by Paul Zollo
It was Ray Evans (the great lyricist of such standards as “Silver Bells,” “Que Sera,” and “Mona Lisa,” all created with the composer Jay Livingston) who told me this story about “That Old Black Magic,” and went on to say, “You see, there shouldn’t be rules at all in songwriting. Nobody can predict a hit. Every hit we had got turned down all over the place.” (This, incidentally, is an important lesson for songwriters to learn: no one opinion of a song is the ultimate opinion; any response to a song is always a subjective response.)
So one certainly can write a song with no rhymes. But it isn’t that easy to do and still create an effective song. Rhymes, as previously stated, are a fundamental ingredient in the creation of a sturdy song, just as a traditional song structure, such as the common but effective verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus structure, is an effective tool to use in the design of a durable song. One might think of rhyme or song structure as a limitation—and it’s part of the artistic sensibility to rebel against any limitations to be free. But as Krishnamurti once said, “Limitations create possibilities.” And this is so true when it comes to the art and craft of songwriting. By working within the limitations, a songwriter can be freer to express ideas that have previously been unexpressed, but do so in a form where they will be effective. “I like the structure of pop songs,” Aimee Mann told me. “When you have a strong structure like that, you can be much freer with the other aspects of the song, the words, and the tune.” And as Mark Salerno said (and we will discuss later), “the form generates the poem.”
So a songwriter is wise to use all the elements and tools at hand, and rhymes—and a rhyming dictionary—are both effective means to achieving a powerful result. There are some examples, though not many, of great songs that have no rhymes at all. The one that astounds me most of all is the beautiful and epic “America,” by Paul Simon, first recorded by Simon and Garfunkel on the album Bookends, and often performed by them in concerts and on subsequent live albums. That Simon managed to create such a beautiful song—with both an astounding lyric and beautiful melody—without any rhymes is something of a miracle. It’s the only one of his songs I know of that exists without any rhymes. Yet it’s a beautifully detailed lyric, and much of that beauty has to do with his masterful use of concrete detail and a lilting meter that goes a long way in making up for the lack of rhyme:
Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together
I’ve got some real estate here in my bag
So we bought a pack of cigarettes, and Mrs. Wagner’s pies
And walked off to look for America…
—“America” by Paul Simon
Note that Simon is a brilliant rhymer, and has used rhymes to great effect for decades. In his song “Thelma,” which he wrote and recorded for his Rhythm of the Saints album, but ultimately discarded, including it on his boxed set Paul Simon 1964-1993, he links lines with rhymes, but in the chorus actually strings together four rhymes in one line, unprecedented in his work: “I will need you, feed you, seed you, plead with you…”
The standard “Moonlight In Vermont,” written by John Blackburn and Karl Suessdorf, also succeeds beautifully even with no rhymes. A vast swath of artists have recorded it, namely Sinatra, Sam Cooke, Rosemary Clooney, Tommy Dorsey, Nat King Cole, and even Captain Beefheart. Much of its ability to transcend the lack of rhymes has to do, like Simon’s “America,” with its beautiful melody—which holds the structure together—as well as a masterful use of concrete imagery, and a savvy use of meter. Some students of songwriting have suggested that the short three-line verses in the song are like haikus—lovely succinct little packages of imagery. This is quite accurate:
Pennies in a stream
Falling leaves, a sycamore
Moonlight in Vermont
Icy finger-waves
Ski trails on a mountainside
Snowlight in Vermont
—“Moonlight In Vermont” by John Blackburn and Karl Suessdorf
But the example of great songs that succeed without any rhymes are extremely rare. It’s much more common for a songwriter to employ rhymes, and with good reason, as the songwriter Steve Forbert explained to me. “I think the order of it gives a person a feeling of security which is pleasant,” he said. “Because you set it up: ‘I’m going away, baby, and I won’t be back till fall.’ It sets up anticipation, right? ‘And if I find me a good loving woman, child, I do believe I won’t be back at all.’ In your mind you feel a sense of release and order there because you were anticipating and then were rewarded with the rhyme. And that’s why rhymes have stood the test of time and remain essential.”
One of the primary and essential techniques for making a song sturdy and effective is by using a compelling title, and setting up that title in every way: musically (so that the melody culminates at the title line), rhythmically, and lyrically. And to set up a title lyrically, there’s no better method than the use of a rhyme. Dylan has done this masterfully so many times, emphasizing the title by using a rhyme—but not an overt, obvious rhyme—not a rhyme that is put into place only to set up the title, but a rhyme that flows naturally and contributes to the meaning and content of the song as well as setting up the title. That is the fusion, again, of art and craft. Doing both. Using the craft in a way that is seamless and appears inevitable.
For example, look at Dylan’s classic song, “I Shall Be Released.” The title line is set-up by a preceding rhyme that is perfectly crafted, as it’s a real rhyme, but also adds to the poetry and content of the lyric:
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east
Any day now, any day now
I shall be released.
—“I Shall Be Released” by Bob Dylan
Or from his song “Tangled Up In Blue,” from the classic album Blood On The Tracks:
And when finally the bottom fell out
I became withdrawn,
The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keepin’ on like a bird that flew,
Tangled up in blue.
—“Tangled Up In Blue” by Bob Dylan
In the preceding song, rather than have a single repeating chorus in which the title is anchored, Dylan has expansive verses that end with the title, using different words to set up the title each time. It’s a form often used by Leonard Cohen, and always to great effect. In his astonishing song, “Democracy,” his central line is “Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.,” and in each verse he explores the odd and unexpected ways in which an idea of historic democracy and theoretical democracy is discovered in America. And in each verse, he sets up the central line with a long ‘a’ sound to rhyme with U.S.A. It’s a great example of the use of rhyme in songs, as it never gets conventional or banal, but retains the dynamism of great poetry. From one of the first verses:
“It’s coming from the silence on the dock of the bay,
from the brave, the bold, the battered heart of Chevrolet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.”
And later in the song:
But I’m stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I’m junk but I’m still holding up this little wild bouquet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
—“Democracy” by Leonard Cohen
And Paul Simon has shown us countless times in his songs an artful approach to setting up a title with a rhyme. There are many famous examples in his body of work, but I’ll choose “Still Crazy After All These Years,” as this is a song—like “Tangled Up In Blue” and “Democracy” which doesn’t have a chorus. It sets up the title that ends with the word “years”—in its verses by using a different rhyme each time. The first verse uses the word “beers” as the set-up rhyme: “And we talked about some old times, and drank ourselves some beers / still crazy after all these years.” The second verse uses the word “ears” as the set-up: “And I ain’t no fool for love songs that whisper in my ears / still crazy a
fter all these years.” Now “beers” and “ears” are both somewhat common rhymes for “years.” But his third and final set-up rhyme is less conventional, and reflects Simon’s ingenuity. It’s the word “peers,” but he makes it work seamlessly by setting it up in the context of the verse, using the phrase “jury of my peers.” Without that phrase, the line would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. With that phrase and its surrounding phrase, it works beautifully. It’s inventive, intriguing, modern, American, and uniquely Simon:
“Now I sit by my window and watch the cars
I fear I’ll do some damage one fine day
But I would not be convicted by a jury of my peers
Still crazy after all these years…”
—“Still Crazy After All These Years” by Paul Simon
Influenced and informed by Dylan, Cohen, Simon, and all the other great songwriters who have come before me, I have learned a lot about the art of setting up a title. If you use a set-up rhyme that precedes the title, then the title will fall in such a way that it seems inevitable and gives the listener a feeling of completion and order. It’s a feeling that is so rare to come by in the real world, which is always full of disorder and incompletion. An example is my song, “What Jesus Meant,” which is an extended song with many verses that reflect on the meaning of Jesus in the modern-world. I’ll admit one of the reasons I was drawn to the title is that I knew that “meant” is any easy word to rhyme. There are a profusion of excellent rhymes for it, and so rather than write only one chorus of lyrics that repeats many times throughout the song, I changed the words in the chorus every time, setting up the title differently in each instance. For example, my first chorus uses the word ‘bent’ to set up the title:
And we persist in going straight
Although our backs are bent
Will we be left at heaven’s gate
Wondering what Jesus meant?
—“What Jesus Meant” by Paul Zollo
(Notice, too, in that chorus I linked all the lines together by the use of the abab rhyme scheme, in which the first and third lines rhyme, as well as the second and fourth lines. Much more on this rhyme scheme and others to follow.)
In a later chorus, I set up the same title with a different rhyme, “continent”:
Still we walk through burning sands
And we cross the continent
We see the work of unseen hands
Wondering what Jesus meant
—“What Jesus Meant” by Paul Zollo
Again, as with all ingredients that combine to create a song, there is both art and craft involved. The craft involves knowing where to place the rhyme and how to use a real rhyme. The art has to do with doing it in a seamless, non-obvious fashion. You never want the set-up rhyme to call attention to itself. It must fall in the line with a natural and graceful simplicity, so that when the title emerges, it does so in a way that seems organic. There are thousands of examples of a poor set-up—even Dylan is guilty of this, using set-ups that obviously exist more to set up the title than because they are essential to the lyric. In his song “When I Paint My Masterpiece,” for example, he sets up the title by mentioning a date he has with “Botticelli’s niece.” It’s certainly an interesting line, and characteristic of the inventive and colorful nature of Dylan’s work. And as Sondheim has explained, a song is such a short form that the slightest flaw seems enormous. And so every song needs what Sondheim calls “polish.” It needs to be revised until it’s close to perfection.
Of course, all of these statements can be qualified. No song is ever perfect. But unlike a sprawling novel, or a movie, or an epic poem, or any art of a longer form, it’s easier to approach perfection in a song than in other artforms. But as the legendary dancer and choreographer Martha Graham explained, no art is ever perfect, yet there is a certain “divine dissatisfaction” that all artists know, that is born in the yearning to achieve perfection, but which allows that any such attempt is doomed to failure. It’s this very knowledge that perpetuates the artist’s desire to continue in the pursuit of artistic perfection.
Differences Between Writing Lyrics and Writing Poetry
What is the difference between a song and a poem? The answer is complex. Some have suggested that songs are spiritual and poems are intellectual. I don’t agree—there are intellectual songs and spiritual poems.
Song lyrics, though they have been printed on albums and CDs since the advent of The Beatles, are not meant to be read—as is a poem—but are meant to be heard. And they do not stand on their own. They are delivered wrapped in melody, harmony, rhythm, and a rainbow of instrumental colors. Poetry exists on the page and though poems are often spoken, they are meant primarily to be read and must stand up to repeated readings. “Poetry exists in its conciseness,” said Stephen Sondheim in a 1971 interview with Time magazine, “how much is packed into it; it’s important to be able to read and reread it at your own speed. Lyrics exist in time, second to second to second. Therefore lyrics always have to be underwritten. You cannot expect an audience to catch more than the ear is able to catch at the tempo and richness of the music. The perfect example of this is ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,’ the first part of which I’d be embarrassed to put down on paper. I mean, you just don’t put down: ‘Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, ‘Oh, what a beautiful day…’ It’s just ridiculous. What Oscar knew was that there was music to go with it. The minute that Dick Rodgers’ music is added, the whole song has an emotional weight. I really think that Oklahoma! ran seven years on that lyric.”
The legendary songwriter Van Morrison, who has written a profusion of magical, soulful, and classic songs, said that Bob Dylan is the world’s greatest poet. He didn’t say Dylan was the world’s greatest songwriter—but called him a poet. But is Dylan a poet? When I interviewed Bob Dylan, some two decades after Sondheim related his story to Time, I asked him what he felt about Van Morrison’s declaration. Dylan responded with an inspirational, contemplative, and wondrously Whitmanesque inventory of veracities about the poet in modern times, the kind of answer that only a man with a genuinely poetic perspective could conceive:
Author: Van Morrison said that you are our greatest living poet. Do you think of yourself in those terms?
Dylan: [Pause] Sometimes. It’s within me. It’s within me to put myself up and be a poet. But it’s a dedication. [Softly] It’s a big dedication.
[Pause] Poets don’t drive cars. [Laughs] Poets don’t go to the supermarket. Poets don’t empty the garbage. Poets aren’t on the PTA. Poets, you know, they don’t go to picket the Better Housing Bureau, or whatever. Poets don’t… they don’t even speak on the telephone. Poets don’t ever talk to anybody. Poets do a lot of listening… and usually they know why they’re poets!
… Poets live on the land. They behave in a gentlemanly way. And live by their own gentlemanly code.
[Pause] And die broke. Or drown in lakes. Poets usually have very unhappy endings. Look at Keats’ life.
From Songwriters On Songwriting, Expanded Edition by Paul Zollo
Usages of Rhyme
As Dylan and other great songwriters have shown us countless times in their work, there is a fusion of craft and art in songwriting. One of the chief craft elements is the use of rhyme. But the artistry comes with knowing how to use a rhyme, to rhyme lines but do so in a way that they flow in a colloquial and conversational way, and to link those associative thoughts that Frost discussed in a coherent and cohesive way. As one Dylan scholar wrote when asked to provide what he felt were Dylan’s greatest rhymes, “If I am conscious of Dylan’s rhymes, then he has not done a good job.” This is an important point to consider. A songwriter does not rhyme to point attention to the rhyme. A songwriter rhymes to hold a line together. Rhymes are often like glue that holds together a collection of thoughts. A songwriter rhymes to accent a certain word or thought: in a song, a rhyme doesn’t only link two lines because of the sonic syllabic concord of the rhyming words. A rhyme highlights a line, or a specif
ic word. It draws attention to it. It crystallizes a thought. And it helps direct a specific thought to a listener, even if the listener is not conscious of the rhyme.
“I work on [rhymes] as much as anything,” Aimee Mann told me. “I also try to get the best rhyme scheme I can… I do spend a lot of time trying to get a perfect rhyme. That is important to me because I think that helps a lot in communicating certain ideas to a listener. I think it makes a nice little surprise that helps you connect with a song. Even if the listener doesn’t realize it, subconsciously they feel it. I don’t always have perfect rhymes, but I work hard to get them.” She went on to explain that it’s the business of the songwriter to utilize rhymes and other craft elements of songwriting to give solidity to a song. “I feel as a songwriter that’s your job [to find good rhymes.] There’s not only the thing that you are saying, but there’s the best way to say it. It’s your job to find out the best way to say it; to make sure the meter is good, the rhyme is good, and that it sounds very conversational.”