by Pat Pattison
Sliding on a rail of steel
A rabbit made of clay
Stayed up just ahead of them
Led the dancers all the way
Circle after circle
Panting just behind
They ran with grace and beauty
Digging for the line
It hurt to see them run
A race they'd never win
But as he grew old he learned to see
What it really means
A greyhound lives for running
It's the strongest drive he has
And though he never wins the race
The losing's not so bad
If he never ran at all
In time he'd surely die
The only world he cares to know
Is one that's always streaking by
It isn't what runs up ahead
It isn't what's behind
The beauty's in the way it feels
Digging for the line
Much cleaner than with two characters. Simplify, simplify, simplify. The only question now is: Which do you prefer, the first-person narrative or the third-person narrative? The key will be in the third verse. We will choose between listening in a more intimate situation to the singer telling us what he/she learned from daddy, or observing Edwin from a distance as he discovers the meaning of running:
FIRST-PERSON NARRATIVE
THIRD-PERSON NARRATIVE
But daddy smiled and made
But as he grew old he learned
me see
to see
This is what he said to me
What it really means
Son, a greyhound lives for running
A greyhound lives for running
It's the strongest drive he has
It's the strongest drive he has
And though he never wins the race
And though he never wins the race
The losing's not so bad
The losing's not so bad
If he never ran at all
If he never ran at all
In time he'd surely die
In time he'd surely die
The only world he cares to know
The only world he cares to know
Is one that's always streaking by
Is one that's always streaking by
It isn't what runs up ahead
It isn't what runs up ahead
It isn't what's behind
It isn't what's behind
The beauty's in the way it feels
The beauty's in the way it feels
Digging for the line
Digging for the line
In first person, the singer as character/storyteller is right in front of us. We feel like we know him/her. But third person is cleaner and more focused in this case, because it eliminates a character. Your call.
DIRECT ADDRESS
In direct address (sometimes inaccurately called second person), the singer (the first person, I) is talking to some second person (you), or maybe even right to the audience.
This is the close-up, the most intimate a song can be. You can see the lip quivering and the jaw muscles tightening with emotion. This is about feelings, not facts.
Here are the pronouns for direct address:
Singular
Plural
Subject:
you
you
Direct object:
you
you
Possessive adjective:
your
your
Possessive predicate:
yours
yours
Second-person pronouns are mixed with first-person pronouns to produce direct address — contact between I and you.
The Great Pretender
Yes, I'm the great pretender
Adrift in a world of my own
I play the game, but to my real shame
You've left me to dream all alone
Too real is this feeling of make-believe
Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal
Yes, I'm the great pretender
Just laughing and gay like a clown
I seem to be what I'm not, you see
I'm wearing my heart like a crown
Pretending that you're still around
This is the camera close-up. The singer sings directly to another person or people. (In English, there is no difference between singular and plural you, unless we resort to y'all or youse as plural forms, both forms intended as sophistications in a barren language that forgot to make the distinction.) Because of the direct contact, second person is the most intimate of the points of view. As a listener:
I imagine the singer is singing to me, or
I watch the singer singing directly to someone else, real or imagined by the singer, or
I can imagine that the singer is someone I know singing to me, or
I can identify with the singer and sing to someone I know.
However I do it, it's pretty intimate. Below, the singer speaks to the image of someone in his past:
As Each Year Ends
Becky Rose, you stole the night
Body dark, a sash of light
Soft you slippered from my bed
Not to wake me, dressing slow
How I watched I still don't know
I should have knelt and bowed to you instead
Chorus
As each year ends and one more breaks
I'll raise my wineglass high
To praise your beauty, you who touched my life
Though seasons bend, and colors fade
The memories still remain
I'll taste them once again as each year ends
Becky, how you broke my faith
Tearful as you pulled away
Dust of years and miles apart
Storms of summer rolled in slow
So hard it was, our letting go
That even now its shadows cross my heart
Chorus
As each year ends and one more breaks
I'll raise my wineglass high
To praise your beauty, you who touched my life
Though seasons bend, and colors fade
The memories still remain
I'll taste them once again as each year ends
Years like water join and run
Faces fade, too soon become
A taste of sadness on the tongue
Chorus
As each year ends and one more breaks
I'll raise my wineglass high
To praise your beauty, you who touched my life
Though seasons bend, and colors fade
The memories still remain
I'll taste them once again as each year ends
Even though Becky Rose is not in the singer's presence, it's still pretty intimate stuff. Compare it to a system of first-person narrative:
Becky Rose stole the night
Her body dark, a sash of light
Soft she slippered from my bed
Not to wake me, dressing slow
How I watched I still don't know
I should have knelt and bowed to her instead
Chorus
As each year ends and one more breaks
I'll raise my wineglass high
To praise her beauty, she who touched my life
Though seasons bend, and colors fade
The memories still remain
I'll taste them once again as each year ends
Now look at the system as a third-person narrative:
Becky Rose stole the night
Her body dark, a sash of light
Soft she slippered from his bed
Not to wake him, dressing slow
How he watched he doesn't know
He should have knelt and bowed to her instead
Chorus
As each year ends and one more breaks
He raises his wineglass high
To praise her beauty, she who t
ouched his life
Though seasons bend, and colors fade
The memories still remain
He tastes them once again as each year ends
What do you lose? Are there any gains? One thing changes: The chorus can be in present rather than future tense. A third-person narrative can have a larger overview of time, stating simply, He tastes them once again as each year ends.
From the first person, the singer promises to continue raising his glass: I'll taste them once again as each year ends.
I don't have a problem making a choice here. I prefer the intimacy of direct address. Does that mean we should always go for intimacy?
EXERCISE 14
Try rewriting “Sentimental Lady” and “Digging for the Line” in direct address before you answer the question above. Go on, do it.
It's impossible to make a rule about when to use each point of view. The only way to make sure your point of view is working the most effectively it can is to do a point of view check on every lyric you write. Check once during the process, and then also at the end of the process. Every lyric. You'll find that a different point of view works better often enough to make checking every time worth it. It only takes a little practice and not much time, and sometimes it will turn a good lyric into a killer one.
But as you've seen, direct address can get pretty complicated. The next two chapters will deal with some of its challenges.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
POINT OF VIEW:
SECOND PERSON AND THE HANGMAN
“Just wait till your father gets home, young man!” said Mom, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
I was really going to get it. She'd tell Dad and I'd be lucky to see anything but my bedroom walls for weeks. More likely, this time I'd probably swing, twisting slowly in the wind.
Hours crawled by. Finally, the whirr of his Pontiac sliding into the driveway. Please God, let him suddenly remember something back at the office. Slam. Clomp clomp clomp.
Murmurs downstairs, then: “Come down for dinner, children.” False sweetness in my executioner's voice. They're always nice right before they stretch your neck and watch your eyeballs pop. My sisters and I slid into our chairs, me reluctantly, them bright with expectation.
A casserole had never looked so gray, maybe tinged a little green. She let the minutes stack as Dad doused his cottage cheese with Tabasco sauce. I could hear the rope being flung over a high branch, checked for strength, the noose tested. Finally, she spoke: “Well, young man, you've had quite a day today, haven't you?”
Aarrgh. That tightening sensation, breath coming harder.
“You're eleven years old, and should know better, shouldn't you?”
They always start by telling you how old you are.
“First, you sneak the BB gun out of the closet, where it is supposed to stay unless you have supervision!”
Dad chewed his cottage cheese and scowled, a dot of Tabasco sauce on his chin.
Why doesn't she just tell him? Why does she always have to say it to me?
“You could have stayed inside,” she continued. “But oh no, mister smarty pants, mister grown-up. You have to take it outside and shoot it! Were you aiming at Mister Nelson's window, trying to break it?”
Actually, I was trying to kill a bird. Never even noticed the window.
“You hit his living room mirror, too, didn't you?”
Dad sat bolt upright, as though he felt someone going after his wallet.
She knew the facts, and I knew the facts. The girls knew the facts. Dad was the only one who didn't know, so why was she telling me instead of him? More pleasure in the execution?
“And what did he say it would cost? One hundred and seventy-two dollars, that's what!” She sat back, sagging and weak from the burden of having me for a son. My sisters flushed with delight, pulling for the hangman.
Dad reddening and rising. The feeling of my feet leaving the floor, a tightening in my throat, and the sound of the wind in the trees …
Sometimes, lyrics sound like Mom. They seem to be talking directly to you, but are really telling someone else what you already know. Like this:
I met you on a Saturday
Your hair was wound in braids
You walked up and you said hello
And then you asked my name
This sounds unnatural because you already knows all this stuff. The verse is trying to do two things at once: Tell the audience the facts, while pretending to carry on a conversation with you. Technically, we have a point of view problem: second person trying to do first or third person's job. Don't give the facts to someone who already should know them!
Though it's tempting to try to give the audience facts by letting them eavesdrop on a conversation, be careful. You might end up with something as stilted and unnatural sounding as the little gem above. First-person narrative would sound closer to what's really happening:
I met her on a Saturday
Her hair was wound in braids
She walked up and she said hello
And then she asked my name
Third-person narrative is better, too:
He met her on a Saturday
Her hair was wound in braids
She walked up and she said hello
And then she asked his name
Moving into first- or third-person narrative is one way to solve the problem. But sometimes you may be committed to second person. In that case, you have to find a way to make the conversation sound more natural. Do you really want the audience to know that it was Saturday and she had braids and she made the first move? If not, just drop the unnatural verse and write a better, more natural one. If the facts are important, you have to say them naturally, like you would in a real conversation:
I never felt anything quite as strong
As I did that Saturday night we met
You looked so fresh with your hair in braids
And I felt like singing
When you walked right up and asked my name
Including personal information that you couldn't have known makes the conversation more natural. Or this:
I still remember the Saturday night we met
Your hair so pretty, up in braids
You blew me away when you said hello
And asked me, “What's your name?”
Both of these versions work because they include the singer's reactions to the facts. Okay, so it's not great writing. Even so, it still sounds more natural, and once you know what approach to take, you can always polish up the language. The second version also includes the old “do you remember” ploy for introducing information. Put it in your own bag of tricks.
No matter what the point of view is, mothers will always have their modes of torment. This natural use of second person is maddeningly effective. Any mother would be proud to use it.
The point is simple: Make second person conversational. If you want to give the audience a history lesson, either put it in third person or find a natural way to list your facts. If you've gotta swing, make it quick and natural.
As a matter of habit, you should try out all three points of view — first, second, and third person — for each lyric you write from now until you die, just to make sure you are using the best possible one for each song. Read your lyric aloud, each time substituting the different pronouns to see which you like best. Sometimes, a change in point of view will raise a bland lyric from the dead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
POINT OF VIEW:
SECOND PERSON AS NARRATIVE
When you tell a story, it is usually narrative, either first person or third person. As we've seen, first-person narrative includes the storyteller in the story, using first-person and third-person pronouns. Third-person narrative uses only third-person pronouns: he, she, it, they. There is no I.
The following lyric, “The Fire Inside” by Bob Seger, took me by surprise, because it has all the qualities of a narrative, but it uses second person (you):
There's a hard m
oon risin' on the streets tonight
There's a reckless feeling in your heart as you head out tonight
Through the concrete canyons to the midtown light
Where the latest neon promises are burning bright
Past the open windows on the darker streets
Where unseen angry voices flash and children cry
Past the phony posers with their worn out lines
The tired new money dressed to the nines
The lowlife dealers with their bad designs
And the dilettantes with their open minds
You're out on the town
Safe in the crowd
Ready to go for the ride
Searching the eyes
Looking for clues
There's no way you can hide
The fire inside
Well you've been to the clubs and the discotheques
Where they deal one another from the bottom of the deck of promises
Where the cautious loners and emotional wrecks
Do an acting stretch as a way to hide the obvious
And the lights go down and they dance real close
And for one brief instant they pretend they're safe and warm
Then the beat gets louder and the mood is gone
The darkness scatters as the lights flash on
They hold one another just a little too long
And they move apart and then move on
On to the street
On to the next
Safe in the knowledge that they tried
Faking the smile, hiding the pain
Never satisfied
The fire inside
Now the hour is late and he thinks you're asleep
And you listen to him dress and you listen to him leave like you knew
he would
You hear his car pull away in the street
Then you move to the door and you lock it
When he's gone for good