk. The two Crimpshrine LP’s are overflowing with thoughtful lyrics which continue to fill me heart and soul with joy and hope every time I sing along. I can often place their lyrics to parts of my own life: “Take / A little time to / Think / About something besides / Trying / Trying to find / Somebody to love.” They really are a band that can help guide you through life. Here’s another: “How can you make a real decision choosing from a set of solutions? / That you never really questioned at all? / Let me try to explain as straightforward as I can / My way of thinking for breaking down mental walls / Drop self-imposed limitations that restrict your choice in situations / And you can figure out what you really want to do / Take into consideration / The effect of your actions / On those around you.”
I’ve scoured their back catalogue and cannot find a literary reference in any of their lyrics but still consider them a literary band. Mainly, it’s because of the nature and thought behind the lyrics. Not only to write great lyrics but lyrics with depth and a real positive meaning.
Unlike music, literature is a more private thing for me. I curl up alone with a book, not surrounded by loud drunks like at a gig. Yes, literature is meant to be shared but it is harder to share than an album. It takes much more time and effort to read than to listen to an album and people seem to mostly enjoy the immediacy and convenience of music over books. What started as a love of music expanded into a love of literature for me. Often I’m shocked by people who acknowledge both because it’s doesn’t often happen that musicians are a particularly literary crowd – although some pertain to be - you can say things in songs which just can’t be translated for the page. No-one wants to read “baby baby baby baby” over and over now do they? The same goes for “woah,” “laa,” “doo doo,” and “yeah yeah” and all those other noises people make with their voice that can’t actually be found in the dictionary. These, in music, seem to be often the moments of soul which you can’t write. The “ahh yeah” in the background when the banjo solo starts is an exclamation of joy straight from the soul at that very moment on the recording.
It is the idea of the artefact I keep coming back to that also made me aware of my passion for books. At Emily’s I’d always browse the spines on her parent’s large bookshelf and take out one or two books of interest before sitting down. If someone’s records are on display I’ll certainly be found browsing the titles. I’m pulled it two ways and I feel like I’m getting ripped apart even thinking about all this.
