CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DIALOGUE AND POINT OF VIEW

Conversation overheard in a country home, using a surveillance microphone:

Alphonse: What gifts can I bring you to prove that my love for you is true? I want to make you mine forever. There's nothing on this Earth I would not do.

Emma Rae: Anything I have wanted, you have given willingly. So now there's only one more thing I need: If you love me, give me wings. Don't be afraid if I fly. A bird in a cage will forget how to sing; if you love me, give me wings.

Alphonse (walking over to the window, staring into space): I just want to protect you, because this world is a dangerous place.

Emma Rae (putting her arms around him): I know you mean well, but there's lessons I must learn for myself. If you love me, give me wings. Don't be afraid if I fly. A bird in a cage will forget how to sing; if you trust me, give me wings. Up above the clouds you can see forever, and I know you and I could learn to fly together. If you love me, give me wings. Don't be afraid if I fly. A bird in a cage will forget how to sing; if you trust me, give me wings. If you really love me, give me wings.

Gosh, what a nice conversation. It even rhymes. How would you turn this dialogue into a song? Think about it for a minute. Go back, read it again, and try it.

No, it probably isn't a duet. Duets need equal characters, both of whom can say the same chorus. Emma Rae is the only one here who can say “Give me wings.” Unless you're writing opera (sung dialogue), you're better off having one singer tell us about the conversation, complete with quotes. The real trick is selecting a point of view to set the whole thing up.

Here are your options:

1. FIRST-PERSON NARRATIVE

Or:

In first-person narrative, the singer tells us about a conversation he/ she actually had with some third party. Like someone coming in to work and saying, “Guess who I talked to yesterday. You'll never believe who he was with!” And then telling you the story.

2. DIRECT ADDRESS

In direct address, the singer is talking either directly to us, or to some unseen you. We're watching him/her have a conversation with a second person.

3. THIRD-PERSON NARRATIVE

Now our singer is a storyteller, pointing to a scene in the distance. The singer isn't in the story, and neither are we.

Let's try all three.

First-Person Narrative

The point of view works okay, but something is askew. The emotion feels off balance, a little forced. Why is this guy standing up there with his microphone telling us the story, anyway? What's his point?

Maybe the source of the problem is that the lyric is about her, not I. Our first version of first-person narrative shines the spotlight on the wrong person. In order for the male character to sing the song, he'd have to have something important to say about the story at the end, like in the final line of Don Schlitz's “The Gambler”: But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep. Maybe something like: I gave her her freedom, and we've been great ever since / Soaring together, lovers and friends.

So let's try it the other way. Since it is her story, maybe she should be the narrator:

Go back to the first version and make the rest of the changes.

This point of view is better, but not terrific. Again, why is she raising the microphone and telling us these facts? We'd still need something like: He gave me my freedom, and we've been great ever since / Soaring together, lovers and friends.

Moral: If the singer is the I in the story, you've got to give him/her a good reason for telling it.

Direct Address

Next, let's get up close and personal:

Total disaster — the worst of history lessons. The you of the song was already there during the conversation, so what's the point of telling her about it again? The same is true if the woman sings the song:

As we saw in chapter eleven, “Second Person and the Hangman,” simply telling people what they already know doesn't make for credible dialogue.

Third-Person Narrative

Finally, look at the point of view of the actual lyric of this song, “Give Me Wings,” by Don Schlitz and Rhonda Kye Fleming:

Nifty. It doesn't matter if the singer is male or female, the dialogue seems complete and natural. This doesn't mean that third-person narrative is always the right answer for every lyric that uses dialogue. You should read every lyric you write in each point of view. See how each one feels, then decide which one works best.

Something on structure while we're here.

There's more to like about this little gem of a lyric, so while we're here, let's take a quick look at its structure, a really nice display of technical savvy.

The verses are fairly balanced — four lines in common meter, rhyming xaxa:

Pretty standard stuff. But beware, it's a setup to lull you into a false sense of security.

The section between the verse and chorus (call it whatever you want to — vest, pre-chorus, prime, lift, channel, runway, climb — I call it a transitional bridge) throws us off balance with its three lines:

Or, if you like, two lines of wickedly unequal length:

We are toppled into the chorus, praying to find a secure landing. Perfect. That's what a transitional bridge is supposed to do.

Once we're securely into the chorus, things seem okay. The first two lines feel sturdy, balancing each other with three stresses:

Then a four-stress line sets up a little more tension:

Boy, do we ever want a three-stress line rhyming with fly. How come? The aba rhyme scheme, wings/fly/sing, begs for a pairing with the unrhymed word. What do you want to hear? Maybe something like:

Okay, my line is pretty cheesy, but even so, it does the job, resolving the tension nicely, both structurally and emotionally. The rhyme structure, wings/fly/sing/sky, feels much more resolved than the situation of the song intends. She's asking for, not getting, wings. That's why the real chorus's rhyme scheme, abaa, is so perfect:

The last line fools you (I call it a deceptive cadence), and in doing so, it accomplishes three things: (1) it repeats the title — a good commercial move; (2) the structural surprise spotlights the title; and (3) it resolves the chorus, though not as solidly as a rhyme for fly would have. The surprise rhyme is emotionally better suited to the intent of the chorus since it's a little less secure.

Neat structure. It lights up the title and supports the emotion of the lines with perfect prosody. I'm glad we looked.