Writing lyrics is a dreadful pastime

I’m a wordy bastard. You must have noticed it by now. I can’t even talk about something as dull as Java without spilling out a million words or so. I’m even worse in person. Sit me down in front of Newsnight and you’ll have to wait all of 30 seconds before I explode in volcanic rage and treat you to a 14 minute monologue about why everyone else in the universe is wrong and I’m right. I’m never short of something to say for myself. Never.

But, despite that, I’ll be fucked if I can write lyrics. I currently have a backlog of about…oooh…. 456 songs and barely a single one has anything as grand as even a first verse. I can happily tinker with the melody or the phrasing of the tune, but sit me down in front of a blank sheet of paper and tell me to come up with some words and I start to stutter and die. If you ever have the misfortune of seeing us live, pay close attention to what I’m singing and you’ll notice endless repetition of some sentence that happens to fit the metre of the song.

Partially, it’s just sheer embarassment. Lyrics are a hop, skip and a jump away from poetry, and for all my New Man credentials (eats muesli, hangs out the washing, changes kids, is gay) I don’t want people thinking I’m Byron. So that makes choosing a subject to sing about hellishly tricky. You can’t write about love, because that’s gay. You can’t write about politics because you’ll sound like a sixth former and you can’t rhyme anything with ‘libertarian’ with any decency. You can’t write about your kids because that makes you late period John Lennon. You can’t write about daily life because you spend your day driving up the A1 and back to work with computers before coming home, putting the kids to bed, watching your wife fall asleep on the sofa and ending the day with a dispiriting wank over a ‘documentary’ on 5.

Which leaves… nothing.

In honour of my own complete and utter babness as a lyric writer, I present to you a sample lyric of mine. Bear in mind that, sadly, this represents the apotheosis of my achievements as a lyricist. It is my Rime Of The Ancient Mariner. My Kubla Kahn. *Cough*

I Was Confused

I was confused by the evening news
I was tired and a little upset
I took a drag on my cigarette
My lips were dry and my eyes were wet

She wouldn’t be told that my world was on hold
I didn’t mean it and I don’t know why
Why I had to kiss her and say ‘goodbye’
I wouldn’t mind but it was me that lied

It’s sad but true that I need you
And you need me
But it’s making me feel so alone

She took half my CDs without so much as a ‘please’
All she left me in the fridge was some cheese,
Half a lettuce and some marrowfat peas
So for tea I went and got a Chinese

I fancied some noise so I called round the boys
Had the ‘station on till quarter past 4
Til the neighbours came and knocked on the door
Woke me up – my face was stuck to the floor

It’s sad but true that I need you
And you need me
But it’s making me feel so alone

The next day when she phoned I was in on my own
I left her to talk to the answerphone
I was that way out
I tried not to hear as she talked through her tears
But then I inwardly groaned and I picked up the phone…
It made me cry. I wonder why….