How We Forgot To Write Songs By Martin Newell

 

I learned recently that a US songwriter, Ryan Tedder, who's written material for Beyoncé, Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift, among others, claimed that music streaming on Spotify and other digital platforms was being dominated by the Beatles, Queen, Fleetwood Mac and other music mastodons. This, he said, lessened the chances of newer artists being streamed. The really interesting thing to emerge here, however, was that some 65 percent of people listening to these golden oldies were not, as we might have expected, reactionary old gits. They were people under the age of 34. How, asks your resident old git, is this unfair? Well, Ryan reckoned that newer tunesmiths don’t stand a chance against 50 years of established golden greats.

It's a fair point but it's obvious to me why younger people might be opting for the old over the new. It's better quality kit, plain and simple. A good song is a good song and the art of writing songs has, in recent decades, declined somewhat. In the early 1960s, newcomers like the Beatles, Brian Wilson, Tony Hatch and Ray Davies had to contend with a seemingly unassailable old guard, comprising Rodgers & Hammerstein, Lerner & Loewe, Cole Porter, George Gershwin, Ivor Novello and Noël Coward. Such composers routinely displayed musical brilliance, while their lyricists penned moving and often, ingeniously witty words.

With the 1960s arrived a new generation, partly inspired by the old masters, yet with new tricks and production values of their own. Unfortunately, at time of writing, our current songwriters, praised as they may be, don’t always seem as deft as their predecessors. One reason for this might be an over-reliance on modern recording technology which, although vastly better now than it was 30 years ago, does seem to make for slipshod songwriting.

When I was a 17 year-old wannabe songwriter, along with another older lad, who wrote the lyrics, I went down to London to do the rounds of record companies. We didn't even have a demo tape, just some songs and my guitar. At one company, a record producer actually invited us into his office, and listened to me while I played our material. He turned me down, of course. I was way too raw. But he also told me that I was on the right track. “If a song is any good,” he said, "…it will stand up when sung by one voice, accompanied by one instrument. All the production gloss, along with the greatest session players in the world cannot turn a dud into a great song.” Best advice I ever had.

The modern expectation of what might qualify as ‘a song’ has changed somewhat. Today's productions may sometimes consist of a nursery-rhyme chorus chanted repeatedly over a dominant drumbeat. At various intervals, a rapper -- someone with the vocal delivery of a racehorse commentator -- will chunter something resembling a list of sociological grievances over the actual song. He may, while he’s at it, offer to pop a cap in your bottom. In addition he might venture that since he undoubtedly has a bigger winkie than yours, your ‘bitch’ -- should you happen to be in a relationship with one -- will show no hesitation in deserting you in his favour. "Windmills of Your Mind" or "MacArthur Park" this stuff is not. This same creation may nonetheless be deemed ‘a banging tune’ by some baffled mainstream radio producer ordered to play it, while pedaling frantically to keep a) ‘It’ real and b) Their job.

The aptly-named 'banger' or 'choon' will then be given rotation airplay on national mainstream radio for a month. The diminishing number of ageing listeners at whom it's aimed, will gasp indignantly at the racket, before pelting across the kitchen to turn it off. The public's steadfast refusal to accept much of the sonic landfill touted by the music industry hardly constitutes a cultural apocalypse. There's no law dictating that we must change our listening habits every few months and anyway, many people just want a bit of sonic wallpaper, while they’re doing the chores.

 

Everyone loves a good song, though. Few, nowadays, know how to write one. It's a waste of time attending songwriting workshops, however. If the people who organised such tenuous gatherings knew how to write immortal songs, believe me, they wouldn’t be teaching lesser mortals. They'd be in Switzerland, having breakfast with a recently-divorced Italian film star. Or maybe that's just me.

*TIP: So what should a would-be songwriter do? You're asking the right guy. Firstly, develop the principles of a bombsite rat. Go and study, without prejudice or preconceptions: Hollywood musicals, Anglican hymns, the Beatles, Burt Bacharach, Lionel Bart and all the other greats. Then absorb the best rhyming poetry you can find, before plundering everything within earshot. Now post your pillaged creations up on platforms like Spotify, Deezer, Apple etc. Work social media relentlessly. Employ some young digital adept who knows how to tweak algorithms. Give them a fair cut of the dosh. Refuse to compromise and never listen to anyone from the arts world. They know nothing.

 

Be kind to your listeners, especially the younger listeners, because they live their lives and their dreams through great songs. That's why many of them love the Beatles, the Stones, Abba and old musicals. Great songs help people through bereavement, bad times, psychiatric illness and more. Humanity needs great songs. Just don’t expect to make a living off them immediately. Off you go then.

(h/t hpunch)