Do not read the lyrics whilst listening to the recordings

Jarvis Cocker wrote in the sleeve to His 'N' Hers: 'NB Please do not read the lyrics whilst listening to the recordings'.  Actually, I don't know who wrote that, but I'm sort of guessing that it was him, on the basis that he writes the lyrics and it sounds like a typical Cocker sort of comment - observational and amusing.  I'm sure he knew he was instilling a sort of paranoia about our intimate private moments alone appreciating a new record. I quite like the idea of listening instructions to accompany a record.  I think every Images of Dusk record should come with an enormous list of caveats pointing out all the things it doesn't do to try to justify the small things I think it might (but perhaps that's just the lawyer in me).

The trouble is that I love listening to music while reading the lyrics, at least on the first few listens; I tend to want to understand the meaning of a song before I can appreciate it.  Actually, I think that used to be more true than it is now.  I found Lambchop initially alien because I didn't always understand what Kurt Wagner was singing about - then I just listened to the sounds (specifically on Is A Woman - I did it backwards, so to speak - and I still haven't heard How I Quit Smoking, which is very high on the To Investigate list).  In any event, understanding a song (which is not to say capturing every last nuance and allusion) is still high on my agenda.

So last night I sat down with The Divine Comedy's last record, Absent Friends, a record I knew I'd probably like, and of which I had heard bits and bobs (Chris played me his favourite moments, and I have a suspicion I heard The Happy Goth live on Jonathan Ross' Saturday morning show when driving into town last year).  Suffice to say that I thought it was great, and that I'd missed pop songs about ordinary but poignant things, and with lyrics like these:

The city's waking up.
Dreams fizzle out like raindrops
Racing down the glass,
They blur the street-lamps as we pass.

Not enough pop songwriters evoke T.S. Eliot these days (...?).  Well, it made me think of his Preludes, anyway, but that may have just been the streetlamps.

When Chris and I put together 'Hear Me Now' (the short album/EP we recorded in about 1999), we included a lyric sheet - something like we used to get in our school assemblies.  This wasn't because we expected people to sing along (well, the five or so people who received a copy).  And it might have seemed rather self-indulgent (look at what we've written, take us seriously etc. etc.).  But I think there is merit in including written words with songs.  When I've know what's going on, I don't read them over and over again - and I can remember their meaning while listening; but on the first few times, I find that there's something particularly magical about the moment I feel I understand the song (NB I've used this word too often - I considered 'appreciate', but that's not quite what I mean; 'get' sounds naff; 'empathise with' is too specific and also quite naff - any other suggestions gratefully received).

So, we'd recorded some songs.  They were messy, clinical (genuinely both - combination of digital technology, metronome, lack of musicianship - here come the caveats) ... but they were statements of something, and ones we were proud of; we wanted people to hear these little statements and for them to strike a chord with our (five) listeners.  So we included the lyrics: take the songs as they are; here is a map to show just how naive they are too.

All this is a precursor to and an excuse for the post I'm about to make (here are the caveats etc.).

Comments

[Java]

It's all in the werds. The meaning of any well written song is all in the werds. I keep repeating that over and over and I use my weblog to break down the meaning of the werds for people who haven't ever taken the time to listen to anything beyond the beat.

[Peter]

Thanks - enjoyed reading some of your werds (werdz?).

The trouble is that enjoying a song is not all about understanding its meaning. I think Sterelab write brilliant songs, but a lot of the time I've no idea what they're talking about (probably something Marxist, or an in-joke, I'm guessing).

And I suppose that a song without music is a poem, really.

But I think your fight to trumpet the importantce of meaning in contemporary music is an entirely laudable one; far too many contemporary lyricists deal in bland and lazy cliches (he says, setting himself up to be shot down).